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This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.

Sentimental Education Jeffrey Wainwright


Word of this 'revolution' drifts to us.
I sit, smoke, pore over papers
For the experts' views - though you distract me.
One can conjure whole suburbs, postmen,
Plumbers, flushed inelegant shopgirls
Ardent to be tearing up cobble stones.

What is all that compared with an eel stew,
Chicken, hard bread, and wine sharp on the tongue?
We eat ravenously, honest jagged knives
In our hands, the light of candles
Surrendering to your eyes. Ah my sweet,
To lose you will be such delicious sorrow!

The Ruin'd Abbey

A thousand years ago, the monks hereabouts
Would recognize early promise. There were

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