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 191, Volume 36 Number 3, January - February 2010.

Five Poems Jeffrey Wainwright

Starting Early

Starting early with my dog, boundlessly,

or on a solitary walk by a riverside,

or in a stew or a studio, or in a stew in a studio
a proper brown one,

you will find me.

But am I the same in your eyes as in mine,
or in that third eye, the barber’s captious glass?

My dome is as innocent, as artless, as a wig-stand;
the elastic that fastens my spectacles has crimped one ear;
I am spry still but stooped from the books I bear,
a few good bindings but glue-split paperbacks mostly,
bundled, strapped and wedged into packs, fardels,
so that philosophers laugh as I waddle by.
Also about me, pyramids, cubes and squares,
a wood-gauge and a rule, all these going towards
the makings of most knowledge,
perhaps, one day, even the evolutions
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image