‘"Bloody well wake up!" Maureen's mother called to her -daughter, who slept in the kitchen bed recess.’
‘Bloody well wake up!’ Maureen’s mother called to her daughter, who slept in the kitchen bed recess. ‘I’m not waiting here all morning.’
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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.
‘it’s wrong / to let delicacies, even when suspect, go untried’
A poem by Natalie Shapero.
‘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.
‘Life is not worth living / without salami.’
A poem by Sandra Cisneros.
‘In the long run, staying or leaving both lead to the same absurd condition.’
Fiction by Carlos Manuel Álvarez, translated by Frank Wynne.
‘Lying is something I had become good at with practice.’
An excerpt from All Down Darkness Wide.
