PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
News and Notes
Digital Access to PN Review
Access the latest issues, plus back issues of PN Review with Exact Editions For PN Review subscribers: to access the PN Review digital archive via the Exact Editions app Exactly or the Exact Editions website, you will first need to know your PN Review ID number. read more
PN Review Prize winners announced
Carcanet Press and PN Review are delighted to announce the winners of the first ever PN Review Prize. read more
Most Read... Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Drew MilneTom Raworth’s Writing
‘present past improved’: Tom Raworth’s Writing

(PN Review 236)
Alejandro Fernandez-OsorioPomace (trans. James Womack)
(PN Review 236)
Kei MillerIn the Shadow of Derek Walcott
1930–2017

(PN Review 235)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Kate BinghamPuddle
(PN Review 236)
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
Gratis Ad 1
Gratis Ad 2
Next Issue CELEBRATING JOHN ASHBERY Contributors include Mark Ford, Marina Warner, Jeremy Over, Theophilus Kwek, Sam Riviere, Luke Kennard, Philip Terry,Agnes Lehoczky, Emily Critchley, Oli Hazard and others Miles Champion The Gold Standard Rebecca Watts The Cult of the Noble Amateur Marina Tsvetaeva ‘My desire has the features of a woman’: Two Letters translated by Christopher Whyte Iain Bamforth Black and White

This report is taken from PN Review 237, Volume 44 Number 1, September - October 2017.

Three Poems Arthur Longbow
ALISTAIR ELLIOT writes:

Arthur Longbow was born in in 1864, briefly attended the Slade, and died in 1940, just five years before Symons. It seems his mother was French, possibly one of the Languedoc Longuebeau family – Arthur was illegitimate and perhaps this was one of the reasons why his name was hardly known, in spite of the quality of his verse – until one day in the summer of 1939 his grandson George told him they’d been reading a poem by Arthur Longbow in the school anthology. Strange coincidence of names, wasn’t it?


THE MUSE AND I

Leaves, light cloth around limbs,
Air in the armpits and the puffy hair,
Desire rising as the firelight dims,
Both scent and powder in the atmosphere,
These are the properties we share.

We live indoors, though fond
(We say) of nature with its dirt and stings:
Under the piano you respond
With sighs as I undo the silken strings
That dash-dot-dash your cotton underthings.



THE POETS

Delicate they are,
All but transparent,
These poets, as aware
As spiders in their webs
Of the flavoursome air.

They can detect the flies,
The distant flowerbeds,
The perfumed lingeries.
They even seem to hear
The birds’ amorous cries.

But don’t they notice the rattle
Of death across the sea,
The approaching ...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image