- 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.
by William Shakespeare
What potions haue I drunke of Syren teares
Diſtil'd from Lymbecks foule as hell within,
Applying feares to hopes,and hopes to feares,
Still looſing when I ſaw my ſelfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilſt it hath thought it ſelfe ſo bleſſed neuer?
How haue mine eies out of their Spheares been fitted
In the diſtraction of this madding feuer?
O benefit of ill,now I find true
That better is, by euil ſtill made better.
And ruin'd loue when it is built anew
Growes fairer then at firſt,more ſtrong,far greater.
So I returne rebukt to my content,
And gaine by ills thriſe more then I haue ſpent.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.