Posts

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Teaching the catbird to sing

The single-mindedness of a heron in flight: its dangerous bill, coiled neck, and arrow-straight path. No thank you! I’m the sort of guy who whistles a tune hoping the catbird will copy it.

Ay, ay, ay, ay,
Canta y no llores,
Porque cantando se alegran,
cielito lindo, los corazones.

The small blue butterfly keeps circling and landing, circling and landing among the small blue stones of the road, as if searching for a lost twin. When a car comes along straight as an arrow, the butterfly tries the same randomized flight pattern it uses to escape from everything else, tripping the light stochastic. It survives, but not because of that.

In the Popol Vuh, the hero twins use magic tricks and theater to defeat the single-minded lords of death. Their lust for violence is turned against them, and they participate willingly in their own destruction for the sheer thrill of it.

I’ve been listening to the catbird’s inventions for hours now. Twice I thought I heard phrases from Cielito Lindo.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Cogma

At the office all the morning, and the afternoon among my workmen with great pleasure, because being near an end of their work. This afternoon came Mr. Blackburn and Creed to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin, and there drank a great deal of Rhenish wine with them and so home, having some talk with Mr. Blackburn about his kinsman my Will, and he did give me good satisfaction in that it is his desire that his kinsman should do me all service, and that he would give him the best counsel he could to make him good. Which I begin of late to fear that he will not because of the bad company that I find that he do begin to take. This afternoon Mr. Hater received for me the 225l. due upon Mr. Creed’s bill in which I am concerned so much, which do make me very glad.
At night to Sir W. Batten and sat a while. So to bed.

I work with pleasure.
Near an end of work,
I burn to give
satisfaction
to the company.
Take me.
Make me.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 10 May 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Inventory

Peal
of a chime intercepted by a draft:
salt filtering down the cellar.

*

Prism
of sectioned light: marble
with a heart of revolving flame.

*

Sugar
that the bird stole
in the shape of a fig.

*

Film
on the counter’s edge:
powdery sift of milk on the tongue.

*

Moth
suspended from the rafters,
furled tight as a drying rosebud.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Absent.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Midday storm

This entry is part 91 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

Goldfinches gad about
in the blossoming crowns of the oaks,
brassy as advertising.

The clouds draw in.
Wood thrushes begin
their evening songs at noon.

Long feathers of rain
on the breeze—a plumage
the exact color of the world.


This ends the series. Thanks for reading.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Inebriate

With my workmen all the morning, my wife being ill and in great pain with her old pain, which troubled me much because that my house is in this condition of dirt.
In the afternoon I went to Whitehall and there spoke with my Lord at his lodgings, and there being with him my Lord Chamberlain, I spoke for my old waterman Payne, to get into White’s place, who was waterman to my Lord Chamberlain, and is now to go master of the barge to my Lord to sea, and my Lord Chamberlain did promise that Payne should be entertained in White’s place with him. From thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there did get his promise for the payment of the remainder of the bill of Mr. Creed’s, wherein of late I have been so much concerned, which did so much rejoice me that I meeting with Mr. Childe took him to the Swan Tavern in King Street, and there did give him a tankard of white wine and sugar, and so I went by water home and set myself to get my Lord’s accounts made up, which was till nine at night before I could finish, and then I walked to the Wardrobe, being the first time I was there since my Lady came thither, who I found all alone, and so she shewed me all the lodgings as they are now fitted, and they seem pretty pleasant. By and by comes in my Lord, and so, after looking over my accounts, I returned home, being a dirty and dark walk. So to bed.

