About Me

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Mark Olival-Bartley studied applied linguistics at Hawaii Pacific University, attaining B.A. and M.A. degrees in Teaching English as a Second Language, and poetry at the City College of New York. He is now writing a dissertation on the sonnets of E. A. Robinson at LMU, where he tutors composition alongside editing flyers on poetry and style. His poems and translations have appeared in journals on both sides of the Atlantic. He is the resident poet at EcoHealth, where his science-themed verse is regularly featured, and a senior copyeditor at Review of International American Studies. He also teaches at Münchner Volkshochschule and leads the Amerikahaus Literaturkreis.

20130416

Spring Snow


by Arthur Sze

A spring snow coincides with plum blossoms. 
In a month, you will forget, then remember 
when nine ravens perched in the elm sway in wind. 

I will remember when I brake to a stop, 
and a hubcap rolls through the intersection. 
An angry man grinds pepper onto his salad; 

it is how you nail a tin amulet ear 
into the lintel. If, in deep emotion, we are 
possessed by the idea of possession, 

we can never lose to recover what is ours. 
Sounds of an abacus are amplified and condensed 
to resemble sounds of hail on a tin roof, 

but mind opens to the smell of lightening. 
Bodies were vaporized to shadows by intense heat; 
in memory people outline bodies on walls. 

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