Join us to celebrate Elizbeth Jennings’ centenary with a special online event. Find more information here.
(for a friend dead two years)
I have not stood at this grave nor have I
Been where men come at last to silence when
Death sends them to instinctive ceremony,
Whether in torturing sun or fitting rain,
Whether they stare or cry.
What do I say who never put a wreath
Down for a father or this friend? Someone
Will make the speech for me. O this dear death,
Two years of missing all have been undone,
Yet I am growing with
Spontaneous strengths, blessings I did not claim -
Laughter, a child, knowledge of justice and
Faith like a cross which oddly bears my name
Falls round my neck. In early hours I stand
Reflecting how I came
To this. What takes me through the corridors
Of grief? Was it the touch of love, that leading thread
Which drew me to glad grief from wrong remorse,
Wiped off the dust and let me see the dead
With new care now, new laws?
To read more of Elizabeth Jennings’ poems, consider subscribing to PN Review. Like all independent literary magazines, PN Review relies on paid subscribers to survive.
Subscribers have access to our entire fifty year archive, plus six new issues per year, in print and digital form. In addition, subscribers are able to submit to PN Review, and have the opportunity for their own work to be published.
Subscribe to PN Review magazine
This excerpt by Elizabeth Jennings is taken from Poetry Nation 2, January 1974.
More of Elizabeth’s poems alongside other poetry, features, reviews and reports from across the back catalogue are also available in the archive to paying subscribers.
If you are interested in the work that we publish on this Substack, subscribe to the Carcanet newsletter, where we share articles by our authors, translators and editors about upcoming books.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.