Wealth

Up and, it being rainy, in Sir W. Pen’s coach to St. James’s, and there did our usual business with the Duke, and more and more preparations every day appear against the Dutch, and (which I must confess do a little move my envy) Sir W. Pen do grow every day more and more regarded by the Duke, because of his service heretofore in the Dutch warr which I am confident is by some strong obligations he hath laid upon Mr. Coventry; for Mr. Coventry must needs know that he is a man of very mean parts, but only a bred seaman.
Going home in coach with Sir W. Batten he told me how Sir J. Minnes by the means of Sir R. Ford was the last night brought to his house and did discover the reason of his so long discontent with him, and now they are friends again, which I am sorry for, but he told it me so plainly that I see there is no thorough understanding between them, nor love, and so I hope there will be no great combination in any thing, nor do I see Sir J. Minnes very fond as he used to be. But: Sir W. Batten do raffle still against Mr. Turner and his wife, telling me he is a false fellow, and his wife a false woman, and has rotten teeth and false, set in with wire, and as I know they are so, so I am glad he finds it so.
To the Coffee-house, and thence to the ‘Change, and therewith Sir W. Warren to the Coffee-house behind the ‘Change, and sat alone with him till 4 o’clock talking of his businesses first and then of business in general, and discourse how I might get money and how to carry myself to advantage to contract no envy and yet make the world see my pains; which was with great content to me, and a good friend and helpe I am like to find him, for which God be thanked!
So home to dinner at 4 o’clock, and then to the office, and there late, and so home to supper and to bed, having sat up till past twelve at night to look over the account of the collections for the Fishery, and the loose and base manner that monies so collected are disposed of in, would make a man never part with a penny in that manner, and, above all, the inconvenience of having a great man, though never so seeming pious as my Lord Pembroke is. He is too great to be called to an account, and is abused by his servants, and yet obliged to defend them for his owne sake. This day, by the blessing of God, my wife and I have been married nine years: but my head being full of business, I did not think of it to keep it in any extraordinary manner. But bless God for our long lives and loves and health together, which the same God long continue, I wish, from my very heart!

rain to grow the sea
told me the reason for love

false teeth
are so alone in the world

I like to go at night
to count the fish

O the inconvenience
of a great blessing


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 October 1664.

Bad human

(Lord’s day). Lay pretty long, but however up time enough with my wife to go to church. Then home to dinner, and Mr. Fuller, my Cambridge acquaintance, coming to me about what he was with me lately, to release a waterman, he told me he was to preach at Barking Church; and so I to heare him, and he preached well and neatly. Thence, it being time enough, to our owne church, and there staid wholly privately at the great doore to gaze upon a pretty lady, and from church dogged her home, whither she went to a house near Tower hill, and I think her to be one of the prettiest women I ever saw. So home, and at my office a while busy, then to my uncle Wight’s, whither it seems my wife went after sermon and there supped, but my aunt and uncle in a very ill humour one with another, but I made shift with much ado to keep them from scolding, and so after supper home and to bed without prayers, it being cold, and to-morrow washing day.

barking dog
one of the prettiest women
scolding it


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 October 1664.

Mourn

Who brings you news of your father’s death?
I don’t know, but it’s the first time I see you
really crumple: your legs buckle, then splay
open. Then you bend from the waist
as if broken. I don’t understand where
the unearthly howl comes from— a grief
guttering through the body’s entire architecture,
then loosed through the open mouth. What syllable
is this, pure name burned by fire to one
dark smudge? And how will I know, when it is time,
what sound I will be expected to make?

Arctic

All the morning at the office, and after dinner abroad, and among other things contracted with one Mr. Bridges, at the White Bear on Cornhill, for 100 pieces of Callico to make flaggs; and as I know I shall save the King money, so I hope to get a little for my pains and venture of my own money myself.
Late in the evening doing business, and then comes Captain Tayler, and he and I till 12 o’clock at night arguing about the freight of his ship Eagle, hired formerly by me to Tangier, and at last we made an end, and I hope to get a little money, some small matter by it.
So home to bed, being weary and cold, but contented that I have made an end of that business.

white bear
in the evening
we get small


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 8 October 1664.

