- Mark Olival-Bartley
- Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU München, where I tutor and edit circulars on poetics and composition, I'm anatomizing the prosody of Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus 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.