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

Myopia in Rupert Brooke Country Michael Hofmann
Birds, feathers, a few leaves, flakes of soot -
things start to fall. The stubble has been burned,
and the fields are striped in black and gold.
Elsewhere, the hay is still drying on long racks:
bulky men prancing about on slender hooves,
unconvincing as pantomime cattle . . . A hedgehog
lies rolled over on its side like a broken castor.
Abandoned in one corner is a caravan that has
...


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