In the latest issue:

Botanic Macaroni

Steven Shapin

What made the Vikings tick?

Tom Shippey

In the Lab

Rupert Beale

Will there be a Brexit deal?

Anand Menon

Short Cuts: Under New Management

Rory Scothorne


Bridget Alsdorf

Sarah Moss

Blake Morrison

Poem: ‘Country Music’

Ange Mlinko

On the Trail of Garibaldi

Tim Parks

Art Lessons

Peter Campbell

You’ll like it when you get there

Tom Crewe

Early Kermode

Stefan Collini

‘The Vanishing Half’

Joanna Biggs

At the Movies: ‘The Truth’

Michael Wood

The Suitcase: Part Two

Frances Stonor Saunders

Poem: ‘Siri U’

Jorie Graham

Diary: Getting into Esports

John Lanchester

Two PoemsSarah Maguire

For Kathleen Jamie

clouds of white lace
in the abandoned graveyard,

the delicate,
filigree umbels

the thumbprints of lichen
embroidering the graves.
A deep current of blue

surges below –
moments of sky

brief weather
fixed on wet stems,

conjuring a climate
gone from this chill April dusk,
as rain comes, and light fades.

Field Capacity

The plump loam easy with wetness –
late March, the unwrung sponge of soil
balanced by a long winter’s rain,
then opened by thaw.

I take the springy lawn in my stride,
an ash sapling tucked under each arm.
A circle described in the turf, the grassy lid
lifted, then dig –

and the packed earth comes nicely,
fresh on the spade. Fed, then watered in darkness,
the rootball unwinds, and the young tree
shivers in the wet spring air.

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