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Rosanna Mclaughlin
Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Articles Available Online


The Pious and the Pommery

Essay

Issue No. 18

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

Issue No. 18

I.   Where is the champagne? On second thoughts this is not entirely the right question. The champagne is in the ice trough, on...

Essay

April 2019

Ariana and the Lesbian Narcissus

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Essay

April 2019

‘Avoid me not!’ ‘Avoid me not!’                                   Narcissus   Let me describe a GIF I’ve been watching. A lot....

Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind Dowson spits into a china cup, his pocket-watch has broken; recalling a tryst with a pretty shopgirl he writes from his Catford cot in Tarling’s Superior No2 blue-black ink Our tongues entwined But did not knot Tanned by the summer wind Depressed by the autumn wind Frozen by the winter wind Driven by the vernal wind John Gawsworth tried to set the record straight contra Arthur Symons & Frank Harris’ misrepresentations, quash that sordid legend of Dowson the soak You were just a hard-pressed bloke, tubercular Pierrot, a fin-de-siècle card, Old Cheshire Cheese outsider with bad teeth and shiny kneed Baudelairean trousers! Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind In the iconic Oxford photo you look dapper, a crème-de-menthe poet in the making, verses soon to prove unprofitable: bunches of cut flowers spoilt by English weather, each word a stain, each thought a cliché: ‘sad waters of separation Bear us on to the ultimate night’ [1] Tanned by the summer wind Depressed by the autumn wind Frozen by the winter wind Driven by the vernal wind; sleepwalking towards the twentieth century, in Romanticism’s last light quote/unquote an empty shell, quote/ unquote a private hell in the arms of gin or absinthe, puffing a Vevey cigar Windblown: gone with the summer wind Windblown: gone with the autumn wind Windblown: gone with the winter wind Windblown: gone with the vernal wind Stuck in a cabbie’s shelter on Charing X Road a gaslit rue of papers, books and Cockney strollers, warped Elysian images throng your poor head, lust the shade of Colman’s mustard advertised on trams clopping

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Contributor

July 2016

Rosanna Mclaughlin is an editor at The White Review.

Ten Years at Garage Moscow

Art Review

November 2018

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art Review

November 2018

When I arrive in Moscow, I am picked up from the airport by Roman, a patriotic taxi driver sent to collect me courtesy of...
Becoming Alice Neel

Art

August 2017

Rosanna Mclaughlin

Art

August 2017

From the first time I saw Alice Neel’s portraits, I wanted to see the world as she did. Neel was the Matisse of the...

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fiction

January 2015

Adventures in Immediate...

Max Blecher

TR. Michael Henry Heim

fiction

January 2015

I can picture myself as a small child wearing a nightshirt that comes down to my heels. I am...

feature

June 2015

Uneasy Lies the Head

William Watkin

feature

June 2015

Last October I was standing in my kitchen, waiting for espresso to trickle from the spout of our imposing...

poetry

October 2014

Roman Nights

Martin Glaz Serup

TR. Christopher Sand-Iversen

poetry

October 2014

4.    It’s New Year’s Eve, I’m standing newly divorced on a roof in a town, we toast the...

 

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