I take my material on a course.It's rubbish. The teacher, though, is kind, goescarefully. (Raw beginner: better, perhaps,to handle beginner's themes.) Yes, I cansee, even then half-know, how grandiose,inept — (he doesn't say this; respectful,positive, he talks about craft. His kindnesshad, still has, a long reverberation).I walk out from the tutorial. Thereare rooms with people reading, conversations.Mountainside, glimpsed through a window. I feelancient, the oldest one here. Like someonewho went through a lifetime stupidly askewand starts again now. This is a knife, a fork.
Through all its twists and turns, responding to social, technological and cultural change, PN Review has stayed the course. While writers of moment, poets and critics, essayists and memoirists, and of course readers, keep finding their way to the glass house, and people keep throwing stones, it will have a place.
“It has […] attempted to take poetry out of the backwaters of intellectual life and to find in it again the crucial index of cultural health. In so doing it has often succeeded in broadening the horizons of our view of twentieth-century poetry and in encouraging poets to be ambitious about their concerns.”
—Cairns Craig, Times Literary Supplement
“…probably the most informative and entertaining poetry journal in the English-speaking world.”
“…the premier British poetry journal. Its coverage is broad and generous: from John Ashbery to new young English poets, from essays on Continental poetics and fiction to reviews of neglected poets both living and dead. At a time when poetry is largely neglected, [it] continues to make an eloquent case for its centrality to our culture.”