- Mark Olival-Bartley
- As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse these days inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.
Death of a Painter
by Seamus Heaney
In memory of Nancy Wynne-Jones
Not a tent of blue but a peek of gold
From her coign of vantage in the studio,
A Wicklow cornfield in the gable window.
Long gazing at the hill--but not Cézanne,
More Thomas Hardy working to the end
In his crocheted old heirloom of a shawl.
And now not Hardy but a butterfly,
One of the multitude he imagined airborne
Through Casterbridge, down the summer thoroughfare.
And now not a butterfly but Jonah entering
The whale's mouth, as the Old English says,
Like a mote through a minster door.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.