lisa hannah

poetry and writing

biography & work

I live in Liverpool and have taught Creative Writing and English for 20 years.

My first significant work was exhibited at Tate Liverpool in their Violence exhibition in 1989.  The life size figure hung from the ceiling and combined sketches, poetry, glass and plastic.

I enjoy working with mixed media, especially photography and collage but some of my more conventional writing is on this site. 

Examples of phonetic translation can be found in the ebook, If I Knew Where Poems Come From, where I  phonetic translation.  http:issuu.com/Where_poems_come_from.../docs/if_i_knew_where_poems_came_

from... and Zoetrope, an anthology of poems about desire and loss.

The 'Alt' exhibition, in Prescot Museum, showed my photographs and a sequence of nine poems, between January-March 2010.  Each poem used a different narrative voice to present people who lived or grew up along the path of the River. 

In 2009, 'Throwing out the Rule Book: The poetry of William Carlos Williams and E E Cummings', appeared in emagazine ; Issue 46 December.

My journals appeared in Manchester's Holden Gallery for their Reflective Stories: Sketchbooks and Journals exhibition in 2008 and in 2009, may poem 'Spring Circus' appeared in Birth and Rebirth: Writing for Dr Banardos.

Other poems, such as 'Point' and 'Seige'  appeared in Smoke Magazine.  And 'The Teddy Boy and The Beehive' were part of Liverpool 800, in 2007. 

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Welcome

Recent Photos

Poems

Midnight Write: The Moth

 

Pills curtail the growth of the penis, testes;

allow the mammary glands to swell,

the Adam's apple to withdraw, the hips to protrude.

Erectile tissue loses sensitivity

as it flattens out but as

oestrogen floods the canal, we see

folds of the labia major.  Here.

Like two great wings.  This swelling is later tied

to give the appearance of a clitoral hood.

 

And next ? Angelica's gaze moved from the drawing to the rubber pipe.

 

Formaldehyde.

 

Time

For years she said she could feel things

moving in her ribcage after the birth.

Every night her legs pissed with terror.

There was something undelivered,

that the hospital left inside, alive

and writhing like a parasite

puppy with its eyes still closed,

snuffing for milk.

Her chest is soft as a palate,

where her ribs fan out,

where they fanned out in pregnancy,

like wings.

Partly see-through liquids

swell the mattress

leaving sores for the mortician.

Her skin creosotes like fencing

bubbling up sap,

protective

but the spine, blisters wet,

from both shoulders,

up

the

head,

to burst

occipital,

garrotting

the

neck.

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