This poem is taken from PN Review 74, Volume 16 Number 6, July - August 1990.
Three PoemsWalking Home
A room
In a Bishop's palace. Diocesan matters
Sedately filed. Stencils.
In winter, sometimes,
Sunset pouring through an oak - so old,
Arms are chained to head.
It fires indignant, glinting its bonds.
The typewriter answers,
Simmering red ...
Why not such fantasies? Machine and I
Have done our work, meticulous -
No less efficient
Because sunsets change us.
It is, that lonely tasks
Breed fancies. Years of walking home
Through the great garden have enriched,
...
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 287 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 287 issues containing over 11,500 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?
