When my son was three he asked me ‘where do babies come from?’
I wanted him to have a positive opinion about menstruation and even to see it as somewhat magical.
I answered ‘The Blood House. Mummy has a house made of blood inside her stomach that babies grow in. If a baby doesn’t grow there, the blood falls out from between her legs. A new house is made each month for every egg that is released.’
Underneath our polite facade is a force that drives us on, a primal urge to connect and be loved that we can only strive to control, somewhat . . .
The Blood House maps my process of untangling my grief at my fathers death, from a mess of rage and loss. I have interrogated poetic form, this isn’t a confessional poetry book as such, it is an experiment on form and abstraction to represent the psycho-sexual.
On The Blood House
‘These beautiful poems come from a bold, brave soul and a true poetic heart. A stunning collection
and a delicious read from start to finish.’
‘Sarer Scotthorne’s meticulously documented psychodramas suggest their is no crevice of the human heart and mind that should not be visited. If you ever doubted the meaning.’
of artistic courage, read these poems.
‘I felt the pulse, certainly;
the life, breath, exposure of nerve ends.’
A5 hand-made covers, each one lovingly put together with ltd. edition endpapers and a colour printed photograph of Sarer’s Blood House painting on the front, priced £5 + postage (£1.00 p & p UK, £2.50 worldwide) via Paypal by clicking here.
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