Ebook Review: 'The Hitcher' by Hannah Lowe

I'm afraid this is another embarrassingly belated book review I'm attempting to excuse as part of an attempt to showcase the few good poetry pamphlets available as Kindle ebooks. The Rialto published Hannah Lowe's 'The Hitcher' back in April last year, as a short, sweet reputation builder. And her reputation was built: a full length collection named after a poem from this pamphlet is due on Bloodaxe next year.

But don't save your money until then - 'The Hitcher' compresses so much drama into its few pages that its intensity begs to be experienced in pamphlet form. It's subject matter is mainly drawn from Lowe's own life; short episodes which abruptly make their significance known before disappearing out of view. The overall effect is of experiencing so much life in so short a time that you feel a need to step back. As other reviewers have noted, Lowe's terza rima stanzas add to the sense of tumbling through her poems, although in all honesty, I might not have noticed the intricate rhyme scheme had it not been pointed out to me.

Of course you always knew your way, the city's orbit
mapped by dim-lit poker clubs where you had played
from Ladbroke Grove to Bow to Forest Gate 

and I would never say more than I had to say.
Now you come to me in dreams, the details varied
but the same. It's late, I'm in a stranger's hallway,

 from Those Long Car Silences

Does 'orbit' rhyme with 'gate'? That's a quarter rhyme if ever I saw one, but perhaps stealth rhyme is integral to discreet use of form. If Lowe has a specialism, it's using form to perfect her narrative structures, whilst never letting go of the sense of frantic scribbling. It's one way of doing justice to a chaotic past that you've only gained the ability to describe in a more ordered present.

Lowe mainly deals with the concrete rather than the abstract, building her father, (a professional gambler), from detritus and dialogue. Hospitalized in 'Smoke', he shouts, 'Han? One cigarette' after Lowe, who tells us she has seen him, 'searching through the bin for last night's puckered butts'. These details told me much more than the myth inspired metaphor, 'the crow that's picking through your guts/ is fattening up', which just made me wonder exactly what Lowe's father was in hospital for. When a poem makes me curious about a place or a character, I often find myself itching for more and more concrete detail, and in most instances, Lowe gives me this in abundance. 'Chick' holds particular fascination, since the details of Lowe's father's life are told as rumours, enhancing his glamour;

We talked about you all the time.
Dan said he saw you ironing cellophane.
I said you'd let me hold a thousand pounds.
We found a hollow-soled shoe.

My only issue with The Hitcher was that I found Lowe wasn't as proficient at creating quieter moments; when her poems don't have characterization or emotional drama to sustain them they tend to fall flat. 'Learning To Play' is full of piano playing paraphernalia; 'Rudiments of Music Theory: pianissimo, mezzo forte, adagio', but never establishes any great emotional significance. She does have a great line in personification; 'my flowers stretch their scarlet throats/ between the bars to float with boys', which could potentially offer an alternative to her simple narratives.

That Lowe has named her first full collection 'Chick', after the poem quoted above, and stated a preference for simple, autobiographical lyric writing, would suggest that she has a strong idea of where her poetry is headed, and that she'll continue to develop the characters and narratives I already feel so emotionally invested in. I look forward to finding out.

Buy The Hitcher by Hannah Lowe as a kindle ebook
Or buy the physical pamphlet direct from The Rialto if you're so inclined.