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 276
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 117, Volume 24 Number 1, September - October 1997.

Sonnets from the Portuguese Martin Earl

1. Arches

If we could only imagine the public space
As something truly public, and not this region
Of celebrated interests, of braided voussoirs
And crowded lintels, dozing in retraced
Postures, and eyeworn robes - empyrean
Fallout, boyperson lost, his sheep misplaced.

The Romans invented new volumes
Not to enclose, but to mimic the sky,
Vast baths designed almost by nature.
The age we call Archaic: invented rooms
For vomiting, talking, waiting to die -
Period of arches, lofting entablatures.

Coming on them now, as ruins (deepest
word our culture has), we are reminded
Not of something distant, or lost in time,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image