- Mark Olival-Bartley
- As the resident artist at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular of U.S. poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English and tutor composition.
by Durs Grünbein
Translated by Mark Olival-Bartley
Perhaps it was the place of rest they'd sought
lifelong for and then yet soon forgotten.
They looked up and saw nothing more to see.
All dreamt of peace. Legions decamped distraught,
for it'd been so hard to find: On no lawn
nor mountain path nor strand with view to sea.
Ah yes, the moon. They recognized its leer,
this pallid Easter egg. It hung as blown
above the cities' light haze year to year.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.