In the latest issue:

Democracy? No thanks

Eric Foner

The Bournemouth Set

Andrew O’Hagan

Short Cuts: How to Block Spike

Rupert Beale

Poem: ‘Lark’

Anne Carson

Mussolini’s Unrealism

Edward Luttwak

Characteristically Spenderish

Seamus Perry

Waiting for Valéry

Michael Wood

Bilingualism

Michael Hofmann

The Case for a Supreme Court

Stephen Sedley

A Great Wall to Batter Down

Adom Getachew

At Las Pozas: Edward James’s Sculpture Garden

Mike Jay

He’s Humbert, I’m Dolores

Emily Witt

Archigram’s Ghost

Jonathan Meades

‘Love at Last Sight’

Chloë Daniel

Instapoetry

Clare Bucknell

Scotland’s Dreaming

Rory Scothorne

Diary: In Guy Vaes’s Footsteps

Iain Sinclair

Close
Close

I sometimes lie in the darkness
Glad there is nothing I can see
To blot the pictures in my memory:
Sunlight in a fallen tree
Where I hung on the wilting branches;
Woodlarks circling in the sky
Or folding like a bell into the heather;
Blue light hardening to die

Out of which there hurry faces,
Lips, smiles, a sudden frown,
A body white in the bracken,
Raindrops where the leaves lay brown,
Water, pavements, water,
A fence where the starlings preen –
I compel them through my memory,
Never asking what else might have been.

And then I go down to the children
And watch them sleeping in their room.
Will today be quite forgotten?
I summon it out of the gloom
And wish it into their memories
For a day I shall never see ...

Is it me I want them to remember?
What am I remembering but me?

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

letters@lrb.co.uk

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Read More

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.

Newsletter Preferences