‘Every time I drink a glass of claret it goes straight to my face.’
Business was slack. The pubs closed early and the ferry came in for the night. The sky was pink above the school on Chapelhill and at eight o’clock the high tide arrived and the promenade was quiet except for a dog barking. From out in the bay you could see bright lights in all the windows of Roth…
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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.
‘A lot of journalism was in danger of becoming ‘celebrity writing’, in the sense that the writer and his conscience could become the story.’
‘I do think it’s arrogant of human beings to take it for granted that only we have superior consciousness.’
‘The men were quiet. They said nothing for a minute and the sea at my back was calm and almost imaginary, but you could hear the waves coming to wash the chalk cliffs from under us.’
‘Now that everyone lives as if in a movie, we begin to forget that once it was only special people who did.’
‘He's the only person in the world who listens to me and does what I tell him (thought Zoe).’
