Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
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 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
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 149, Volume 29 Number 3, January - February 2003.

On Listening to Glenn Gould play Bach's Goldberg Variations Robert Minhinnick

for my father

1

    Here it comes
    on its black sail
and surely nothing will be the same.
    Out of the silence
    in from the horizon
    and nothing will be the same.


2

    What can it be?
The dance of the viruses of course
under the theatre's glass.
Here's a waltz, a roundel, as they reproduce.
    Meanwhile, up in the paradiso
the scientists have started their applause.


3

Listen to the notes
    listen to the notes
as perfect as the pomegranates
and the plumage of the bee-eater
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image