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)
Christopher MiddletonNotes on a Viking Prow
(PN Review 10)
Next Issue Gwyneth Lewis ‘Spiderings’ Ian Thomson ‘Fires were started: Tallinn, 1944’ Adrian May ‘Traditionalism and Tradition’ Jenny Bornholdt 'Poems' Horatio Morpurgo ‘What is a Book?’
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 28, Volume 9 Number 2, November - December 1982.

In the West Country C.H. Sisson

THE rooks rise, the pee-wits rise
Mud on the ground, cloud in the skies
Enough space for all those wings
Caw said it, the pee-wits signaled
Pouring over the empty skies.

I am alone within the circle
Of low hills, I know its ways
Somerton Moor, slight hills, great girdle
Green floor and most open days
None walks here without intention
Even I, when here, have mine
But the floors of all the oceans
Have no depths more submarine
Here we are under the heavens
As under waters, birds are fish
The sky changes, a shadow passes
As it were a passing ship.
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image