Wild Court

Not before time will I climb the hillup to the Acropolis        then climb down again to sit about at a bar in Psyrilistening to jazz and sipping        prosecco not before time. I’ll ask for crisps not before timeand when the bowl is empty,        more crisps not…

For Takamura Kotaro When the Bombs fall, and you listento the Emperor’s speech(almost opaquely formal,about “bearing the unbearable”),you think again of Chieko –now seven years dead –and certain phrases(perhaps from her feminist, radical youth)with which, from the roof,she insulted your neighbors,or you when she threw pots and pans(still at home, before the asylum).And remember how…

In 1977 Sam Peckinpah, the writer and director, bought a plot of land in a remote part of Montana and had a cabin constructed. It was more a dream than a practical place for him to live, and he spent most of his Montana years, especially after his heart attack, at the Murray Hotel in…

Window Her hand reaches through a slim shaft ofmorning sunlight falling across a goldsmith’swindow on the corner of a 1930s blockin the centre of town eighteen monthsinto the war, double prams crammed on busesbuckling under the press of human flesh,passengers peeling off and climbing on,skirting that one couple pressed to the glassof a goldsmith’s window…

Meeting Olivia de Havilland On a perfect summer morning,Aunt Olive died. Age 96.She said her happiest daywas meeting Olivia de Havillandin 1964, “a peach.” Not her wedding to Uncle Sal,the cad. Divorcesounded luscious,but she claimed she’dstick it outlike a snowed-in car,wheels spinning. The snow never melts, even in summerwhen buds surgeinto bloom, hungrydeer nearby. The…

Piano tuner Your hands were the lastto stroke the dustfrom my yellowing keys,to lift my inlaid panels withlong-fingered practised ease.In dreams I feel your palms slide downmy scarred and creaking walnut sides— and so I plot to loosenstrings, unwind my hair,let slack wires call you backbefore your neatly lettered time,bringing your case of instrumentsto tweak…

  Events and sudden absences Being inhabitants of older vintage,we pass on by, for the most part,and rarely meet. Any conversationis likely to be short, could be the firstfor years and rich as a result, even ifwe do not know each other’s names. Houses here were built an age ago.They seem to be identical. We…

Saying Our Goodbyes The ward sister points us to your single room.It seems that you’re asleep as we come in but when Dad leans across and says your nameyour eyes open and there you are, thinner now, a fragile patch of chest above the gown,your bicep hanging like a loop of dough but you –…

Arrival Before the Rose Dream Ends He says he’ll arrive in Portland tomorrow.It’s his turn to pay—In the silence before the restaurant opens,he arrives early. A self-serve hot pot,steam rising to fend off winter.The union of dead volcanoes and roses,perfect in his mind—a scene from an Italian art film,woven into the hum of lobby music.…

TFI Friday…Oh, it’s Tuesday FYI, it’s day three of a one day pow wow,via an all-hands to the pump conference call,with space and sufficient time built in as standardfor conflabs or face-to-face break-out huddle-ups, but IRL, I’ve finally finished workshoppingmy life choices across whiteboards, neon Post-itsand A3 sheets of paper. The colour-codinghas run riot. I’m…

For the fifth event in the Wild Court Reading Series, we are delighted to welcome acclaimed poet Sascha A. Akhtar. Sascha is the author of seven metaphysical poetry collections, a short story collection Of Necessity And Wanting embracing social realism, and a volume comprising a biography and first-time translations of Hijab Imtiazs’ little known manuscript Adab-E-Zareen (Oxford University Press,…

Flute Lesson Played with real feeling,my examiner wrote. I envied cellists and pianists –they didn’t require one breath to flowfrom their lungs, up tremulous throat, to mouth,through neatly-aligned embouchure to air. In the school orchestraI mimed high C.I stopped my breath and hid beneaththe other flautists’ reach. I wanted my notes to rise – meldwith…

Unfulfilled Playlist Inside the algorithm,no ratty-looking bloke hogs the ‘just-in’ section.Index finger flicking past clear plastic-coatedLPs, one album at a time. Animated mouthexpressing experienced appraisal of eachand every record he encounters. Eyessidle to the right, beneath his 1950s shades.Perusing other customers – rivals, coughingin impatience, anxious to get their hands onthe goods that he’s inspecting.…

The Mountain The mountain is a hostage-taker.By the time you reach the summit it may already be too late.When the path forks follow the stones and the moss,but listen to what the silence is telling you. The mountain wears a collar of lace.All those little bits of symmetry snicked out so prettilyby the wind as…

Delphi