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 33, Volume 10 Number 1, September - October 1983.

Without Contraries Rodney Pybus

The gale brandishes my big glass
in its frame, its streaming face.
I watch December driven to its early dark.
Darker still in this room where sun
might gloss through tangy geraniums

the bookshelves' long faded opera.
But not today. Draft on draft ooze
their mazy scribble across the floor.
Cats rightly doze on puzzled artifice.
The desklamp bulb has a frigid stare.

This mouldwarp's petite civilisation
falls at a loss before the last charge
of the year. Or so it seems.
I hear the metal gate going tut-tut-tut.
Opening or closing, I can't tell.

Leaping to the phone, I twist an ankle
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image