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)
Jamie OsbornIn conversation with Sasha Dugdale
(PN Review 240)
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
OUP PNR 246 Banner
PNR CAPILDEO PROMO MARCH 2019
Next Issue Alex Wong embarks on Ausonius's Moselle Christine Blackwell recalls Jonas Mekas Lives of Graves, Trilling and Curnow visited New poems by Lisa Kelly and Jodie Hollander Andy Croft on the 'poetry industry'

This poem is taken from PN Review 116, Volume 23 Number 6, July - August 1997.

Her Vision Cliff Ashcroft

'Before being informed by her elders of the Virgin's identity she referred to her vision as "that thing''.'


Each street in the village is criss-crossed by twists of coloured
  crepe.
My footsteps raise hard puffs of yellow dust as I walk
down to the churchyard. It is a festival day.
The image will be taken from its shallow station
to my house on the further hill.

The church is an empty room divided by a curtain
and one step down. To either side of her
are the sombre icons - St Michael and St George.
At her feet, a set of cleaning utensils.
All the time I remember she was covering
and uncovering something she held in her hand,
something poor and mundane and now never mentioned.

The sun casts a eat's cradle on the white stone wall.
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image