Dear Body

by Hannah Hodgson
ISBN 978-1-9999728-0-6
Price £5  


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Hannah Hodgson, who suffers from an array of conditions that dramatically affect her life, draws on her own illness and disability in an explicit and courageous way, with direct and artful poems that raise questions about the relationship between personal identity, the physical body and our place in the world.

“In this remarkable pamphlet, Hannah Hodgson maps out the territory and shifting borders between the body and the self.  With a careful and clear-eyed lyricism, she examines how disability and illness mean constant negotiation with a society that too often finds it easier to look away.  This is poetry that needed to be written and a voice that deserves to be heard.” Kim Moore

“This is a moving and salutary collection, the poems precise and controlled, expressive without excess or sentimentality.”Glyn Pursglove, Acumen

“Hodgson shows us what poetry can achieve: much more simply than a novel or memoir, she encapsulates these moments and draws the reader to the heart of the experience. She evokes the pain of feeling a life is curtailed not just by illness, but by other’s expectations of an ill person. That she does so in such an accessible way makes this pamphlet doubly impressive.” Goodreads

“This short collection of twenty-two poems explores the duality of mind and body, separated and brought into conflict by physical illness. The poems are written with an expressive cathartic tone, a unique and wit-ridden perspective and a resilient refusal to be overcome. The free verse of these brief pieces slips subtly into the reader’s thoughts, alerting, informing and sharing: an injection, to borrow one of Hodgson’s metaphors.” Martin Noutch, londongrip

“a short but genuinely powerful and carefully made work of literature. It shifted my understanding of disability and chronic illness.” Jonathan Davidson, Under the Radar.

Dear Body

I’d be handing you
a redundancy notice
if the end of you
didn’t mean
the end of me.

My brain is filled
with corrupted code –
error alarms
in my organs.

I never learned
how to calm the heart
how to stop it battering
my chest, acting out
like a child.

I never learned
the nursery rhyme
to quieten it down.
I need to learn how
to parent these organs.

Go home,
look over the job description
for a body.
Read it over –
let’s start again tomorrow.

More about Hannah Hodgson