Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
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)
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
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 8, Volume 5 Number 4, July - September 1979.

Later Robert Conquest

We asked him, did he really want her back.
This seemed to take him very much aback:
He spoke of her belled hair
Tawny against the hayfield,
Behind her voice the meadowlarks;
How by dolmen and fir
-Druid white, dryad green-
She assembled the phenomena
And became their rune.

The incurvations of her breasts, her back!
That sweet beast, each contributing a back,
Played on the silken sward
Through those summer nights
Never quite sleeping
As hounds belled, hinds leapt
Through life-turfed, legend-treed
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image