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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.

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Lines

by Ina Coolbirth

On Hearing Kelley’s Music to ‘Macbeth’

O melody, what children strange are these 
   From thy most vast, illimitable realm? 
   These sounds that seize upon and overwhelm 
   The soul with shuddering ecstasy! Lo! here 
   The night is, and the deeds that make night fear; 
Wild winds and waters, and the sough of trees 
   Tossed in the tempest; wail of spirits banned, 
   Wandering, unhoused of clay, in the dim land; 
The incantation of the Sisters Three, 
   Nameless of deed and name – the mystic chords 
   Weird repetitions of the mystic words; 
   The mad, remorseful terrors of the Thane, 
   And bloody hands – which bloody must remain. 
   Last, the wild march; the battle hand to hand 
Of clashing arms, in awful harmony, 
   Sublimely grand, and terrible as grand! 
The clan-cries; the barbaric trumpetry; 
   And the one fateful note, that, throughout all, 
   Leads, follows, calls, compels, and holds in thrall.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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