Pain with pain,
water into water:
I have so much wine
I water myself
and hew me a lodging
in a dark bed.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 9 May 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Holiday

This entry is part 11 of 15 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2014

 

It’s that time of year: the Buddha feels overwhelmed
by the explosion of flower bouquet sales at each

grocery store, by the succession of radio and TV ads
for jewelry and fashion, singing Hallmark cards,

cleaning services, foot spas… This time, all the hoopla
is for Mother’s Day, which means that this weekend,

it will be difficult if not next to impossible
to get any kind of reservation at restaurants,

not to mention tickets for the symphony or opera.
All the hype’s fed partially by guilt, remorse,

regret— Remember your mom: give her a whole
day off from cleaning, chauffeuring, cooking,

diapering, laundry duties on top of her regular job.
Bring her or whoever has fulfilled that nurturing role

in your life, a favorite breakfast in bed, a rose
clenched between your teeth, a card you’ve penned

with thanks you’ll never sing adequately or enough of…
Remember the greatest loves are always those which want

to be, to give, so much; which stumble and fail, knowing
they are— like us— imperfect, unfinished, yearning.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Breakdown

This morning came my brother John to take his leave of me, he being to return to Cambridge to-morrow, and after I had chid him for going with my Will the other day to Deptford with the principal officers, I did give him some good counsell and 20s. in money, and so he went away.
All this day I staid at home with my workmen without eating anything, and took much pleasure to see my work go forward. At night comes my wife not well from my father’s, having had a fore-tooth drawn out to-day, which do trouble me, and the more because I am now in the greatest of all my dirt.
My Will also returned to-night pretty well, he being gone yesterday not very well to his father’s.
To-day I received a letter from my uncle, to beg an old fiddle of me for my Cozen Perkin, the miller, whose mill the wind hath lately broke down, and now he hath nothing to live by but fiddling, and he must needs have it against Whitsuntide to play to the country girls; but it vexed me to see how my uncle writes to me, as if he were not able to buy him one. But I intend tomorrow to send him one. At night I set down my journal of my late journey to this time, and so to bed. My wife not being well and I very angry with her for her coming hither in that condition.

With my night tooth
and my dirt fiddle I
broke down,
nothing to live by
but to play the country
uncle, write
a journal of my journey
to this bed.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 8 May 1661.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

First hot day

This entry is part 90 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

 

Huge tulip poplars
holding tiny leaves to the light,
each with its four incisors—

the sun doesn’t stand a chance.
Already it’s staging a sunset
on the back of my neck

as I crouch down
to puzzle over the maze of roads
on a yellow morel.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Conscript

In the morning to Mr. Coventry, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord’s to give them an account of my return. My Lady, I find, is, since my going, gone to the Wardrobe. Then with Mr. Creed into London, to several places about his and my business, being much stopped in our way by the City traynebands, who go in much solemnity and pomp this day to muster before the King and the Duke, and shops in the City are shut up every where all this day.
He carried me to an ordinary by the Old Exchange, where we come a little too late, but we had very good cheer for our 18d. a-piece, and an excellent droll too, my host, and his wife so fine a woman; and sung and played so well that I stayed a great while and drunk a great deal of wine.
Then home and stayed among my workmen all day, and took order for things for the finishing of their work.
And so at night to Sir W. Batten’s, and there supped and so home and to bed, having sent my Lord a letter to-night to excuse myself for not going with him to-morrow to the Hope, whither he is to go to see in what condition the fleet is in.

To go to war
is to muster and shut up,
to exchange cheer for a cell.
I stay drunk, a thing
for finishing.
(No hope is to go.)


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 7 May 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

The Buddha doesn’t give a damn

You look so beautiful, at peace
and in your own spirit, says a friend
that the Buddha has not seen in a while.
She beams and hugs her back, while mentally
reminding herself to check in the mirror
for what might have spurred this compliment.
The Buddha has her hair loosely pinned up
because of the humidity; she’s in dark-
colored jeans, a t-shirt, and faded cardigan
even on a workday, just because comfort
now comes first. Every so often, on special
occasions, she’ll wear a dress and heels,
put on some makeup— foundation, eye
shadow, lipstick, mascara. Now that she’s
past 50, she finally knows what it means
to not give a damn: to be unbothered
by the decision to not go out drinking with
her students; to eat breakfast for dinner
and dessert for breakfast; to not be non-
plussed when a wind lofts her skirt above
her knees, when a rolling wave slaps down
the top of her strapless swimsuit at the public
beach. She simply tugs the offending garment
back in place, smiles, shrugs, carries on.