James Lasdun
Fiction
The Hollow
The Parkers, father and son, came over to introduce themselves when we moved in, five years ago. Dean, the father, was slow to speak, awkward when he did. But Rick was talkative, his eyes roving
An Anxious Man
Joseph Nagel slumped forward, head in hands. “My God,” he groaned. Elise snapped off the car radio. “Calm down, Joseph.” “That’s four straight days since we got here.” “Joseph, please.” “What do you think
Snow
My great-uncle Dominic, the inventor, took me into the small workshop that stood between the back of his house and the large kitchen garden behind it.
Poetry
Deathmeadow Mountain
meeting with Heidegger:
by John Felstiner's account
The Calling of the Apostle Matthew
Not the abrupt way, frozen
In the one glance of a painter’s frame,
Christ in the doorway pointing, Matthew’s face
Two Poems
Spirit and form; to every soul its shell;
Sounds their instruments—flute, double bass,
Trumpet, each instrument its plush-lined case,
Five Poems
Bristles with brass, its own commissionaire—
A valedictory hand swims up