Hannah Lowe BBC Radio interviews, reviews & Books of the Year for The Kids
Interviews on Radio 3's The Verb & Radio 4's Front Row; reviews & books of the year; Costa Book of the Year 2021. POTW in Yorkshire Times. Interview in The Gleaner....
Hannah Lowe wins 2021 Costa Book of the Year for The Kids
Hannah Lowe wins the 2021 Costa Book of the Year for her third collection The Kids. TV, radio & press interviews and features. Interview in The Guardian, 5 February....
Why would anyone want to do again
the thing they’d failed? Like a second driving test
or say, Grade 3 recorder? You tried your best
or did you? It was not enough. Try again?
You’d rather watch The Price Is Right than practise
your rendition of The Ugly Duckling
or argue with your driving teacher, stalling
in a box junction. So when you rip the notice
open, your keen heart pumping, and find a D
or damn, an E, you’d rather pull the sheets
above your head and flick through Instagram
with earphones in, but still you can hear your mum
repeat: You’ll never get a job without it!
No one will have you, not Tesco’s, not Sainsbury’s –
*
The Art of Teaching II
Boredom hangs like a low cloud in the classroom.
Each page we read is a step up a mountain
in gluey boots. Even the clock-face is pained
and yes, I’m sure now, ticking slower. If gloom
has a sound, it’s the voice of Leroy reading
Frankenstein aloud. And if we break
to talk, I know my questions are feeble sparks
that won’t ignite my students’ barely beating
hearts. There is no volta here, no turn,
just more of the same: the cloud sinking ever lower,
the air damper, yet more rain. And the task
is unchanging, like spending years chasing a monster
you yourself created. Leroy asks
if he can stop reading. I say, for now, he can.
*
The Only English Kid
When the debate got going on ‘Englishness’,
I’d pity the only English kid – poor Johnny
in his spotless Reeboks and blue Fred Perry.
He had a voice from history: Dunno-miss,
Yes-miss, No-miss – all treacly-cockney,
rag-and-bone – and while the others claimed Poland,
Ghana, Bulgaria, and shook off England
like the wrong team’s shirt, John brewed his tea
exclusively on Holloway Road. So when Aasif
mourned the George Cross banner swinging freely
like a warning from his neighbour’s roof,
the subway tunnel sprayed with MUSLIM SCUM,
poor John would sit there quietly, looking guilty
for all the awful things he hadn’t done.
*
Sonnet for the Punched Pocket
What would I have done without those wallets,
their white polo holes? I collated essays,
session plans with estimated minutes,
some crossed out mid-lesson, rewritten, the way
I’ve sometimes stood on stage and edited
a poem, feeling, only in saying aloud,
its idle words. I filled those pockets, fed
them into rainbow ring-binders, the loud
clack-snap of steel, before I slotted them
on shelves above my desk, the little tickets
filled out neatly – Moon on the Tides; Poems
From Other Cultures – as if you could catch and wrap
a poem, what you thought and felt about it,
under plastic – flattened, silenced, trapped.
*
Janine
was a Monday-morning-queasy-feeling.
I was never ready for her choice of sting:
the late strut-in, teeth-kissing, rolling eyes,
my protests thwacked away like swatted flies.
Or else the bleat of questions questions questions,
her pinging hand, a jack-in-the-box, a gun
she kept on firing, asking over and over
why we couldn’t study Harry Potter
or worse, the searing telescopic stare
I winced in as she coiled a lock of hair
around the middle finger shone at me.
And this went on for months, until somebody
said the thing – and finally bought ease:
my dad was half Jamaican, half Chinese –
*
Janine II
My dad was half Jamaican, half Chinese?
Her question at my office door. Her face
gone softer, searching mine for vestiges
of blackness, as if she’d find a sign, a trace
the more she sought. And when I told her yes,
was some fire put out? It’s hard to know
what heat, or presume a heat at all, or guess
the stakes when teachers rarely look like those
they teach. The whiteness of my skin has been
confusion, chaos, agency. Janine
was nicer, after – all whatssup Miss? and hey!
like neither me nor her remembered Monday’s
knackering, spun-out war. She’d dropped her gun.
I’d somehow been excused. I’d been forgiven.
*
Étudier (for Miss Forbes and Sharon Cranmer)
I played the beautiful music of the dead –
waltzes, études. Miss Forbes would hold her pencil
and make the faintest marks in her 2B lead.
So particular, her parlour with its sills
of old cracked china and dried camellias.
She said, if only you would practise more
and when I did, my hands would sing across
the keys. With her, I learnt what learning was for.
She died. I went to Sharon, who wore black –
embroidered skirts, black lipstick, blue-black hair –
her thin, mercurial hands. In the room upstairs,
I played Debussy – better than before –
but my eye was on the albums leant in stacks
beside the door, The Smiths, The Clash, The Cure.
Contents List
8 The White Dog
I
11 The Register
12 Try, Try, Try Again
13 Queen Bee
14 The Art of Teaching I
15 The Art of Teaching II
16 The Art of Teaching III
17 Technology
18 Sonnet for Vlad
19 The Only English Kid
20 Notes on a Scandal
21 Boy
22 Simile
23 The Sixth-form Theatre Trip
24 Sonnet for the A Level English Literature and Language Poetry Syllabus
25 Red-handed
26 Sonnet for the Punched Pocket
27 Pepys
28 Janine I
29 Janine II
30 The Unretained
31 All Over It
32 Sonnet for Rosie
33 Something Sweet
34 7/7
35 Ricochet
36 British-born
II
38 Mr Presley
39 Mrs Vanuka
40 Blocks
41 She
42 Bethena
43 Étudier
44 Martin and Pam
45 The Only Black Girl
46 Rain Dance
47 The Pitch
48 John I: Pink Humming Bird
49 John II: For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf
50 Love
51 So Amazing
52 The Stroke
55 Sonnet for Noah
56 Welling
57 Dear Professor
58 White Roses
59 Daughter
60 House
61 The River
62 Players
III
64 The Sky Is Snowing
65 Skirting
66 Scooting
67 Fire Scissors Drowning
68 The Size of Him
69 Sonnet for Boredom
70 Balloons
71 In H&M
72 Sonnet for Darren
73 Zoom
74 Aretha in the Bath
75 His Books
76 Anjali Mudra
77 Sonnet for Rory with Soap Bubbles
78 Nĭ hăo
79 Kathy, Carla
Related Reviews
‘The poems in The Kids fizz and chat with all the vitality and longing of the classes they conjure. Funny, moving, sometimes painful and always questioning, they capture teachers and their students learning life from each other in profound and unexpected ways. A joy to read.’ – Liz Berry
‘These sequences of stories are a refreshing update to The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and To Sir with Love. Each of Lowe’s sonnets is a blackboard chalked with the tales of earnest teachers, of cheeky and lovable students, of being mentored to become a poet and of motherhood and learning to instruct again. Lowe makes the sonnet exciting for our age through its urgent, its compassionate, its wonderfully humorous address of the personal and the social.’ – Daljit Nagra