Altered states

Lay pretty while with some discontent abed, even to the having bad words with my wife, and blows too, about the ill-serving up of our victuals yesterday; but all ended in love, and so I rose and to my office busy all the morning. At noon dined at home, and then to my office again, and then abroad to look after callicos for flags, and hope to get a small matter by my pains therein and yet save the King a great deal of money, and so home to my office, and there came Mr. Cocker, and brought me a globe of glasse, and a frame of oyled paper, as I desired, to show me the manner of his gaining light to grave by, and to lessen the glaringnesse of it at pleasure by an oyled paper. This I bought of him, giving him a crowne for it; and so, well satisfied, he went away, and I to my business again, and so home to supper, prayers, and to bed.

words blow out and in
flags on a globe of glass

oiled light to lessen the glaringness
of oiled prayers


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 October 1664.

Mermaid

“The flower may die, but not the flowerness.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Midlife, says this article on menopause,
is when we need to take care of everyone else

while we are our most tired, to trust ourselves
when we’re most filled with doubt.
That must explain

the palpitations every time I hear the weatherman
on the late night news talk about new hurricane

warnings. And my own exhaustion: winded or weepy
before noon, then by 2 pm wanting to crawl into bed.

But I can’t because I still have a bajillion things
to do: pick up the kid from school, rush home to pull

something out of the freezer for dinner; then rush
back to campus to prep for my evening class.

Near midnight, I crave chocolate, or a thick slab
of buttered bread. Meanwhile, dustballs thicken

and rise like new islands under the beds, crisscrossed
with grids of hair. I suspect the Saint of Doing it All

has retired. Or has she moved in with my older daughter
who’s just had a baby? When she asks me Is it really

this hard all the time? I try not to say occupational hazard
too quickly. I try to remember what I was like when I was

her age: young mother myself, lost in the chaos of diapers, rash
cream, talcum powder, and debt; wondering on a quick conference

trip away if I was delusional or if, as I slipped into the rest
room to relieve the pressure from milk-turgid breasts, I heard

the motor of the portable breast pump wheeze metaphor,
metaphor, metaphor.
My doctor listens sympathetically

and writes a script for Wellbutrin. To take off a little
of the edge
, she says. And, Tell me how you feel in two weeks.

When I don’t forget, I try to remember if I still feel like I’m
sitting in the second to the last car before the whole train goes

over the cliff. I try that new yoga move we learned in class
called Mermaid— where you lie on your side with knees bent,

then trail one arm over in a half-circle across to the other side,
while touching the tips of outstretched fingers to the floor.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Bestselling poet.

To be a body among other bodies

Sure sign of the season departing: one last gift
of summer, lone fruit purpling, still clinging

to the tree. On the ground, leathered skins
of leaves that could not keep from shedding.

It’s hard enough to be a body among other
bodies, to walk the streets, descend

the stairs; to ride in trains, swaying, hanging on
to straps. The world accelerates past flickering

windows. Life is that indifferent engine humming,
hurrying us toward the next thing and the next.

I close my eyes and think— should the wheels
disengage from the tracks, being one among

so many other bodies, how would I manage
the certain panicked rush toward the exit

signs, a stairwell leading back to safety?
In the city, my body moving among other bodies

barely reflects the light that glints
like fire from rows of perforated windows.

How we must look from up high: dark, grainy
forms, indistinguishable to some cold eye.

Return of the native

Up and to the office, where busy all the morning, among other things about this of the flags and my bringing in of callicos to oppose Young and Whistler. At noon by promise Mr. Pierce and his wife and Madam Clerke and her niece came and dined with me to a rare chine of beefe and spent the afternoon very pleasantly all the afternoon, and then to my office in the evening, they being gone, and late at business, and then home to supper and to bed, my mind coming to itself in following of my business.

all out of promise
a rare bee spent
the afternoon being
my mind coming to itself


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 6 October 1664.

