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 Gdańsk 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 259, Volume 47 Number 5, May - June 2021.

Rose Apple and the Desiccated Lake Naush Sabah
Fractals bloom along the horizon
inky-black and skeletal reaching upward
as if fists have pounded from underground
and the earth has shattered the sky.
Or I could call them bare trees
and tell you to see them as I do
in dusk-grey distance, indistinct and fading.
Only, there are no horizons where I live
and no blue-haze of hills or towns,
just the immediacy of walls and amputated limbs
on narrowing pavements outside chicken shops.
There is no distance in Sparkbrook,
only other corners to turn into cul-de-sacs,
and here – in the suburb I’ve escaped to – a chill.

Weeks on, snow is still held by the woodland,
ground so saturated that each step I take draws
its own foot-shaped puddle up to the surface,

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image