‘I'd already begun to suspect that sex brought misery or death, and now I knew.’
Wheer wor’ ta bahn w’en Ah saw thee,
On Ilkla Moor baht ’at?
Wheer wor’ ta bahn w’en Ah saw thee?
Wheer wor’ ta bahn w’en Ah saw thee?
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‘I alone know a running stream
that is recovery partly and dim sweat
of a day-fever’
A poem by Rowan Evans.
‘Humour is a thread we hang onto. It punctures through the fog of guilt.’
Momtaza Mehri in conversation with Warsan Shire.
‘Something shifted in me that night. A small voice in my head said, maybe you can make a way for yourself as a poet here, too.’
Mary Jean Chan in conversation with Andrew McMillan.
‘There was to be an exhibition. There were lots of pictures like his, apparently – of waiters, pastry cooks, valets, bellboys.’
An essay by Jason Allen-Paisant from Granta 159: What Do You See?
‘I have started to see that nothing is itself’
A poem by Jason Allen-Paisant from Granta 154: I’ve Been Away for a While.
‘One by one they’re led into the box. They swear their oath. They confirm their name, their employment, why they were where they say they were, what it was they saw.’
‘My hopes weren’t high, even to begin with, so I felt no bitterness when He didn’t reveal Himself’
‘When young, we were impatient with our parents: now we want to atone for our callowness, to take measure of them, to understand which parts of them live on in us.’
Wheer wor’ ta bahn w’en Ah saw thee, On Ilkla Moor baht ’at? Wheer wor’...
‘Skirtless, jumperless, she lies on the floor, her hair settling about her like a silky parachute.’
‘My address book is overpopulated, like a communal apartment during the post-war housing shortage.’
