PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
News and Notes
PNR266 Now Available
The latest issue of PN Review is now available to read online. read more
Most Read... Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Tim Parksin conversation with Natalia Ginzburg
(PN Review 49)
M. Wynn ThomasThe Other Side of the Hedge
(PN Review 239)
Jamie OsbornIn conversation with Sasha Dugdale
(PN Review 240)
Drew MilneTom Raworth’s Writing ‘present past improved’: Tom Raworth’s Writing
(PN Review 236)
Next Issue Stav Poleg Running Between Languages Jeffrey Meyers on Mr W.H. (Auden) Miles Burrows The Critic as Cleaning Lady Timothy Ades translates Brecht, Karen Leeder translates Ulrike Almut Sandig
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
PN Review New Issue

This report is taken from PN Review 189, Volume 36 Number 1, September - October 2009.

From a Journal R.F. Langley
20 August 1978

The long grass is full of fallen apples. There is no wind at all, even in the tops of the orchard trees. But there are violent pockets of energy up there, which are sparrows, and those clubs of sticky berries are honeysuckle. The glow is lemon and vermilion in them, and waxy. Their leaves are smoother and softer and I can see their long pink stems. The sparrows tug at the berries, their heads and chins twisting. A nut-brown young blackbird is jabbing into a fallen apple. Soft, white beakfuls of it. There are two other, younger blackbirds, uncouth and speckled. Brown and white apples jerk in the grass. Now there are five young blackbirds and much pecked fruit rocks. Fresh white bits of it fly like spit. There is a song thrush. Stuff vanishes in snaps. One bird flies away with a shining red fragment. There is a brief stir of air and the thrush glitters in sudden sunlight as the shadows of the cypress come and go. The neighbour has had a fire in the garden. It has been alight since yesterday evening. A dead white fleck of ash stumbles down the mats of foliage, wobbling. She was sorry, but she needed to get rid of dry rot. Last night twelve spokes of mackerel cloud radiated from behind R. Parker, Boot and Shoe Store, at the end of Eastgate, each spoke milky at its edges and lavender within, against a pale blue evening sky ...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image