The White Review

Poetry

Horses and geese in a sodden field.Solitaries with luggage on a wet platform.Postage-stamp house on a bit of land,a copse, a fold, a quadrant of wood,lines

of beech, lines of poplar,miniature commentary magnifiedin the glass, winter streaking the window,the train bearing, not bearing the weightwithin. Let this not be thought(one thought to oneself), non-thoughts of passengers on the way forwardbackward through the hour. ... [Click to read more]

The Humming Lady

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The Humming Lady
James Byrne

The humming lady arrives in a smiling orange smock and orders from the waiter a plate of overripe oranges, peeling off the snowwebs into a red-blanketed napkin. She hums a centuries-old Romany tune, which I half- recognise as the fugue to my own death (and so it must be her own death). Through orange mist and beneath a brown-greying fringe, she appears to half- recognise both of our lives and turns (ou... [Click to read more]

Some rights reserved by Vik Nanda

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Redacted, Redacted
Les Kay

Here the censorship, which you’ve taught yourself, is self-inflicted (low sugar, low fat); it begins with the swinging shadow of a single (tastes great) incandescent bulb. Moss fans through your bones (luxuriant bubbles). Fungus blooms open in your eyes (the year’s best). Spiderwort shoots through skin (experts agree). Moths unfold from chipped cavities (your future now). Maybe it’s not tha... [Click to read more]

Some rights reserved by albertoabouganem

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Social Contract
Les Kay

Formally, I and the undersigned— What? Use, like Mama said, your imagination if you still have one where scripts still sway like spring- hipped hula girls on Ford dashboards, where cursive still wraps its tail around your right hand like a pet corn snake, where syntax still stutters, lurches into a sin, a sandwich, a pleasured refrain; if that much of you remains, you’ll see them, us, me (lonely as a b... [Click to read more]

frost

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Three Poems from Strawberry Aftertaste/...
Genowefa Jakubowska-Fijałkowska, Marek Kazmierski

Genowefa Jakubowska-Fijałkowska’s poems have been published in numerous journals and newspapers, in her native Polish as well as in English, German, Czech, Russian and Slovene translations. Her most recent bilingual collection, of me a worm and of the worm verses (2012), was published by OFF_PRESS in London. Having twice been awarded the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage scholarship, she still li... [Click to read more]

Some rights reserved by lrargerich

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Saint Anthony the Hermit Tortured by...
Stephen Devereux

Sassetta has him feeling no pain, comfortable even, Yet stiffly dignified at an odd angle like the statue Of a fallen tyrant, beaten in proxy by his delirious subjects. His halo falls with him yet retains its rectitude, Remains a perfect corona for that saintly demeanour. He knows his martyrdom’s assured, his place in heaven reserved. But the devils are bending and leaping, as much tau... [Click to read more]

Some rights reserved by notsogoodphotography

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Bacon’s Friends
Stephen Devereux

Always got caught out by their shadows: Stuck to their soles like monkeys on trapezes, Cellophane fortune tellers curling on palms, Squashed black jelly babies. Naïve beside his Cunning swirls: ugly blobs leaking like ink Out of the cages that held their likenesses. Glimpsed through cheeks or at the back Of yawning, unravelled mouths. Keep looking at the shadows, the shadows That try to l... [Click to read more]

REGULAR BLACK by Sam Riviere

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REGULAR BLACK
Sam Riviere

Who wouldn't rather be watching a film about werewolves instead of composing friends' funeral playlists all day I've been suspecting something like must the 1st thought always be "slipping out of her brassiere" or "slipping out of her brassiere" that nobody calls anyone a liar anymore and who misses that unambiguousness that the word "image" has for a long time been inadequate that back then nobody went in... [Click to read more]

Ad Tertiam by Saskia Hamilton

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Ad Tertiam
Saskia Hamilton

Rows of pines, planted years ago – so many,were you to count them on your fingers, youwould give up past a hundred span; and paindoesn’t yet know about it, while lording over all other feeling. Must explain these thingssome day. In the meantime, rowsof pines, the quincunx pattern lostin spirals and thickets of lesser branches increasing their reach inexorably. The manspoke of the bees: move the hive five milesa... [Click to read more]

Archive

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Beautiful Poetry
Camille Guthrie

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Comfort Station
Medbh McGuckian

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Cooper's Hawk
Elyse Fenton

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Crossing Over
Eleanor Rees

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Fig-tree
John Clegg

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FINALLY RICH
Sam Riviere

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First Blimp
Joshua Trotter

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Flatlands
Saskia Hamilton

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Fugitive
James Byrne

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Giant Impact Hypothesis
James Midgley

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Interview
Cutter Streeby

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Jules & moi
Heather Hartley

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Letter from a New City to...
Cutter Streeby

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Mainline Rail
Eleanor Rees

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Malcolm Starke Died Today
Kit Buchan

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Matisse: Tahiti (1930)
Campbell McGrath

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Monopoly (after Ashbery)
Sarah Howe

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Mount Avila
W.N. Herbert

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Mr Minotaur
Simon Pomery

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Mysteries of Music
Michael Horovitz

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One Night Without Inciden...
Eoghan Walls

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Picasso (1964)
Campbell McGrath

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Poem for the Sightless Ma...
Abigail Nelson

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Return After Earthquake
Jeffrey Angles

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Sleepwalking through the ...
Michael Earl Craig

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Sonic Peace
Minashita Kiriu

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Sunday
Rachael Allen

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The Cinematographer, a 42...
Michael Earl Craig

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The Disappearance
Dana Goodyear

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The Moon over Timna
Rikudah Potash

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The Pitch
Minashita Kiriu

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Two Poems
Connie Voisine

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Two Poems
James Brookes

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Two Poems by Gioconda Bel...
trans. by Charles Castaldi & G. Belli

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Two Prose Poems From 'The...
Alexander Nemser

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Tynemouth Lodge
W.N. Herbert

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