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 Beverley Bie Brahic, after Leopardi's 'Broom' Michael Freeman Benefytes and Consolacyons Miles Burrows At Madame Zaza’s and other poems Victoria Kenefick Hunger Strike Hilary Davies Haunted by Christ
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
Monthly Carcanet Books
PN Review Blog

This poem is taken from PN Review 21, Volume 8 Number 1, September - October 1981.

For Miriam Charles Tomlinson

I I climbed to your high village through the snow,
       Stepping and slipping over lost terrain:
Wind having stripped a dead field of its white
       Had piled the height beyond: I saw no way
But hung there wrapped in breath, my body beating:
       Edging the drift, trying it for depth,
Touch taught the body how to go
       Through straitest places. Nothing too steep
Or narrow now, once mind and muscle
       Learned to dance their balancings, combined
Against the misdirections of the snow.
       And soon the ground I gained delivered me
Before your smokeless house, and still
       I failed to read that sign. Through cutting air
Two hawks patrolled the reaches of the day,
       Black silhouettes against the sheen
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image