If a tree falls

in the forest,
does writing exist?

If a sentence is written
but not in my language, does it

exist? Do I exist if the tree
peels back strip after strip

to translate a story
different from mine?

If a child washes up
on a beach, does mercy

exist or does it require
his water-logged sweater

to be any color
other than red,

does it require
the shoe missing

from his foot
to first be found?

Campaigner

In the morning I went to Mr. Downing’s bedside and gave him an account what I had done as to his guests, and I went thence to my Lord Widdrington who I met in the street, going to seal the patents for the judges to-day, and so could not come to dinner. I called upon Mr. Calthrop about the money due to my Lord. Here I met with Mr. Woodfine and drank with him at the Sun in Chancery Lane and so to Westminster Hall, where at the lobby I spoke with the rest of my guests and so to my office. At noon went by water with Mr. Maylard and Hales to the Swan in Fish Street at our Goal Feast, where we were very merry at our Jole of Ling, and from thence after a great and good dinner Mr. Falconberge would go drink a cup of ale at a place where I had like to have shot at a scholar that lay over the house of office.
Thence calling on Mr. Stephens and Wootton (with whom I drank) about business of my Lord’s I went to the Coffee Club where there was nothing done but choosing of a Committee for orders. Thence to Westminster Hall where Mrs. Lane and the rest of the maids had their white scarfs, all having been at the burial of a young bookseller in the Hall. Thence to Mr. Sheply’s and took him to my house and drank with him in order to his going to-morrow. So parted and I sat up late making up my accounts before he go.
This day three citizens of London went to meet Monk from the Common Council.

going with the sun
into the street

I drink like a scholar
at the burial of a book


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 20 January 1659/60. (See the original erasure.)

Conflicts of interest

All the morning sitting at the office, at noon with Mr. Coventry to the Temple to advise about Field’s, but our lawyers not being in the way we went to St. James’s, and there at his chamber dined, and I am still in love more and more with him for his real worth. I broke to him my desire for my wife’s brother to send him to sea as a midshipman, which he is willing to agree to, and will do it when I desire it. After dinner to the Temple, to Mr. Thurland; and thence to my Lord Chief Baron, Sir Edward Hale’s, and back with Mr. Thurland to his chamber, where he told us that Field will have the better of us; and that we must study to make up the business as well as we can, which do much vex and trouble us: but I am glad the Duke is concerned in it. Thence by coach homewards, calling at a tavern in the way (being guided by the messenger in whose custody Field lies), and spoke with Mr. Smith our messenger about the business, and so home, where I found that my wife had finished very neatly my study with the former hangings of the diningroom, which will upon occasion serve for a fine withdrawing room. So a little to my office and so home, and spent the evening upon my house, and so to supper and to bed.

a field is in love with the sea
as a ship is with land

where will we make war
guided by lies

where finish the hanging
or withdraw


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 20 November 1662.

Five years of writing a poem a day!

Luisa A. Igloria close-up photoToday marks the fifth anniversary of Luisa Igloria’s very first poem on Via Negativa—a poem that proved to be the starting point of an amazing poem-a-day exercise that has never let up, not even for holidays or conferences. That first poem was sparked by a post on my daily microblog The Morning Porch:

Dawn. In absolute silence, a pileated woodpecker hitches its way up a locust trunk, silhouette pivoting like a pawl on an invisible ratchet.

On Facebook, Luisa posted this response:

Stay

Dawn: in absolute silence,
a pileated woodpecker
hitches its way up
a locust trunk, silhouette
pivoting like a pawl
on an invisible ratchet—

consider this early
summons, this parking
ticket—momentary stay
before the hubbub
and transmission
of gears.

