Some literary journals, however, could be more discerning about what they publish and clearer about why they pub lish. Tali Lavi recently argued that we have become caught up in a culture that is ‘obsessed with the notion of exposure’, so that ‘emerging writers are exhorted to “get published”, without regard to the publication or an attendant emphasis on the quality of their work’. This observation, I am sorry to say, rang in my mind as I read much of the work in Etchings, particularly the poetry. While opinions of Creative Writing are personal, my subjectivity could not overlook the self-important and highly self-referential nature of much of this work.

There are, however, some gems in Etchings, a lush publication. Meera Atkinson’s ‘Désincarné/Disembodied’ is a well-constructed short story about a strange kind of love affair that would have been unthinkable ten years ago. A seductive chat-room dialogue is powerfully revealing about fundamental human needs, as well as Internet protocol. Lee Kofman’s ‘Melbourne–New York Line’, about the phone conversations between a Jewish man and his mother, is also superb. On different sides of the world, they are bound to each other by their ‘jungles of Russian, Hebrew, Yiddish (that neither of us mastered) and recently English’. Subhash Jaireth’s story ‘Charulata’s Silver Anklets’ – which might be described as mythic realism – was also gripping. It is about an Indian truck driver, convinced in childhood to stop ‘dreaming about heaven’, who finds a version of it in Charulata, a refuge from Dhaka. The phrases he invents for the back of his truck, including ‘Smile Mister, I’m Not Your Sister’ and ‘Hallo Hallo, Don’t Come Close to My Chamukchallo’, are not the only moments that resonate. James Friel and Delailah M.K. Grondin both draw sympathetic short story portraits. Christopher Lappas suggests that the motto of street stencil art might be ‘to subvert the constant barrage of corporate advertising’. Etchings features stencil art by FORM, which touches on the magazine’s own professed ethos: ‘street art is not created for anyone, it’s created for everyone.’ But in such a busy ‘market’, a literary journal would benefit from a point of distinction and a more developed motivation for existence.

Famous Reporter publishes a high standard of poetry. There are too many fine poems to mention. Haiku is given a special place; there is even a haiku editor. Excellent examples of the form – by Grant Caldwell, Nathalie Buckland and Marina Scott – open the journal. In an interview with editor Ralph Wessman, Jill Jones makes some important comments about poetry and poetry criticism. Her reminder that, in writing, ‘specificity is important’ – that you must write ‘out of where you are’, instead of producing a ‘homogenised generalisation’ – is useful. The most engaging writing in these journals is full of detail, revealing distinctive voices.

Famous Reporter is funded by Arts Tasmania but is clearly produced on a tight budget (much tighter than Etchings, it seems); my copy is already falling apart. It is a poet’s journal; even the reviews are encouraging. Jones says we must read poetry on its own terms. Famous Reporter reviews do this – perhaps excessively – rarely developing broader contextual issues, instead describing subject matter, lyrical texture and tendencies of form. While Wessman’s review of Margaret Bradstock’s fresh and immediate poetry does provide some framework, I found his assumption that poets should occupy the political middle ground hackneyed. Graham Rowlands’s poem, ‘John Howard’s Pre-Emptive Strikes’, shows the value of poetic satire. Like a John Clarke sketch, this poem cleverly accentuates the ‘spin’ of political rhetoric, revealing its malevolent motivations. There are some minor accidents of layout and grammar, but the placement of pieces is first-rate, revealing interesting connections. The inclusion of weblog entries and a launch speech enhances the journal. Famous Reporter comes to poetry in many ways.

Both of these journals are more illuminating than a low-carb diet book will ever be.