In the latest issue:

Loathed by Huysmans

Julian Barnes

Too early or too late?

David Runciman

Short Cuts: Five Victorian Marriages

Tom Crewe

Society as a Broadband Network

William Davies

Indefinite Lent

Thomas Jones

In 1348

James Meek

The Yorkists

John Guy

At the Movies: Pasolini’s ‘Teorema’

Michael Wood

Whitehall Spookery

Neal Ascherson

Poem: ‘The Bannisters’

Paul Muldoon

Clarice Lispector

Rivka Galchen

Marius Petipa

Simon Morrison

At the Foundling Museum: ‘Portraying Pregnancy’

Joanne O’Leary

Gordon v. O’Connor

Rupert Thomson

Revism

Joe Dunthorne

Poem: ‘The Reach of the Sea’

Maureen N. McLane

Diary: Where water used to be

Rosa Lyster

How to set up an ICU

Lana Spawls

Close
Close

The grasshopper was a burden to me.
It knew of something hurtful to me.
In a dream I squashed the grasshopper.

Why was the grasshopper such a burden?
Its singing hindered me from sleeping,
All flesh is grass was still its burden.

Unlike the owl, the bat, the loris,
The grasshopper is no power of darkness.
It sings at ease in the light of the sun.

Did I lie at ease in the light of the sun?
The grasshopper hindered me from sleeping.
If so, then how could I be dreaming?
The grasshopper is no more a burden.

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