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

(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 poem is taken from PN Review 218, Volume 40 Number 6, July - August 2014.

‘Grist of It’ and Other Poems Redell Olsen
(Windmills) with Aeolian Attachments

The map shows an army of instruments in cause of sound.
If known by accounts there can hardly be doubts spoken
that it was gut-strung on an old lute slackening to expose
power to the wind, piercing successive regions in the drying
out of ears, suspended tunings that we hanged our harps on.
In the midst of rarefaction and condensation of night-talks
the strings were fastened behind one of the bridges looped
at the nape of the neck and fell open to the smocked shape
then gathered for optimal transduction as informed signals
taut at frequencies to catch vibration of wind blown chats.
Dust elicits thought as sound that does not mill noise white
to flour and soothe the upperside content with being only,
float, then, shapes in networks, give gold harmonious natter.
While instruments play themselves words go on harping on
how to move us, on. Glass bottles raised to wild huntsmen

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image