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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.


Small the Theme of My Chant

From the 1867 edition L. of G.

Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest—namely, One's-
Self—a simple, separate person. That, for the use of the
New World, I sing.
Man's physiology complete, from top to toe, I sing. Not physi-
ognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the Muse;—I
say the Form complete is worthier far. The Female equally
with the Male, I sing.
Nor cease at the theme of One's-Self. I speak the word of the
modern, the word En-Masse.
My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hap-
less War.
(O friend, whoe'er you are, at last arriving hither to commence,
I feel through every leaf the pressure of your hand, which I
And thus upon our journey, footing the road, and more than
once, and link'd together let us go.)

Walt Whitman

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