PN Review Print and Online Poetry Magazine
Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
Mark FordLetters And So It Goes
Letters from Young Mr Grace
(aka John Ashbery)

(PN Review 239)
Henry Kingon Toby Martinez de las Rivas
(PN Review 244)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
M. Wynn ThomasThe Other Side of the Hedge
(PN Review 239)
Next Issue Fire and Tears: a meditation, VAHNI CAPILDEO Grodzinksi’s Kosher Bakery and other poems, MICHAEL BRETT Vienna, MARIUS KOCIEJOWSKI In conversation with John Ash, JEFFREY KAHRS Play it all the way through, first – but slowly, KIRTSY GUNN
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Welcome to PN Review, 'probably the most informative and entertaining poetry journal in the English-speaking world' (John Ashbery)

'If one of the defining characteristics of most magazines is that, like most bands, they have a short shelf life, then PN Review is immediately uncharacteristic. It's been going so long that many of us have all but forgotten what the P and the N stand for. I think of them as opening and closing the word Provocation. And that's why I so love the magazine.' - Paul Muldoon

Keep up with the many worlds of poetry in this independent and always stimulating journal. For over four decades PN Review has been a place to discover new poems in English and in translation as well as interviews, news, essays, reviews and reports from around the world. Subscribers can access the complete, uniquely rich digital archive. Poet-subscribers can submit their work by e-mail.

'The most engaged, challenging and serious-minded of all the UK’s poetry magazines.' - Simon Armitage

A PN Review subscription makes an excellent gift, with six issues a year and full access to the archive. Reduced rates are available for students.

To purchase the latest issue of PN Review please follow this link.

The latest copy of PN Review Issue 257 is now available to view on this website.
PN Review 257
Featured Article
Against Oblivion Jonathan E. Hirschfeld Some individuals grow in significance as they recede in time. The veneration that is evident in virtually every account of Czesław Miłosz testifies to this phenomenon, so much so that writing about his portrait has been daunting.

The idea to make the portrait was born when I attended a reading at the University of California in Los Angeles in 1982. The room was packed and worshipful. Virtually all of his writing was in Polish, which most in the audience, including myself, would never know except in translation. First, he read in his native tongue, then in English. I recall sensing the paradox of a soft melodious voice that could create a feeling of great closeness while preserving a palpable distance. I knew some of his poetry and a number of his essays and recognised the unmistakable rhythm of his language. Robert Hass, his principle collaborator and translator, has described his ‘fierce, hawkish, standoffish formality’. Even allowing for the animated eyes and mischievous smile, he seemed the incarnation of gravity and dignity. His large, wide face, with its strong planes, forceful jaw, and unforgettable brows, recalled a medieval wood carved saint.

No doubt it was the legend that shaped my initial impressions. His book, The Captive Mind, published in the early 1950s in Paris after his defection from Stalinist Poland, revealed the psychology and destiny of intellectuals complicit with the regime. Bells in Winter was my first encounter with his poetry, in which I learned of his concern for philosophical and spiritual matters that went far beyond politics. Yet it was his destiny to wrestle with his beliefs, ... read more
Icelandic Journal
Miles Burrows From Isafjord we came to Thingeyri,
The water grey as a knife,
Skuli so drunk he can’t walk. But I help him.
The landlady shows me the guest book,
The names of the English nineteen-year-olds.
I see the juvenile handwriting
‘God help us all! We need it!’ The sketch of the boat.
She heard their voices on the radio
As the ship was going down. It still upset her. Maybe
I would take this page and give it to their parents
... read more
Five Poems
Tara Bergin The Awakening


he remembered the dreams he had had
as he lay there in fever and delirium
in the last days of Lent and Eastertide
during the latter days of Lent and Easter week
during the end of Lent and Holy Week
when he dreamt of a sickness on the streets of Hotan
when he dreamt of a sickness on the streets of Moscow
when he dreamt of a sickness on the streets of Lahore
... read more
Also in the magazine... Colm TóibínFrom Vinegar Hill Jason Allen-PaisantOn Blackness and Landscape Reclaiming Time Nina BoginFour Poems John Robert LeePilgrim Suite Ali LewisThree Poems John McAuliffeOn Seamus Heaney
Selected from the Archive...
in conversation with Natalia Ginzburg Tim Parks After a hopeless night in a couchette the train was two hours late arriving. I had to rush across a Rome I don't know to get to my appointment on time. My tape recorder had already decided not to work and I was relieved. My motive, anyway, in arranging this interview had been more to have an excuse to meet a writer whose work I admire than to achieve a journalistic scoop, and tape recorders are embarrassing. Thus the interview was noted down immediately afterwards between showers of spring rain on the steps of Piazza di Spagna.

Ginzburg was not disappointing. Small, white-haired, bright-eyed and modestly dressed, she met me in her office at the publishers Einaudi. Forthright in general and self-effacing as far as her own work was concerned, she was quick to say she didn't know as ... read more
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