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 Hal Coase 'Ochre Pitch' Gregory Woods 'On Queerness' Kirsty Gunn 'On Risk! Carl Phillips' Galina Rymbu 'What I Haven't Written' translated by Sasha Dugdale Gabriel Josipovici 'No More Stories' Valerie Duff-Strautmann 'Anne Carson's Wrong Norma'
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PN Review 275
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 94, Volume 20 Number 2, November - December 1993.

Sir Bedivere's Horse Jean Earle

In Morte d' Arthur, the knights turned their horses
loose, to graze at will.

David Jones, dreaming 'Vexilla Regis',
Painted the souls of trees
On lumpish hills, such as spiral
My birthplace. Beyond the foremost,
Tallest and roughest Tree
Run the wild horses.
 
Dreamer myself,
I know one is Sir Bedivere's horse.
I was once Sir Bedivere's squire.


How we sagged, after we lost Arthur!
Wandering purposeless,
Countryside stiff with a winter
Like glass fur. So scarce the forage …
Sir, in his blackest hour,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image