Ants

We come home that Friday night after having
pizza at the mall; we’re laughing about one

thing or another, lifting leftover slices
from out of the oily box to wrap in foil

when one of us notices ants everywhere— in single
file around the sink, the edge of the dish rack,

climbing across the green plastic chopping
board: which is strange because there isn’t any

food left out, no sticky piles of dishes, no jar
of sauce or sugar accidentally uncapped. In a flash

I rummage under the sink for the can of Natural
Roach and Ant Killer made of herb extracts

and cinnamon oil; and start spraying the window frame,
the tile behind the faucet, the sides of the toaster.

Meanwhile, you want to carry everything in and around
the sink to the dining table then wash each item

in hot water. We don’t realize we’re bickering
until our youngest child starts crying, saying Stop!

I hate it when you’re fighting! before rushing away
to her room. We look at each other and put down

what we’re holding, then each in turn goes to offer
comfort, to reassure her we’re not angry, we don’t

hate each other, we’re not about to break up;
it’s only because of the ants. How do I know that,

she says in between sobs— I never could tell,
I was just a small child growing up
. I know the years

she’s referring to: when only one of us was working,
when there were lawyers’ immigration fees to pay,

school and car payments and finally a chapter 13
bankruptcy. We did rage a lot at each other then;

and cry, or threaten to throw in the towel. Also, swallow
our pride. What a miserable time. We may be out of the woods,

but not without this consequence: she’s still at the mercy
of those triggers. After, when she’s asleep, we wipe down

the kitchen counters. Only a few ants are visible—
no longer stepping after each other in a straight line

but meandering around the soap dispenser, which means
whatever reinforced the pheromone trail has dissipated.

Child workers

Up betimes and to my office, and thence by coach to New Bridewell to meet with Mr. Poyntz to discourse with him (being Master of the Workhouse there) about making of Bewpers for us. But he was not within; however his clerke did lead me up and down through all the house, and there I did with great pleasure see the many pretty works, and the little children employed, every one to do something, which was a very fine sight, and worthy encouragement. I cast away a crowne among them, and so to the ‘Change and among the Linnen Wholesale Drapers to enquire about Callicos, to see what can be done with them for the supplying our want of Bewpers for flaggs, and I think I shall do something therein to good purpose for the King. So to the Coffeehouse, and there fell in discourse with the Secretary of the Virtuosi of Gresham College, and had very fine discourse with him. He tells me of a new invented instrument to be tried before the College anon, and I intend to see it. So to Trinity House, and there I dined among the old dull fellows, and so home and to my office a while, and then comes Mr. Cocker to see me, and I discoursed with him about his writing and ability of sight, and how I shall do to get some glasse or other to helpe my eyes by candlelight; and he tells me he will bring me the helps he hath within a day or two, and shew me what he do.
Thence to the Musique-meeting at the Postoffice, where I was once before. And thither anon come all the Gresham College, and a great deal of noble company: and the new instrument was brought called the Arched Viall, where being tuned with lute-strings, and played on with kees like an organ, a piece of parchment is always kept moving; and the strings, which by the kees are pressed down upon it, are grated in imitation of a bow, by the parchment; and so it is intended to resemble several vyalls played on with one bow, but so basely and harshly, that it will never do. But after three hours’ stay it could not be fixed in tune; and so they were fain to go to some other musique of instruments, which I am grown quite out of love with, and so I, after some good discourse with Mr. Spong, Hill, Grant, and Dr. Whistler, and others by turns, I home to my office and there late, and so home, where I understand my wife has spoke to Jane and ended matters of difference between her and her, and she stays with us, which I am glad of; for her fault is nothing but sleepiness and forgetfulness, otherwise a good-natured, quiet, well-meaning, honest servant, and one that will do as she is bid, so one called upon her and will see her do it.
This morning, by three o’clock, the Prince and King, and Duke with him, went down the River, and the Prince under sail the next tide after, and so is gone from the Hope. God give him better successe than he used to have!
This day Mr. Bland went away hence towards his voyage to Tangier.
This day also I had a letter from an unknown hand that tells me that Jacke Angier, he believes, is dead at Lisbon, for he left him there ill.

children employed
to supply our flags

dull eyes like organ keys
pressed down

that could not be fixed
to whistle

but otherwise quiet
and will do as bid

the river is a letter
from an unknown hand


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 October 1664.