PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
News and Notes
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... Drew MilneTom Raworth’s Writing
‘present past improved’: Tom Raworth’s Writing

(PN Review 236)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Alejandro Fernandez-OsorioPomace (trans. James Womack)
(PN Review 236)
Kei MillerIn the Shadow of Derek Walcott
1930–2017

(PN Review 235)
Kate BinghamPuddle
(PN Review 236)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
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 38, Volume 10 Number 6, May - June 1984.

The Dark Square Garden David Arkell
The other night in Mecklenburgh Square, WCI, 'deux formes ont tout à l'heure passé'. One was a sardonic gentleman looking vaguely like D. H. Lawrence, the other a beautiful dark girl called Arabella Yorke. From their clothes I guessed we were in the autumn of 1917.I thought I heard the purr of a zeppelin, but then a gust of laughter billowed forth from No. 44 (the home of Aldington and H. D.) where a jolly gathering was swapping gossip, or possibly partners. John Cournos had gone off to Russia to see the Revolution, leaving behind his friend Arabella. It was a mistake. Nothing in the house would ever be the same again, and Arabella was the charming catalyst.

At this very moment she was returning from dinner in Soho: 'They turned at last into the old, beautiful square. It seemed dark and deserted, dark like a savage wilderness in the heart of London. The wind was roaring in the great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild, dark grove deep in a forgotten land. She opened the gate of the Square garden with her key, and let it slam behind them . . . She led him across the grass to the big tree in the centre . . . They huddled against the big tree-trunk for shelter, and watched the scene. Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street gleamed silently. The houses of the Square rose like a cliff ...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image