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)
Tim Parksin conversation with Natalia Ginzburg
(PN Review 49)
Next Issue Alberto Manguel Selbstgefühl New poems by Fleur Adcock, Claudine Toutoungi and Tuesday Shannon James Campbell A Walk through the Times Literary Supplement
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
PN Review New Issue

This poem is taken from PN Review 29, Volume 9 Number 3, January - February 1983.

Eleven Uncollected Poems (selected by P. J. Kavanagh) Ivor Gurney
chosen by P. J. Kavanagh


It is winter, the soon dark annoys me-
Who cannot remember Severn her warm dark lights;
And am too tortured to remember old ploys the
Gloucesters used to please themselves in the straits
Of poverty and idleness of French villages.
Then before opening-time they would walk house-bordered
Or leafy ways-hurrying, keeping off the fierce cold.
Then when lights showed, the estaminet's time came,
They would hammer on the door; they would shout out good-
Rudenesses; enter, sit within, and as careful
As old ladies of knitting would drink beer or more honoured
Wine, trembling at the expense, which to them was fearful;
Bask in the warm, dream poetry of the gold flame.

Searching, please wait... animated waiting image