Saskia Hamilton

Nov 28, 2023 | electricliterature.com | Taylor Byas |Saskia Hamilton

Donate to Keep Electric Literature Free!Electric Literature published over 500 writers and nearly 600 articles in 2023—all of which are free for you to read. EL’s archives of thousands of essays, stories, poems, and reading lists are also free. We need you to contribute to keep it that way. Please make a donation to our year end campaign today. Among the exceptional writing brought to us in 2023, poetry has seen a renewed and necessary visibility.

Nov 14, 2023 | time.com | Rachel Swarns |Clint Smith |Alice McDermott |Saskia Hamilton

This project is led by Lucy Feldman and Annabel Gutterman, with writing by Judy Berman, Shannon Carlin, Eliana Dockterman, Mahita Gajanan, Cady Lang, Megan McCluskey, Rachel Sonis, Karl Vick, Olivia B. Waxman, Lucas Wittmann, Laura Zornosa, and Meg Zukin; photography editing by Eli Cohen; art direction by Victor Williams; video by Andrew Johnson and Sam McPeak; and production by Juwayriah Wright.

Sep 25, 2023 | poetryfoundation.org | Robert Lowell |Saskia Hamilton

Saskia Hamilton, who died of cancer this June at 56, was an honorary, late-adopted member of Elizabeth Hardwick and Robert Lowell’s circle. She met Hardwick in 1989, having arrived in New York City from Ohio for graduate school, and became her assistant. She was quickly put to work cataloguing the papers of Hardwick’s former husband, Robert Lowell, who died in 1977. Those papers eventually formed, in part, The Letters of Robert Lowell (2005), which Hamilton selected, edited, and introduced.

Sep 6, 2023 | lithub.com | Saskia Hamilton

1944She passed all along a room a bottleof currant juice, it went ‘from hand to handalong all the stretchers,’ she wrote,some twenty-five or more, and came back‘still half-full.’ Someone helped his neighborto drink, since he had ‘no hands.’The battle of Arnhem—and pressed in her houseby the river there lay three hundredor more, one doctor, one orderly. The children sheltered in the cellar.

Jun 8, 2023 | poetryfoundation.org | Saskia Hamilton

I passed through, I should have paused,there were a hundred doors. One opened. In there, someone whose name is not yet known to me lived out his middle years in simple terms, two chairs, one place laid for early breakfast, one plate with dry toast and butter softening. There his mind raced through writings he had memorized long ago while he tried to get hold of himself.