PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
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 Michelle Holmes on ‘Whitman, Alabama’ Les Murray Eight Poems Gabriel Josipovici Who Dares Wins: Reflections on Translation Maureen N. McLane Four Poems James Womack Europe (after the German of Marie Luise Kaschnitz)

This poem is taken from PN Review 208, Volume 39 Number 2, November - December 2012.

The January Man Beverley Nadin
The January man has turned away from the closing door.
Voices fade. He looks from a window over a city
offering snow, the whiteness of snow, perfectly placed;
snatching high-rise flats from the brink of nullity;
pierced by steeples, tall and blameless. He knows of darkness
under bridges where a canal and an underpass lay low
to let slip what we learn from snow, snow being aimless.
Since truth, he thinks, is a matter of taste. Others are being
born. Others have died. It is cold, a reason to stay inside.

The February man sits down on a wooden bench. It is cold.
Sparks from an early pint have dulled to an empty wait.
The park is blank. Lakes and swans are a kind of white.
Primed with not-yet night, sky is faintly studded;
water, slapping at watermarks. He can just make
out beside a muddy bank, fat tench - a murky stronghold.
Cold-blooded, they don't know what winter is. Breath
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image