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This poem is taken from PN Review 106, Volume 22 Number 2, November - December 1995.

The Greatest Poem in the World Frank Kuppner


A casual glimpse through a curtain. Rain at night.
Doing what must be done for no particular reason.
I am not quite the person who should be watching it.

*

The woman who was walking her dog on that football field
the last time I took the Edinburgh train
is no longer there. I hope nothing bad has happened to her.

*

Through the door I can see another door.
A voice reaches me haphazardly through a pair of doors.
Talking to the cat, I suppose. What else could it be?


The train south takes me slowly out of the city,
past various districts that I have never seen before,
on an unexpectedly drawn-out, circuitous start
towards (I trust) an eventual, distant and much-needed cheque.
Saturday afternoon. The carriage is almost empty
Some attractive busy streets; a cemetery;
...


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