In the latest issue:

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


James Lasdun

Rereading Bowen

Tessa Hadley

At the Corner House

Rosemary Hill

William Gibson

Thomas Jones

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

The Word from Wuhan

Wang Xiuying

Two SonnetsAnne Carson

Sonnet of Addressing Gertrude Stein

Here is a pronoun to

Drop’t Sonnet

When a language drops a distinction (as e.g. English
has modified the 2nd person singular so that I can no longer express the wish,
Tell me spirit! whither wander’st thou? or split a king in two
saying, If thou beest not immortal, look about you!)
there is a lowering of arms,
a thinning of air inside the whole system,
a sadness in the sparrows,
a slipping away of prefixes and wisdom,
’las for alas,
’less for unless,
’pale for impale,
’unsist for unresisting,
and whether is one syllable
and needle rhymes with kneel
(yet I confess not till I met you did I begin to feel

this change as a loss. There was something about the laundry chute down which we tumbled – this
          toboggan slide (waterslide, landslide),
              sheer descent,
                     amnesia drop,
                     vertical dive,
                             this fast rainpipe,
                                 this precipitance,
                                    this parachute,
                             this headlong fall,
                             downspout of voodoo pine –
                             that cried out to be addressed

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