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)
Kei Millerthe Fat Black Woman
In Praise of the Fat Black Woman & Volume

(PN Review 241)
Next Issue Vahni Capildeo The Boisterous Weeping of Margery Kempe Paul Muldoon The Fly Sinead Morrissey Put Off That Mask Jane Yeh Three Poems Sarah Rothenberg Poetry and Music: Exile and Return
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PN Review Blog
Monthly Carcanet Books

This poem is taken from PN Review 14, Volume 6 Number 6, July - August 1980.

Anglo-Irish Andrew Waterman

for Reggie Smith

Eleven years back. After the boat sank
England astern, a toy train teetering
over empty country spilt all over
with incandescent gorse; lone white stone farms
tamped down green billows. Their Prospectus had
a map: the British Isles projected on
some principle opposed to those Mercator
jobs in old school atlases, showing all
the rest wrapped round the Province in the centre
(well, I'd learn that that's the way they think here),
and short thick lines denoting ready access
to London, Leeds, etcetera. That train
tilting over flickering yellow, meadows
and streams, seemed over my whole world's edge then.

In months one got stuck into what they're stuck in.
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image