Luisa continued to use The Morning Porch for daily writing prompts—something I’ve always encouraged by applying a permissive Creative Commons license to all my work. When I learned a few weeks later that she was continuing the series, I invited her to become first a regular guest writer and then, as I slowly adjusted to the idea, a co-blogger. After the first year, Luisa broadened her pool of places to get writing prompts from (while still regularly using my porchisms), and when I began my own daily poetry exercise with the inception of the Pepys Diary erasure project in 2013, Luisa’s example was my biggest inspiration. Thanks to her, Via Negativa has evolved from one writer’s miscellany into a uniquely collaborative and improvisational poetry zine.

cover of Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil EraserIt’s natural for poetry fans to regard print books as the ultimate repository of the art, and by that measure, Luisa’s exercise has succeeded spectacularly. Ode to the Heart Smaller than a Pencil Eraser won the 2014 May Swenson Poetry Award, chosen by Mark Doty, and two other books—Night Willow and The Saints of Streets—also consist mainly of poems that came out of her daily writing exercise. There’s also an e-book, Bright as Mirrors Left in the Grass, in connection with which Luisa answered a question about her practice and linked back to a 2011 interview with Marly Youmans where she went into quite a bit more detail. This was early on, when the memory of how it started was still fresh:

In a lull just before Thanksgiving last year, I read Dave’s November 20 observation of a pileated woodpecker inching up the trunk of a locust tree “like a pawl on an invisible ratchet” and I thought: what a cool image, what a cool word—pawl—and immediately I wanted to turn it into a poem. […] I really didn’t intend for it to turn out into the daily “devotional” that it seems to have become, but now I’m thoroughly hooked.

What I’m happiest about is how I’ve incorporated it into my daily writing practice, and that the simple rules I’ve set for myself seem to work well in terms of getting me to that place of focus and attention where there is the potential for making poetry happen. My rules are: I don’t have a fixed time for visiting The Morning Porch to read the latest line Dave’s written. But when I do, I try to respond immediately, without premeditation, composing as I go. I try not to belabor what I find in the starting “trigger”—because I don’t see myself obligated to respond via a form of poetic reportage. What happens instead is that the bit of image or language that first catches my eye or ear, meets what I bring to that moment (a combination of many things—what I may have been reading or remembering recently, what kinds of questions I might be asking that particular day). Finally, I try to do all of this in thirty minutes, forty max; I feel that if I go over this time limit I set for myself, I will be belaboring the whole enterprise too much.

Do read the rest.

I texted Luisa an hour ago, just as she was settling in to write today’s poem at her neighborhood coffee shop, escaping some chaos at home. I asked her if she’d ever expected to be able to keep it up this long, and she admitted she hadn’t. I asked her whether it’s gotten easier over time, and what advice she might give to other poets who’d like to write more often, but feel overworked and overwhelmed. She told me,

Some things have gotten easier with time—those “throat clearing parts” for instance. I think knowing that I will write every day and that I’ll make my way to that time of writing every day has freed up some of the anxiety about starting (or starting from scratch, from nothing, every time one approaches the page). It does really seem like there’s something to be said about the aspect of athleticism involved in doing any kind of practice daily: people run to prepare for marathons, swim laps, warm up, etc. Having written daily for this long I do feel I have gotten more limber in some ways: in the ability to filter out extraneous noise, and more importantly the ability to relax about some of the process. The latter as I’m sure you know is one of the hardest things to do.

And she added:

What I’ve come to understand of my own needs (they may not necessarily be the same for others) from my daily writing practice: it’s the space I can look forward to every day where whatever existential or other question in the fore- or background of my awareness is where I can go to meet it/wrestle with it/knead it—in poetry—for a little while.

A huge congratulations to Luisa on reaching this milestone, and here’s hoping that her poems can continue to grace these virtual pages for many years to come.

Brief little life

“This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.” ~ Naomi Shihab Nye

Today, even just for a while, I would like
to stop making a catalog of ruin, making

lists of all the places we may never visit
now that the world feels newly unsafe.

An unmarked red van has just pulled up
across the street, and three men

step out, carrying a long,
rolled-up cylinder of carpet.

My neighbor comes out to greet them,
leads them up her walk, opens

her screen door wide. On either side
of my front stoop, the miniature

Japanese maples offer a more
variegated shade of rust and orange

than the cones security officers
are beginning to set at strategic portions

at the top of the road, because the First Lady
will be speaking at the convocation center at 3.

She’s here to talk about fruits and vegetables,
eating healthy, eating local; planting seeds

in community gardens, going back to basics—
Knowing where our tomatoes come from, plucking

the beans off the vine; hearing the bounce of new-
shelled peas in a bowl, not being afraid to thrust

the hands we are so careful about touching
or not touching others, back in the earth.

