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In front, towering
above the sidewalk edge
and the strip of soil
that all refer to as
city property— two pines
where night herons nest
For compost, for return
to the soil; nutrients
for the fruit tree,
says her daughter
regarding the backyard
unraked for months
With today's wind,
a rain of pine needles
unloosed from every
branch. Tomorrow,
armies of leaf blowers
down the street
Slept long to-day till Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten were set out towards Portsmouth before I rose, and Sir G. Carteret came to the office to speak with me before I was up. So I started up and down to him. By and by we sat, Mr. Coventry and I (Sir G. Carteret being gone), and among other things, Field and Stint did come, and received the 41l. given him by the judgement against me and Harry Kem; and we did also sign bonds in 500l. to stand to the award of Mr. Porter and Smith for the rest: which, however, I did not sign to till I got Mr. Coventry to go up with me to Sir W. Pen; and he did promise me before him to bear his share in what should be awarded, and both concluded that Sir W. Batten would do no less. At noon broke up and dined with my wife, and then to the office again, and there made an end of last night’s examination, and got my study there made very clean and put in order, and then to write by the post, among other letters one to Sir W. Batten about this day’s work with Field, desiring his promise also. The letter I have caused to be entered in our public book of letters. So home to supper and to bed.
mouth of an oven
in the field
given to war
we ward off the night
made into a day’s
red letters
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 13 December 1662.
I hear her the first time before I turn
the corner, walking through the refrigerated
section and shelves still stacked with butter
blocks, cardboard boxes of eggs, seasonal
peppermint- and mocha-flavored creamers.
Leave me alone, no, you leave me alone—
the inflection of anger in her voice somehow
incongruous with the almost languid way she
pushes her cart and considers a bag of frozen
peas. Leave me alone, she repeats into her phone
as she makes the rounds for her grocery items.
Other shoppers keep their distance and avoid
eye contact. When did we not exist in
a time of conflict that didn't trickle down
into the minutiae of our lives? I go in solitude
so as not to drink out of everybody's
cistern wrote Nietzsche, afraid the world
might rob him of his soul. What strikes me
is that she keeps the line open, doesn't
cut off the connection, then put her phone
on silent. Not a big anger, perhaps—
Its audible tip, just enough to pierce the air
toward a listening. Just enough so the curious
soul leans a little way out of its bunker.
From a very hard frost, when I wake, I find a very great thaw, and my house overflown with it, which vexed me.
At the office and home, doing business all the morning. Then dined with my wife and sat talking with her all the afternoon, and then to the office, and there examining my copy of Mr. Holland’s book till 10 at night, and so home to supper and bed.
from a hard wake
I find my overflow
with my wife
talking it all off
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 12 December 1662.
Like a tent, like a tarpaulin,
like the roof that held each
thing in. Across my belly though
fainter now, brown marks
that stretched my skin from
inside, each time my womb grew
to house a child. Let everything
happen to you, said Rilke—
and I, a kind of vessel life
will fill and burst and fill
again, if it doesn't defeat
me. I thought it was my duty
not to break this cycle.
But really, not to break.
Almost the longest night.
Before real darkness arrives,
travelers set out.
*
Some leave, some arrive.
Flaggers waving lit-up wands
before the train station.
*
For a few moments,
the silhouettes of trees pressed
against the sky's burning throat.
*
Domestic vs. extravagant
space: a parade of placid geese
not yet leaning into the wind.
Up, it being a great frost upon the snow, and we sat all the morning upon Mr. Creed’s accounts, wherein I did him some service and some disservice. At noon he dined with me, and we sat all the afternoon together, discoursing of ways to get money, which I am now giving myself wholly up to, and in the evening he went away and I to my office, concluding all matters concerning our great letter so long in doing to my Lord Treasurer, till almost one in the morning, and then home with my mind much eased, and so to bed.
I eat snow and count
all the way to one
I am giving myself up
to the stone in my mind
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 11 December 1662.
"Make no little plans."
~ attributed to Daniel H. Burnham
Like most everything else, it began
as a kind of dream. But grand, both
in scale and purpose. Each instance
toward the manifestation of the dream
became practice, a testing of principles
first laid out on drafting paper, to bring
a sense of imperial order to the new colony
in the East. Outward from the core of government
and the hub for commerce, a network of radiating
grids laid upon the wilderness. Here, the air
was bracing and fragranced with pine: a tonic
for those languishing in the provinces'
tropical heat and malarial fevers. After
the roads, a sanatorium was built on a hill:
as charming as any in Simla or the Swiss alps,
promising rest and recovery for the tubercular;
fresh food and sunlight. A City Beautiful,
whose monuments and buildings were scaffolds
for ideals of civic and moral virtue— whose site,
cleansed of unsightly elements, would support survival,
beckon trade, arrange functions for urban refinement and
aesthetics. An eye for immediate defense and a long future.
This morning rose, receiving a messenger from Sir G. Carteret and a letter from Mr. Coventry, one contrary to another, about our letter to my Lord Treasurer, at which I am troubled, but I went to Sir George, and being desirous to please both, I think I have found out a way to do it. So back to the office with Sir J. Minnes, in his coach, but so great a snow that we could hardly pass the streets. So we and Sir W. Batten to the office, and there did discourse of Mr. Creed’s accounts, and I fear it will be a good while before we shall go through them, and many things we meet with, all of difficulty. Then to the Dolphin, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir W. Batten, and I, did treat the Auditors of the Exchequer, Auditors Wood and Beale, and hither come Sir G. Carteret to us. We had a good dinner, cost us 5l. and 6s., whereof my share 26s., and after dinner did discourse of our salarys and other matters, which I think now they will allow.
Thence home, and there I found our new cook-mayde Susan come, who is recommended to us by my wife’s brother, for which I like her never the better, but being a good well-looked lass, I am willing to try, and Jane begins to take upon her as a chamber-mayde. So to the office, where late putting papers and my books and businesses in order, it being very cold, and so home to supper.
I try a trouble
I have found out back
so great a snow
we hardly count
and many things become
other matters now
new to rot
like a well-looked-at paper
Erasure poe derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 10 December 1662.
Lay long with my wife, contenting her about the business of Gosnell’s going, and I perceive she will be contented as well as myself, and so to the office, and after sitting all the morning in hopes to have Mr. Coventry dine with me, he was forced to go to White Hall, and so I dined with my own company only, taking Mr. Hater home with me, but he, poor man, was not very well, and so could not eat any thing. After dinner staid within all the afternoon, being vexed in my mind about the going away of Sarah this afternoon, who cried mightily, and so was I ready to do, and Jane did also, and then anon went Gosnell away, which did trouble me too; though upon many considerations, it is better that I am rid of the charge. All together makes my house appear to me very lonely, which troubles me much, and in a melancholy humour I went to the office, and there about business sat till I was called to Sir G. Carteret at the Treasury office about my Lord Treasurer’s letter, wherein he puts me to a new trouble to write it over again. So home and late with Sir John Minnes at the office looking over Mr. Creed’s accounts, and then home and to supper, and my wife and I melancholy to bed.
my wife going
I dine with my own hate
my mind going
I am rid of the charge
in a melancholy letter I write
to my melancholy bed
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 9 December 1662.