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As the resident poet at EcoHealth, my verse finds inspiration these days in the spectre of global pandemics. At LMU Munich's Amerika-Institut, where I tutor composition and poetics, I'm anatomizing the sonnets of E. A. Robinson for my dissertation. I also teach at Münchner Volkshochschule and Amerikahaus.

20160929

Charlottesville Nocturne

by Charles Wright

The late September night is a train of thought, a wound
That doesn’t bleed, dead grass that’s still green,
No off-shoots, no elegance,
                                              the late September night,
Deprived of adjectives, abstraction’s utmost and gleam.
It has been said there is an end to the giving out of names.
It has been said that everything that’s written has grown hollow.
It has been said that scorpions dance where language falters and
                                                                                          gives way.
It has been said that something shines out from every darkness, 
                                                                 that something shines out.
Leaning against the invisible, we bend and nod.
Evening arranges itself around the fallen leaves
Alphabetized across the back yard,
                                                           desolate syllables
That braille us and sign us, leaning against the invisible.
Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world.
Morning arrives and that’s it.
                                                    Sunlight darkens the earth.

Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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