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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.


The Odyssey

by Andrew Lang

As one that for a weary space has lain  
  Lull'd by the song of Circe and her wine  
  In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,  
Where that Ææan isle forgets the main,  
And only the low lutes of love complain,         
  And only shadows of wan lovers pine—  
  As such an one were glad to know the brine  
Salt on his lips, and the large air again—  
So gladly from the songs of modern speech  
  Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free  
    Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers,  
    And through the music of the languid hours  
They hear like Ocean on a western beach  
  The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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