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)
Tim Parksin conversation with Natalia Ginzburg
(PN Review 49)
Next Issue Subha Mukherji Dying and Living with De la Mare Carl Phillips Fall Colors and other poems Alex Wylie The Bureaucratic Sublime: on the secret joys of contemporary poetry Marilyn Hacker Montpeyroux Sonnets David Herman Memories of Raymond Williams
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
PNR 250 Poetry Archive Banner
PN Review New Issue

This poem is taken from PN Review 197, Volume 37 Number 3, January - February 2011.

Four Poems (translated by Bill Coyle) Håkan Sandell
Alba, morning song…

Alba, that is to say, morning song,
goddamned early, same old world,
though each new day presents it differently.
Blinded by the light, headache brutal,
sweat dried in, awake in the dawn.
Where have I landed and who are you,
here in the pale grey wrinkled covers?
On steady legs, across the enormous
floor, a room as broad as a ballroom
by your lights, I realise, seeing you there,
a fine figure in my toad’s-eye view,
on small round legs, your fair hair
like cotton, or a lamb in early spring
the snow has covered in a thin layer;
four-ish, with a gaze as blue as the hero’s
in the Nibelungenlied or the Song of Roland,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image