Leave a Comment · Posted on April 28, 2023
A new lyric essay, Lunaria, published today in the Eastern Iowa Review:
Leave a Comment · Posted on March 3, 2023
Thanks to Pam Thomson for this review of Rock, Bird, Butterfly
Leave a Comment · Posted on February 28, 2023
Happy to be featured in the Jamaican Gleaner this week
Leave a Comment · Posted on August 14, 2022
Leave a Comment · Posted on July 18, 2022
A new little project about the Northern Soul scene in Durham…if anyone remembers the Newton Aycliffe youth club all-nighters, please get in touch!
Were you at Newton Aycliffe youth centre in the 70s dancing to Northern Soul? @hannahlowepoet is writing about the scene and would love to hear your memories. Hear Hannah speaking to @GaryAPhilipson @BBCTees. pic.twitter.com/lGGlFSI4No
— Lindsay (@lindsymack) July 18, 2022
Leave a Comment · Posted on July 13, 2022
Had a dreamy night becoming a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, along with many writer friends and colleagues. I signed the book with Andrea Levy’s pen, because her writing made me want to write. Many thanks to all at the RSL, especially Bernie Evaristo for her amazing speech
Leave a Comment · Posted on May 25, 2022
I had fun recording The Verb last week with Sarah Howe, Kayo Chingonyi and Mick Herron…talking ‘hidden’ language, places, history.
Leave a Comment · Posted on May 25, 2022
Beginning in a City, 1948 Stirred by restlessness, pushed by history, I found myself in the centre of Empire. Those first few hours, with those packed impressions I never looked at in all these years. I knew no room. I knew no Londoner. I searched without knowing. I dropped off my grip at the ‘left luggage’. A smart policeman told me a house to try. In dim-lit streets, war-tired people moved slowly like dark-coated bears in a snowy region. I in my Caribbean gear was a half-finished shack in the cold winds. In November, the town was a frosty field. I walked fantastic stone streets in a dream. A man on duty took my ten-shilling note for a bed for four nights. Inflated with happiness I followed him. I was left in a close-walled room, left with a dying shadeless bulb, a pillowless bed and a smelly army blanket – all the comfort I had paid for. Curtainless in morning light, I crawled out of bed onto wooden legs and stiff-armed body, with a frosty-board face that I patted with icy water at the lavatory tap. Then I came to fellow-inmates in a crowded room. A rage of combined smells attacked me, clogging my nostrils – and new charges of other smells merely increased the stench. I was alone. I alone was nauseated and choked in deadly air. One-legged people stood around a wall of hot plates prodding sizzled bacon and kippers. Sore-legged and bandaged people poured tea. Weather-cracked faces, hairy and hairless, were chewing. No woman smiled. No man chuckled. Words pressed through gums and gaps of rusty teeth. Grimy bundles and bags were pets beside grimy bulges of people, bowed, and in little clusters. Though ever so gullible I knew – this was a dosshouse. I collected back seven shillings and sixpence. I left the place and its smells, their taste still with me and again instinct directed me. I walked without map, without knowledge from Victoria to Brixton. On Coldharbour Lane I saw a queue of men – some black – and stopped. I stood by one man in the queue. ‘Wha happenin brodda? Wha happenin here?’ Looking at me he said ‘You mus be a jus-come? You did hear about Labour Exchange?’ ‘Yes – I hear.’ ‘Well, you at it! But, you need a place whey you live.’ He pointed. ‘Go over dere and get a room.’ So, I had begun – begun in London. James Berry
from A Story I Am In: Selected Poems (2011 https://www.bloodaxebooks.com/ecs/product/a-story-i-am-in- 1012
Leave a Comment · Posted on May 15, 2022
Thanks to Westminster Library for a lovely launch, to Hercules Editions, and to Richard Scott and Jenny Wong for reading with me. The books are now available on the Hercules website