In the latest issue:

An Ordinary Woman

Alan Bennett

Anglo-America Loses its Grip

Pankaj Mishra

Short Cuts: John Bolton’s Unwitting Usefulness

Mattathias Schwartz

Smells of Hell

Keith Thomas

Mrs Oliphant

Tom Crewe

Tippett’s Knack

Philip Clark

At Tate Modern: Steve McQueen

Colin Grant

Catherine Lacey

Nicole Flattery

Churchill’s Cook

Rosemary Hill

The ‘Batrachomyomachia’

Ange Mlinko

On Dorothea Lange

Joanna Biggs

Paid to Race

Jon Day

Poem: ‘Traveller’s Tales: Chapter 90’

August Kleinzahler

The Soho Alphabet

Andrew O’Hagan

Old Tunes

Stephen Sedley

Victor Serge’s Defective Bolshevism

Tariq Ali

The Murdrous Machiavel

Erin Maglaque

Diary: Insane after coronavirus?

Patricia Lockwood

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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