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 256, Volume 47 Number 2, November - December 2020.

The Fools and other poems Lucy Tunstall
The Fools

The way they walked to church over the fields and made everything milk white.
The way the heat-haze took them out by the ankles and that cloud of white
hair that could actually have been cloud. The way they swam in and out
of sight like a pair of stupid moons behind clouds, a kind of cut-out
flatness that made you want to push them all the way over
and drive a steamroller over them real slow.


I married a machine that could reconfigure itself. The machine
survived everything. The function of the machine was to burn fuel.

The machine made everything machine-brand – machine-brand
coffee, machine-brand daisies, machine-brand duvet-cover.

My eyes were very heavy when I looked at the machine. To me
the machine looked like a machine, but to other people it looked
like other things.

Parts of the machine were vintage to show originality. The vintage

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image