Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
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 Gwyneth Lewis ‘Spiderings’ Ian Thomson ‘Fires were started: Tallinn, 1944’ Adrian May ‘Traditionalism and Tradition’ Judith Herzberg ‘Poems’ translated by Margitt Helbert Horatio Morpurgo ‘What is a Book?’
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PN Review 276
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 252, Volume 46 Number 4, March - April 2020.

Three Poems James Womack
Anekdot

Another city poem, another anecdote.
St Petersburg. The band we saw that evening
Was Полтора Кило Отличного Пюре,1 which translates as
A Kilo and a Half of Excellent Mashed Potatoes.
Jeez, lighten up; it was the millennium, Jesus.

Sample lyrics: ‘I walk through my
native microregion  hacking at
lapdogs with a large axe.’ Where are they now,
would be a fair question. Even Russia
can’t sustain all types of cynicism forever.

A basement red-brick, with a crammed bar –
a little bit ayurvedic café, a little bit
cult HQ – and while Jeremy went to blue
with the dickstickers, which translates as
whatever the hell you want it to mean,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image