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 225, Volume 42 Number 1, September - October 2015.

Tales from Shakespeare John Ashbery
It seemed like a huge part of our lives
revolved around the woodpile, all buzz
and splatter one minute, low wigwams the next.

He made a horse, like what was on the farm
at which end of the store they let
the young men practice. (The others dress funny.)
Kids used to hang around, queering the pitch for

the vanilla tower

following its pipsqueak editor out
into the brilliant day, of casings, undeliverable, unprogrammed
appliance scepters, more. High bleachers shut off
a section of downtown. It’s a part of France,

but I don’t drink at these fountains.

His sister writes back and
thick as the dust on these reports (that’s
my definition anyway, all enthusiastic,
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image