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 179, Volume 34 Number 3, January - February 2008.

Four Poems Moya Cannon

Still Life

Much though we love best
those rare intersections of time and space
where we are nothing but love's playthings,
caught, like two deer alerted in a clearing;
nothing but a sweet anonymity of flesh;
nothing but life's blessèd rhythm
loving itself through us -
two human bodies tuned to the whirring stars -

all this is almost nothing
without the small, quotidian gifts
which bridge separateness,
the small, habitual caresses which hinder fears,
the grace of small services rendered -
two bowls of blueberries and yoghurt,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image