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 Jason Allen-Paisant, Reclaiming Time: On Blackness and Landscape Tara Bergin, Five Poems Miles Burrows, Icelandic Journal Jonathan Hirchfeld, Against Oblivion Colm Toibin, From Vinegar Hill
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review Blog

This poem is taken from PN Review 135, Volume 27 Number 1, September - October 2000.

Six Poems Vona Groarke


Elm

He says he hardly notices, that I don't look all that different
and now that the redness is gone and the stitches are out,
you'd think everything was the way it always was. I'm glad
to hear it, but I know it's crap. His tongue says it one way

but his hands have it another. He hasn't touched me on that
side since the op. Oh, he'll work away at the other right enough,
but he turns his head (who'd blame him) towards the wall. I do
the rest myself, running my finger, for company, round the stump.


Ebony

Madrigal-smooth, with lines that hold their distances
like voices from another room. The darker strains
are breath that is held against itself for just too long,
while the lighter are given to lustre and to sway.

In this, I am holding out for a note to be sounded from
unfathomable ends, when you have something simple to bestow.
Your voice will not give. Let it use my name against your own
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image