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 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
PN Review 276
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 107, Volume 22 Number 3, January - February 1996.

Three Poems Stanley Moss

Letter to Noah
Greetings, I hope you will not be disappointed to learn I survived
the flood, riding the back of a giant turtle for a year,
riding the endless mountain ranges and oceans above gorges,
ice, and snow-covered peaks that had become part of the deep.
Sometimes I could see the sun and the moon.
I kept my senses counting the days that had no name.
I prayed to the godless moon. Even now I hear the thunder
after thunder of ocean against ocean, all manner of newborn things
crying for their mothers - the last living sound.
I saw islands of angry faces, an ocean of rodents
devouring each other, great serpents of children
knotted together in whirlpools. I mourned all things corrupt and
  unclean.
Despite my peril I saw the beauty of jungle birds
that in mid-afternoon filled the horizon like a sunset.
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image