Puddocks by John Greening

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for SECH   Clare would have called these five red kites circling above dead or stag’s-headed oaks like iambs broken from a line of English pastoral by a name that signifies a deed...

Poetry | The Goldfinches of Rome by Peter Anderson

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Carduelis carduelis (Fringilla carduelis. Linn. 1758) Dawn on the Palatine: planets bow out, stars pick their way through rat-traps and incident tape. The morning after the party...

Acrostic by Sudeep Sen

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(R.I.P. Derek Walcott: January 23, 1930 – March 17, 2017) Deep seas of yesteryears wash new froth on your home shores. Egrets, sea gulls, circle the...

Four Watercolours by Sudeep Sen

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The London Magazine has been celebrating the life of our former editor, Alan Ross. An important figure in the literary world, Alan was known...

Review | Rough Trade Books | Series 3

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The recently-launched Rough Trade Books imprint has been releasing pamphlets at a prolific rate since the summer of last year, bringing us highly collectable...

Playing Safe | Hugo Williams

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I liked not liking you much. I liked playing safe. Not being bowled over by you was part of the thrill. At the King’s Palace Hotel you couldn’t...

Home from Greece by Robert Selby

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Above whitewashed, tabby-haunted Kamari, I wearied of the incessant inversions in Pope’s Homer, and left my self-improvement’s cooling terrace to the night, now drawing in here too, across...

Giggles by Evdokia Charalampous

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With her eyes closed she has been staring at the lamps on the ceiling for days. By now they must look like Sufi dervishes whirling in white to...

Poetry | Coot by Iain Twiddy

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Iain Twiddy Coot It didn’t need to be a big ripple nudging its reed-nest for the overstep to plop into the up-plump of the breast, and the coot to...

Two Hundred Twenty a Kilo by Nabarun Bhattacharya, translated by Manash...

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(Homage to Karl Marx) Nabarun Bhattacharya (23 June 1948 – 31 July 2014) On the floor of a slaughterhouse A butcher’s leg slips in the blood Crows go raucous...

The Veil by Manash Bhattacharjee

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She walks past the wave Of curious glances An apparition eluding Light and desire Everything she hides from Trembles in her body She remembers the lures In every street But no street...

October by Lydia Towsey

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October Pizza bruschetta gold dress Rioja Autumn is here and Winter forgotten Walking through town arm in arm with a lover Moon in the sky and leaves good...

Spotlight V: Journals Edition | LE GUN / Hotel

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The London Magazine has long been a champion of emerging writers and independent publishers, stretching back to the 1950s and 60s, when young writers...
Replete by Maggie Butt

Replete by Maggie Butt

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Replete Enough of beauty - I have devoured small boats curtseying at anchor, green palace-dotted hills swarming the spice-scented shore of Asia Minor. I couldn’t chew another mouthful of waves,...

Caries by Fiona Sampson

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Little hole little well of dark staining the lacquer of my tooth little confessor coming close and coming close why are you pursuing me interrogator of the nerve in its...

Poetry | Under the Loquat by Peter Anderson

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He had that majority under the loquat, rain falling like a god in gold, the breakthrough sun, and the spin on things, tar growing a fur. Loitered...

Difficult Cup by Isabel Galleymore

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after Wu Hao’s Duke Cups The china cup is frilled at the rim like tired lace and all over it ceramic tentacles extend to whisper if you drink...

Five Years Ago by Manash Bhattacharjee

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                        To Fady Joudah I was waiting at the platform For a train to Calcutta In...

Towpath by Neil Burns

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I The Lagan - a muddy silt river - Barrel of roll-tide, ribs of clean branches Poke up water jutting. On the towpath I glean a warm wet...

Snowbound by Michael O’Neill

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Snowbound Carriages lit and still between the drifts ... With each flake it took on a new form, the city they seemed exiled from --- almost a sad,...

The Lighthouse by Michael Shann

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The Lighthouse Markhouse Road So far from the wine-dark sea, a displaced monument to faith and absurdity at the turn of a neat, Victorian street. Still, the treacherous rocks...

For Calcutta by Manash Bhattacharjee

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As I leave for Calcutta I think the city Always that other city Its river Ganga Always my other river Howrah Bridge What a colonial cradle A Raj suspended Kipling's imperial joy Hoogly...

Competence by Anna Kahn

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There is nothing in this room for those who have not learned to sing without thinking, who don’t know where the music fits in their bodies, how to...

Interview | Robert Lundquist: Never say sorry or common words again

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My Father was a boxer. He taught me how to box when I was nine. This commonality, and the need to impress him, informed a great deal. When Charles Bukowski at an event asked me to ‘take it outside’ over a girl, I said okay. I was 21 and shy. Everyone at the party kept telling him [...]

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