Ian House (poet)

Sunday 29 May 2016: Poetry Reading in Oxford

Join us for an evening of poetry.   Three Two Rivers Poets: Kate Behrens, Ian House, Susan Utting  will read from their latest collections and new work, in Oxford at the Albion Beatnik Bookstore  34, Walton Street OX2 6AA on Sunday 29th May, 7:00 pm . [£2 entry] … Continue reading

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Review: Carol Rumens reviews “Look-out” by Ian House from The Arts of Peace

It is summer time and the Two Rivers Press web editor is digging around to find stories that somehow did not get posted in a timely fashion.  Amongst the treasures found, a wonderful review in The Guardian, exactly one year ago, … Continue reading

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Review: Ian House’s Nothing’s Lost is reviewed in The North, no. 53

Review of Nothing’s Lost by Ian House Review by Wendy Klein, published in The North, no. 53, Autumn 2014. In his second collection, Nothing’s Lost, Ian House portrays the world with all its objects, creatures and relationships through his own … Continue reading

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April 11, 2014: Launch of Ian House’s “Nothing’s Lost”

Join us for the launch of Ian House’s Nothing’s Lost. When: Friday 11th April.  At 7pm there nibbles and drinks and buying the book time. Free for all! Anyone who wants to stay for Poets’ Cafe is more than welcome … Continue reading

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Nothings_Lost_FrontCoverNothing’s Lost by Ian House (poet)

Friday, 4 October, 2013: TRP poets at Swindon Poetry Festival

Susan Utting, Adrian Blamires and Ian House will be reading at the Swindon Poetry Festival’s “Up the Junctions! A metaphorical day trip of poems and places along the M4 corridor“. Their slot is at 3pm – 3.45pm: Having a cake … Continue reading

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cuttingthequickCutting the Quick by Ian House (poet) Pip Hall (artist, letterer)

Poem: One for the Birds

Straight out of Pliny, I grant you, but true nonetheless: I was in Room 30 of the National Gallery last Wednesday, when a pigeon walked in on finicky toes, flicking her button eyes from sour Martha to slumped Christ to … Continue reading

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Poem: Gogol on the Loose

They opened his coffin and found what remained of him, supine, claw marks on the lid’s underside, and remembered he’d been cataleptic. Don’t think of him waking, whispering, of his eyes opening, re-opening, of his fingers tracing the satin cocoon, … Continue reading

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Ian House taught English in England, the United States and Eastern Europe and wrote nothing.

When he retired, the poems poured out.