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The Word from Wuhan

Wang Xiuying

In Quarantine

Erin Maglaque

Après Brexit

Ferdinand Mount

Short Cuts: Springtime for Donald

David Bromwich

Meetings with their Gods

Claire Hall

‘Generation Left’

William Davies

At the North Miami Museum: Alice Paalen Rahon

Mary Ann Caws

Buchan’s Banter

Christopher Tayler

‘American Dirt’

Christian Lorentzen

Fiction and the Age of Lies

Colin Burrow

In Lahore

Tariq Ali

GOD HATES YOUR FEELINGS

James Lasdun

Rereading Bowen

Tessa Hadley

At the Corner House

Rosemary Hill

William Gibson

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Poem: ‘Murph & Me’

August Kleinzahler

The Stud File

Kevin Brazil

John Boorman’s Quiet Ending

David Thomson

In Shanghai: The West Bund Museum

John-Paul Stonard

Diary: The Deborah Orr I Knew

Jenny Turner

Close
Close

I was waiting outside my local 24hr
Photoprint Services,
all unsuspecting of the fate
shuffling towards me
on the mini-lab auto-printer.
I was flicking through the usual haul
of barely recognisable
‘Memories in Colour’,

when I found myself face to face
with something altogether
nearer the truth
and a wave of inexpressible
sadness, or gladness, swept over me.
I realised too late
I was drifting helplessly on the sea
of post-war British photograph poetry.

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