PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
Mark FordLetters And So It Goes
Letters from Young Mr Grace
(aka John Ashbery)

(PN Review 239)
Henry Kingon Toby Martinez de las Rivas
(PN Review 244)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Tim Parksin conversation with Natalia Ginzburg
(PN Review 49)
Next Issue Peter Scupham remembers Anthony Thwaite in 'Chimes at Midnight' Sinead Morrissey spends A Week in GdaƄsk Rebecca Watts talks with Julia Copus about Charlotte Mew Boris Dralyuk and Irina Mashinski evoke Arseny Tarkovsky and his translator Peter Oram Frederic Raphael sends a letter to William Somerset Maugham
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review New Issue

This poem is taken from PN Review 141, Volume 28 Number 1, September - October 2001.

Four Poems Neil Powell

1 August 2000

The purple buddleia has outreached itself;
Distended tendrils clog the narrow garden;
Drab blackbirds feed their damp prodigious young;
A woodpigeon calls the cows in after rain.
A quarter century! Its shrubs and birds
Growing, declining in the seasons' dance,
As I find, baffled by a long wet summer,
An unexpected break, another chance.


My Chelsea

My grandmother lived in a first-floor flat in Chelsea:
10 Limerston Street, a staid unfashionable bit.
She would not have thought of herself as exotic.

But I did, marvelling at her innocent grandeur,
Knowing that she would always be right,
As resonant and inclusive as her radiogram,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image