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 Hal Coase 'Ochre Pitch' Gregory Woods 'On Queerness' Kirsty Gunn 'On Risk! Carl Phillips' Galina Rymbu 'What I Haven't Written' translated by Sasha Dugdale Gabriel Josipovici 'No More Stories' Valerie Duff-Strautmann 'Anne Carson's Wrong Norma'
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PN Review 276
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 273, Volume 50 Number 1, September - October 2023.

From The Coming Thing Martina Evans
1
JUSTIN said I’d been seen passing a joint on Patrick’s Bridge
when I thought I was pure invisible. Escaped. But sure
Knocklong was only twelve miles away. Johnny O’Hare
turned up at a Twenty-First party on Coburg Street –
two thirty-one-year-olds were holding it, ten years late. He said,
Hello Imelda! & I said, I don’t know you, & turned my back
in my wet-look yellow anorak under the navy sky.
Drowning out home, holding seánces with red-haired Donny &
Dora & Carl near Wilton shopping centre. When Science
became a stranger to me, boiling panic took root.
Cork city & Knocklong merged. When one was above ground,
the other creaked underfoot. Justin’s black tar eyes running
everywhere, ‘I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury, said cunning old Fury.

2
SOMEONE was singing about not knowing much about
a Science Book. And what about the French she took?
Ah she’s good at French, Agnes said when I walked in
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image