PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
Mark FordLetters And So It Goes
Letters from Young Mr Grace
(aka John Ashbery)

(PN Review 239)
Henry Kingon Toby Martinez de las Rivas
(PN Review 244)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
M. Wynn ThomasThe Other Side of the Hedge
(PN Review 239)
Next Issue Fire and Tears: a meditation, VAHNI CAPILDEO Grodzinksi’s Kosher Bakery and other poems, MICHAEL BRETT Vienna, MARIUS KOCIEJOWSKI In conversation with John Ash, JEFFREY KAHRS Play it all the way through, first – but slowly, KIRTSY GUNN
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review Blog

This poem is taken from PN Review 41, Volume 11 Number 3, January - February 1985.

Poems Alison Brackenbury


When I was here last, foxgloves foamed the banks,
moon–daisies were dipping. I repeat this:
I cannot believe it. All I can see
is brambles' dark smouldering, quelled by the rain.

Where is the skewbald pony who wandered
field ridges in sunlight? The cattle seek high ground,
small ponds sweep in flood. It was a wild night -
Even the angler tramps back over fields,
his stream's swell too high to be borne.

Why did I wake
at three in the morning
wholly convinced it was dawn?


Star time is different. The Earth turns faster
By the chancy stars, than by the Sun.
Each day, they rise four minutes earlier.

I do not understand this; but I know

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image