This poem is taken from PN Review 265, Volume 48 Number 5, May - June 2022.
Three Poems
The Lay of the Host
I spent the plague years in Kiev,
inexplicably smitten with Prince Igor,
no sleep, no rest, you must have heard,
slava, he sang,
darkly, brightly bari,
glory to the people,
furs and wax
amber and honey.
Tomorrow the full moon will rise
on the verge of war
infusing the snow
with the stench of
frozen vainglory
petrol and gore
and thereafter, spring,
the despot’s swansong
...
I spent the plague years in Kiev,
inexplicably smitten with Prince Igor,
no sleep, no rest, you must have heard,
slava, he sang,
darkly, brightly bari,
glory to the people,
furs and wax
amber and honey.
Tomorrow the full moon will rise
on the verge of war
infusing the snow
with the stench of
frozen vainglory
petrol and gore
and thereafter, spring,
the despot’s swansong
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 282 issues containing over 11,400 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 282 issues containing over 11,400 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
