- 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 composition and edit a poetry weekly, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.
by Richard Lincke
The loue-hurt hart which Tyrant Cupid wounds,
proudly insulting o're his conquer'd pray,
doth bleede afresh where pleasure most abounds,
for mirth and mourning always make a fray.
Looke as a Bird sore bruzed with a blowe,
(lately deuiding notes most sweetly singing)
to heare her fellowes how in tunes they flow,
doth droope and pine as though her knel were ringing.
The heauie-thoughted Prys'ner full of doubt,
dolefully sitting in a close-bar'd cage,
is halfe contented, till he looketh out,
he sees each free, then stormes hee in a rage ;
The sight of pleasure trebleth euery payne,
As small Brooks swell and are inrag'd with rayne.
Note: A recitation can be heard here.