Via Negativa

December 6, 2024December 6, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Recognition

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

When some plants need repotting, 
they send out signals: drops of moisture 

along a leaf blade, a sudden autumn 
of leaves at their base. No one says

this is metaphor, though I too have taken 
such liberties, assigning meaning where

it did not necessarily originate. But
when it comes, it brings with it a shock 

of recognition. Other times, I look dumbly 
at the face in front of me, wondering where 

I first encountered it. The girl at the grocery 
checkout counter prompts me to enter my phone 

number; I stare at my reflection on the chrome 
surfaces, my fingers hovering over the keypad.

December 5, 2024December 5, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

This morning I went early to the Paynter’s and there sat for my picture the fourth time, but it do not yet please me, which do much trouble me. Thence to the Treasury Office, where I found Sir W. Batten come before me, and there we sat to pay off the St. George. By and by came Sir W. Pen, and he and I staid while Sir W. Batten went home to dinner, and then he came again, and Sir W. Pen and I went and dined at my house, and had two mince pies sent thither by our order from the messenger Slater, that had dressed some victuals for us, and so we were very merry, and after dinner rode out in his coach, he to Whitehall, and my wife and I to the Opera, and saw “Hamlett” well performed. Thence to the Temple and Mrs. Turner’s (who continues still very ill), and so home and to bed.

we pay for time
to come again

our messenger
dressed in white

for the turn
into bed

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 5 December 1661.

December 4, 2024December 5, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Dental

Unlike skin and other parts of the human
body, teeth cannot heal themselves. 
No wonder dental work is always so 
expensive. A chipped tooth, a cracked 
tooth, a tooth fallen out of your mouth: 
a whole intricate history is behind 
procedures for putting back what can't 
be fixed on its own. In ancient Egypt 
and China, bones and shells were used 
as forms of implants. The earliest dental 
fillings were made of beeswax— imagine 
soft wax packed into crevices of your 
teeth, still humming with fuzz from 
the hive. At night, you'd brush 
your teeth with the ends of twigs or 
clumps of boar's hair dipped in a paste 
of ashes and burnt oyster shells bound 
with honey. Your dentist numbs your gums 
then tips the chair back. Lowering 
the overhead light, sometimes he likes 
to chat— except you can't respond while 
he's drilling. In the back of your mind, 
you remember reading about how 
it was a dentist who first invented 
the electric chair, as a way of making 
capital punishment more humane.

December 4, 2024December 4, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Snow Falls

snow falls in the darkness
drops like the latest style
it’s the night’s whitest isle

till the wind picks up and it all goes
sideways like Marilyn Monroe’s
irrepressible dress

December 4, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Still

To Whitehall with both Sir Williams, thence by water, where I saw a man lie dead upon Westminster Stairs that had been drowned yesterday. To the Temple, and thence to Mr. Phillips and got my copy of Sturtlow lands. So back to the 3 Tuns at Charing Cross, and there met the two Sir Williams and Col. Treswell and Mr. Falconer, and dined there at Sir W. Pen’s cost, and after dinner by water to Cheapside to the painter’s, and there found my wife, and having sat a little she and I by coach to the Opera and Theatre, but coming too late to both, and myself being a little out of tune we returned, and I settled to read in “Mare Clausum” till bedtime, and so to bed.

dead air
after the opera

but my little tune returned
and settled in

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 4 December 1661.

December 3, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Night rider

To the Paynter’s and sat and had more of my picture done; but it do not please me, for I fear it will not be like me. At noon from thence to the Wardrobe, where dinner not being ready Mr. Moore and I to the Temple about my little business at Mr. Turner’s, and so back again, and dinner being half done I went in to my Lady, where my Lady Wright was at dinner with her, and all our talk about the great happiness that my Lady Wright says there is in being in the fashion and in variety of fashions, in scorn of others that are not so, as citizens’ wives and country gentlewomen, which though it did displease me enough, yet I said nothing to it. Thence by water to the office through bridge, being carried by him in oars that the other day rowed in a scull faster than my oars to the Towre, and I did give him 6d. At the office all the afternoon, and at night home to read in “Mare Clausum” till bedtime, and so to bed, but had a very bad night by dreams of my wife’s riding with me and her horse throwing her and breaking her leg, and then I dreamt that I had one of my testicles swelled, and I in such pain that I waked with it, and had a great deal of pain there a very great while till I fell asleep again, and such apprehension I had of it that when I rose and trussed up myself thinking that it had been no dream. Till in the daytime I found myself very well at ease, and remembered that I did dream so, and that Mr. Creed was with me, and that I did complain to him of it, and he said he had the same pain in his left that I had in my right stone which pleased me much to remember.

fear like a temple
where all our happiness is ash

in scorn of others
that are not citizens

the nightmare riding me
a horse of apprehension

till I dream the same pain
in a stone

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 3 December 1661.

December 3, 2024December 2, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

On Living and Dying

~ after Nazim Hikmet


There are currently 10 states plus 
       Washington, DC where medically assisted
dying is legal. But there will be no end
       to the arguments and debates concerning
the ethicality of letting anyone— doctor,
       patient, next of kin— decide when enough
is enough, or why that should be the only possible 
       choice, despite the inevitability of what's to come.
Nazim Hikmet said, however and wherever we are,
       we must live as if we will never die. This is
such a strange paradox, because we know we'll die  
       at some point. He said, living must be your whole
occupation. We know the weight of living is heavy, 
       and we're afraid of how, by itself, death 
never announces when it comes. But the poet says
       think of the audacious— plant some kind 
of fruiting tree in your old age, enjoy the humor of little
       moments, even as wars are waged and millions 
of microbes circle this earth that has been dying
       ever since it was born. You've just spent 
the rest of your paycheck again on another home 
       repair issue, or helping out a child in need. 
Every day brings a new kind of sadness. What 
       is anyone to do? Find a new set of batteries, 
string some lights in the window. Turn them on: 
       their feeble glow seems almost to contain 
the dark, even if they are only what they are and not
       some grand, metaphysical pronouncement.

December 2, 2024December 2, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 48

A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. You can also browse the blog digest archive at Via Negativa or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack (where the posts might be truncated by some email providers).

This week: looping echoes, words that feel distinctly blue, a claustrophobic fairy tale, 19 shades of untrue, sour milk and fermenting earth, and the cosmogony of you. Enjoy!

December 2, 2024 by Dave Bonta

A rising tide

To Savill the painter’s, but he not being well I could do nothing there, and so I returned home, and in my way met Mr. Moore and took him with me home; where we staid and talked all the morning, and he dined with me, and after dinner went away to the Privy Seal, this being our first day this month. By and by called on by Mr. Sanchy and his mistress, and with them by coach to the Opera, to see “The Mad Lover,” but not much pleased with the play. That done home all to my house, where they staid and supped and were merry, and at last late bid good night and so we to bed.

the well turned into a sea
our first opera

the mad lover pleased
with her last good night

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 2 December 1661.