Orison

At home all the morning, putting some of my goods in order in my house; and after dinner, the like in the afternoon. And in the evening to my office, and there till 11 a-clock at night upon my Lord Treasurer’s letter again, and so home to bed.

morning, put me in order
like the afternoon
or a letter home


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 19 November 1662.

Mining region

This morning I was sent for to Mr. Downing, and at his bed side he told me, that he had a kindness for me, and that he thought that he had done me one; and that was, that he had got me to be one of the Clerks of the Council; at which I was a little stumbled, and could not tell what to do, whether to thank him or no; but by and by I did; but not very heartily, for I feared that his doing of it was but only to ease himself of the salary which he gives me.
After that Mr. Sheply staying below all this time for me we went thence and met Mr. Pierce, so at the Harp and Ball drank our morning draft and so to Whitehall where I met with Sir Ant. Cooper and did give him some answer from my Lord and he did give us leave to keep the lodgings still. And so we did determine thereupon that Mr. Sheply might now go into the country and would do so to-morrow.
Back I went by Mr. Downing’s order and staid there till twelve o’clock in expectation of one to come to read some writings, but he came not, so I staid all alone reading the answer of the Dutch Ambassador to our State, in answer to the reasons of my Lord’s coming home, which he gave for his coming, and did labour herein to contradict my Lord’s arguments for his coming home. Thence to my office and so with Mr. Sheply and Moore, to dine upon a turkey with Mrs. Jem, and after that Mr. Moore and I went to the French Ordinary, where Mr. Downing this day feasted Sir Arth. Haselrigge, and a great many more of the Parliament, and did stay to put him in mind of me. Here he gave me a note to go and invite some other members to dinner tomorrow. So I went to White Hall, and did stay at Marsh’s, with Simons, Luellin, and all the rest of the Clerks of the Council, who I hear are all turned out, only the two Leighs, and they do all tell me that my name was mentioned the last night, but that nothing was done in it.
Hence I went and did leave some of my notes at the lodgings of the members and so home. To bed.

in the heart of the country
we expect no ambassador

coming here is coming home to ore
and the ordinary feast

I am put in mind of a marsh with all
the all they name nothing in it


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 19 January 1659/60. (See the original erasure.)

Paris, Beirut

To my office and from thence to Will’s, and there Mr. Sheply brought me letters from the carrier and so I went home. After that to Wilkinson’s, where we had a dinner for Mr. Talbot, Adams, Pinkny and his son, but his son did not come. Here we were very merry, and while I was here Mr. Fuller came thither and staid a little, while. After that we all went to my Lord’s, whither came afterwards Mr. Harrison, and by chance seeing Mr. Butler coming by I called him in and so we sat drinking a bottle of wine till night. At which time Mistress Ann came with the key of my Lord’s study for some things, and so we all broke up and after I had gone to my house and interpreted my Lord’s letter by his character I came to her again and went with her to her lodging and from thence to Mr. Crew’s, where I advised with him what to do about my Lord’s lodgings and what answer to give to Sir Ant. Cooper and so I came home and to bed.
All the world is at a loss to think what Monk will do: the City saying that he will be for them, and the Parliament saying he will be for them.

the bottle of night broke

what to do
what answer to give

is loss what the city will be for


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 18 January 1659/60. (See the original erasure.)

Procrastinating poet

Up and to the office, where Mr. Phillip the lawyer came to me, but I put him off to the afternoon. At noon I dined at Sir W. Batten’s, Sir John Minnes being here, and he and I very kind, but I every day expect to pull a crow with him about our lodgings. My mind troubled about Gosnell and my law businesses. So after dinner to Mr. Phillips his chamber, where he demands an abatement for Piggott’s money, which vexes me also, but I will not give it him without my father’s consent, which I will write to him to-night about, and have done it. Here meeting my uncle Thomas, he and I to my cozen Roger’s chamber, and there I did give my uncle him and Mr. Philips to be my two arbiters against Mr. Cole and Punt, but I expect no great good of the matter.
Thence walked home, and my wife came home, having been abroad to-day, laying out above 12l. in linen, and a copper, and a pot, and bedstead, and other household stuff, which troubles me also, so that my mind to-night is very heavy and divided.
Late at my office, drawing up a letter to my Lord Treasurer, which we have been long about, and so home, and, my mind troubled, to bed.

I put off being here
an everyday crow with a mind to write
laying a raw letter O


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 18 November 1662.