By hannah stoney on February 7, 2014
I’m wondering why, as I sit here at the end of this week, I don’t feel more of a sense of accomplishment about what I’ve managed to do. It has not been one of those weeks where all of my goals were scuppered. I ran my runs, I cut my paper, I learnt the things […]
By hannah stoney on October 21, 2012
Land whumped by white, Silenced and ceased by the last word of snowfall. Swaddled like Lazarus, until finally Quieted. Embosomed in effulgent drefts, Made to lie down, ashen and dead and dressed as a bride.
By hannah stoney on October 2, 2012
I am going through some old notebooks and harvesting scraps of old poetry. Like this: Enormous heart that could crush pythons with its heavy solidity. It might become too onerous and weighty to stay standing much longer. You would need long feet like a clown and a strong stomach to carry such a thing.
By hannah stoney on January 24, 2011
When I first looked at my newborn son, a few years ago now, I remember being struck by how he did not look brand new. He looked like he already knew something– something of depth; ancient even. There was an article in the Guardian this weekend about poems on the subject of infancy and someone […]