Don Paterson reads his poem, ‘The Self-Illuminated’ in memoriam Peter Porter, from Granta 119: Britain.
Don Paterson reads his poem, ‘The Self-Illuminated’ in memoriam Peter Porter, from Granta 119: Britain.
Don Paterson reads his poem, ‘The Self-Illuminated’ in memoriam Peter Porter, from Granta 119: Britain.
‘There was really no point in going to a bomb shelter just because the siren sounded. Our hotel was unlikely to be a target.’
Lindsey Hilsum writes letters home from Ukraine.
‘The recipe is a text that can produce spattering because it was spattering before it was language.’
Rebecca May Johnson on recipes, repetition and intimacy.
‘To make a subject of the very same entity I am a part of, to be outside and within it.’
Thomas Duffield photographs his family.
‘There sat the joy of the shopping centre, what I thought of as its secret heart. A white rabbit.’
A story by Dizz Tate.
‘We were ourselves migrating birds; in a sense, refugees, displaced persons, without a home or a home town.’
Volodymyr Rafeyenko (tr. Sasha Dugdale) on the war in Ukraine.
Don Paterson works as a poetry editor and as a jazz guitarist, and lectures in creative writing at the University of St Andrews. In 2003 his poetry collection Landing Light won the Whitbread Poetry Prize and the T.S. Eliot Prize. He is the author of several other poetry collections, including Rain, Orpheus and 40 Sonnets.
More about the author →‘The beasts of the forest drove me out. / The villagers barred their doors. / The gods turned the page.’
‘One, perhaps his psalter, / the other, a manuscript, or a portable altar.’
‘To relive is the snarl of description, worked over repeatedly in the mind’
A poem by Jenny Xie.
‘The familiar scenes floated by. Life renewing itself, the same from year to year.’
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