PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Drew MilneTom Raworth’s Writing
‘present past improved’: Tom Raworth’s Writing

(PN Review 236)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Alejandro Fernandez-OsorioPomace (trans. James Womack)
(PN Review 236)
Kei MillerIn the Shadow of Derek Walcott

(PN Review 235)
Kate BinghamPuddle
(PN Review 236)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
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Next Issue Michelle Holmes on ‘Whitman, Alabama’ Les Murray Eight Poems Gabriel Josipovici Who Dares Wins: Reflections on Translation Maureen N. McLane Four Poems James Womack Europe (after the German of Marie Luise Kaschnitz)
Welcome to PN Review, one of the outstanding literary magazines of our time.

'...probably the most informative and entertaining poetry journal in the English-speaking world.'
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PN Review 237
Featured Article
A Cuban View of Hemingway Mario Menocal MARIO MENOCAL’S GRANDFATHER had been a general in the Cuban war of independence against Spain and president of the country from 1913 to 1921. Mario’s wealthy, cultivated and aristocratic father, Mayito, was educated at Lawrenceville School and Cornell University, and became Hemingway’s sporting companion and best Cuban friend. While fishing in the Caribbean on Mayito’s large yacht, Delicias, they would discuss pigeon shooting, jai alai, current books, local gossip, Cuban affairs and world politics while drinking gin with champagne chasers. Mayito went on Hemingway’s wartime sub-hunting expeditions, which he called a ‘stunt’, and accompanied him on his second African safari in 1953. Mayito’s son Mario – born in 1923, twenty-four years younger than Hemingway and the same age as his oldest son, Jack – was also educated in America. When Fidel Castro’s revolution in 1960 drove his family into exile, they lost their valuable sugar business, house and possessions. After leaving Cuba, Mario became an executive with PepsiCo and other companies, and a Spanish translator in Mexico City and Miami.

An eager and generous correspondent, Mario had ample opportunity to closely observe Hemingway and his elite circle of Cuban friends from 1940 to 1960. His letter of 18 April 1983 – elegantly composed, intelligent and perceptive – is the best one ever written about Hemingway. He is especially acute about Hemingway’s puritan character, relations with his son Gregory, African safari, sub-hunting in the Second World War and disastrous love for Adriana Ivancich as well as Martha Gellhorn’s provocative flirtations and Mary Welsh’s alcoholism. We disagreed about some important points, and I later found ... read more
Five Poems
Sumita Chakraborty Bear, II

A bear brings forth her young informous and unshapen.
I now wear the pelt of the conjured beast around my groin.
I think of new words for solace, one of which is knifed.
We take no form until licked into shape by the tongues of those who love us.

And death demands a labor

When it rains in Boston, from each street rises
the smell of sea. So do the faces of the dead.
For my father, I will someday write:
On this day endeth this man, who did all he could
to craft the most intricate fears, this man
... read more
On Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
Vahni Capildeo JUDGING THE LEDBURY FORTE PRIZE, which awards £5,000 to the author of a second collection of poetry, inspired me to search a property website. I selected ‘London’, ‘one bedroom apartment’ (assuming a second-collection poet might need to fit in another person as well as themselves, a desk and some books). The listings hit £500 per month – for shared flats or houses of multiple occupation. What looks like a great lump of cash is not even a year’s rent.

Prizes are not income. They cannot be relied upon. What can be relied upon is the opprobrium which judging attracts. Here are some answers. You can write the questions.

(a) Agitate for writing to be recognised as labour. If you do lots of stuff for free for your mates because art is lovely and the system is fucked – this, too, is an exercise of ... read more
Selected from the Archive...
A Lyric Voice at Bay Eavan Boland
Critics work in a text. Biographers work in the foreground and the background. And the critic's work is made much harder when the background has been overwritten by events, interpretations and frank and forgetful prejudice. At that point the critic has to do some double-jobbing in order to rescue the text from the biographical background and the reader's resistance.

Albert Gelpi has set himself a hard task.1 Cecil Day Lewis, at least at first glance, is a decidedly awkward subject. Before reading this book I would have said Day Lewis was a refugee from the 1930s: and Anglo-Irish Georgian, who admired Tom Moore and consorted with Auden. A gentlemanly Communist. A hopelessly lyric inhabitant of a hard-driving decade. A poet who didn't so much lose his identity as have it handed to him in fragments: national, poetic, ... read more
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