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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.


On the Night of a Friend's Wedding

by Edwin Arlington Robinson

 If ever I am old, and all alone,
 I shall have killed one grief, at any rate;
 For then, thank God, I shall not have to wait
 Much longer for the sheaves that I have sown.
 The devil only knows what I have done,
 But here I am, and here are six or eight
 Good friends, who most ingenuously prate
 About my songs to such and such a one.

 But everything is all askew to-night, —
 As if the time were come, or almost come,
 For their untenanted mirage of me
 To lose itself and crumble out of sight,
 Like a tall ship that floats above the foam
 A little while, and then breaks utterly.

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