Microscopia
by Sujatha Menon
£12 (pub. 2025)

Publication due mid-April 2025 : PRE-ORDER NOW

This poetry collection exists at the quivering membrane between science and poetry. Drawing on the work of thirteen female scientists working today within a single UK university faculty, these poems respond creatively and experimentally to the field of Life Sciences. ‘Seed’ poems are broken down into cells and finally into genomes and their relationships explored under the microscope of one of the most exciting lyric poets writing today.


Praise for Microscopia:

“‘Menon sings the continuum of magic and science where all materials are raw and in flux. The witch at the heart of Microscopia is playful, questioning and she knows her power. There is something occult about all this knowledge, something tantalising and fecund.”

Helen Ivory

“Microscopia is an achievement which gleefully opens doors between poetry and science traditionally left closed. The work involved is astonishing, the combined expertise of 13 women scientists, the theoretical framework at play in the writing and the sheer energy of the project is an affirmation of human intelligence. However, and this is the point, these poems sing in themselves and speak a truth sorely needed in the world right now. The purpose of Microscopia is to free us ‘from the things that want/to hook, cook and fuck’ with our minds, and it successfully confounds the proponents of such confinement. A sustained moment of lyrical vision founded upon precise scientific perception is released in a rare and beautiful freedom.”

Kevin Corcoran

“It feels like we’re party to a radical experiment fusing poetry with science on the petri dish of the page. A light solemnity is paired with a deep playfulness. This is rich, complex, entertaining work, often enigmatic, always engaging. I strongly recommend you read these poems before they mutate into something else.”

Matt Harvey

Mimicry in G Minor

It started on the cusp of a semilunar moon,
a migration of pain from coast to coast across
the tundra, where whispers grew wild and tangled
up in the twelve hollows of my throat.
In those scratchy nooks, clutches of
eggs hatched asynchronously
sounding like the flight calls of
old cell phone messages fading
with the sky. On examination,
with the also tangled stethoscope
every thump had a wingbeat and a melodious span
of muffles, clicks and tweets.
It had been a year since the funeral,
since we celebrated with sandwiches
and threw the crusts to birds,
but the days were still long and tapered
towards night, where bats not stars
helped us to find our way
to the swelling murmuration of
our hearts, also straining to take flight.

(from Micrcoscopia)