Hunter

Sam Pepys and me

Up and after taking leave of Sir W. Batten, who is gone this day towards Portsmouth (to little purpose, God knows) upon his survey, I home and spent the morning at dancing; at noon Creed dined with us and Mr. Deane of Woolwich, and so after dinner came Mr. Howe, who however had enough for his dinner, and so, having done, by coach to Westminster, she to Mrs. Clerke and I to St. James’s, where the Duke being gone down by water to-day with the King I went thence to my Lord Sandwich’s lodgings, where Mr. Howe and I walked a while, and going towards Whitehall through the garden Dr. Clerk and Creed called me across the bowling green, and so I went thither and after a stay went up to Mrs. Clerke who was dressing herself to go abroad with my wife. But, Lord! in what a poor condition her best chamber is, and things about her, for all the outside and show that she makes, but I found her just such a one as Mrs. Pierce, contrary to my expectation, so much that I am sick and sorry to see it.
Thence for an hour Creed and I walked to White Hall, and into the Park, seeing the Queen and Maids of Honour passing through the house going to the Park. But above all, Mrs. Stuart is a fine woman, and they say now a common mistress to the King, as my Lady Castlemaine is; which is a great pity. Thence taking a coach to Mrs. Clerke’s, took her, and my wife, and Ashwell, and a Frenchman, a kinsman of hers, to the Park, where we saw many fine faces, and one exceeding handsome, in a white dress over her head, with many others very beautiful. Staying there till past eight at night, I carried Mrs. Clerke and her Frenchman, who sings well, home, and thence home ourselves, talking much of what we had observed to-day of the poor household stuff of Mrs. Clerke and mere show and flutter that she makes in the world; and pleasing myself in my own house and manner of living more than ever I did by seeing how much better and more substantially I live than others do.
So to supper and bed.

who knows who
I am to the owl

passing through
her ash-white head
her beautiful night

the flutter she makes
in the world by seeing
better than others


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 18 May 1663.

Arrangements

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Of course I know it's bait. 
The algorithm seems clairvoyant,
every ad on my feed picking up
on that one time I stopped to read
the made-up stories of silver-
haired couples, probate lawyers,
locked accounts, missing passwords
and how touch and facial recognition
no longer work when you're dead.
It's almost sweet, the way they pitch
the idea of a clean finish. But also
there's threat (think of signatures
aligned like teeth) behind the smooth,
imagined voice that says order now
what you'll need at the end if you really
care for those who'll have to clean up
your mess. I restrain the impulse to buy—
the plot, the planner, the tidy record
keeper— not already gone, not quite
leaving nor convinced I'm turning
into the ghost of me.

Feeble

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). Up and in my chamber all the morning, preparing my great letters to my father, stating to him the perfect condition of our estate. My wife and Ashwell to church, and after dinner they to church again, and I all the afternoon making an end of my morning’s work, which I did about the evening, and then to talk with my wife till after supper, and so to bed having another small falling out and myself vexed with my old fit of jealousy about her dancing-master. But I am a fool for doing it. So to bed by daylight, I having a very great cold, so as I doubt whether I shall be able to speak to-morrow at our attending the Duke, being now so hoarse.

in the condition of ash
after church
after work

having another
small fall

my old bed cold
as all tomorrow


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 17 May 1663.

The Red-Lipped Batfish

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
 
takes small steps on the ocean floor,
looking overdressed, theatrical,
awkward— I recognize the feeling:
of being visible in ways I can't
control, but moving forward anyway
while pretending nothing's wrong.
But maybe the batfish is a diva.
She can walk on the tips
of her fins and doesn't care
if anyone's watching. And maybe
there's nothing wrong, since shame
is an invention that keeps us
from inhabiting our own joy.
What's gravity when you can tiptoe-
float through water, the spots
on your front and back
rippling with reflected light,
announcing your arrival?

Dubious

Sam Pepys and me

Up with my mind disturbed and with my last night’s doubts upon me.
For which I deserve to be beaten if not really served as I am fearful of being, especially since God knows that I do not find honesty enough in my own mind but that upon a small temptation I could be false to her, and therefore ought not to expect more justice from her, but God pardon both my sin and my folly herein.
To my office and there sitting all the morning, and at noon dined at home. After dinner comes Pembleton, and I being out of humour would not see him, pretending business, but, Lord! with what jealousy did I walk up and down my chamber listening to hear whether they danced or no, which they did, notwithstanding I afterwards knew and did then believe that Ashwell was with them. So to my office awhile, and, my jealousy still reigning, I went in and, not out of any pleasure but from that only reason, did go up to them to practise, and did make an end of “La Duchesse,” which I think I should, with a little pains, do very well. So broke up and saw him gone.
Then Captain Cocke coming to me to speak about my seeming discourtesy to him in the business of his hemp, I went to the office with him, and there discoursed it largely and I think to his satisfaction.
Then to my business, writing letters and other things till late at night, and so home to supper and bed. My mind in some better ease resolving to prevent matters for the time to come as much as I can, it being to no purpose to trouble myself for what is past, being occasioned too by my own folly.

doubts for which
I deserve to be beaten

nest in my mind
a small false god

both sin and folly
up and down

no better matter
for being myself


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 16 May 1663.

A walk in the park

Sam Pepys and me

Up betimes and walked to St. James’s, where Mr. Coventry being in bed I walked in the Park, discoursing with the keeper of the Pell Mell, who was sweeping of it; who told me of what the earth is mixed that do floor the Mall, and that over all there is cockle-shells powdered, and spread to keep it fast; which, however, in dry weather, turns to dust and deads the ball. Thence to Mr. Coventry; and sitting by his bedside, he did tell me that he sent for me to discourse upon my Lord Sandwich’s allowances for his several pays, and what his thoughts are concerning his demands; which he could not take the freedom to do face to face, it being not so proper as by me: and did give me a most friendly and ingenuous account of all; telling me how unsafe, at this juncture, while every man’s, and his actions particularly, are descanted upon, it is either for him to put the Duke upon doing, or my Lord himself to desire anything extraordinary, ‘specially the King having been so bountifull already; which the world takes notice of even to some repinings. All which he did desire me to discourse with my Lord of; which I have undertook to do.
We talked also of our office in general, with which he told me that he was now-a-days nothing so satisfied as he was wont to be. I confess I told him things are ordered in that way that we must of necessity break in a little time a pieces.
After done with him about these things, he told me that for Mr. Hater the Duke’s word was in short that he found he had a good servant, an Anabaptist, and unless he did carry himself more to the scandal of the office, he would bear with his opinion till he heard further, which do please me very much.
Thence walked to Westminster, and there up and down in the Hall and the Parliament House all the morning; at noon by coach to my Lord Crew’s, hearing that Lord Sandwich did dine there; where I told him what had passed between Mr. Coventry and myself; with which he was contented, though I could perceive not very well pleased. And I do believe that my Lord do find some other things go against his mind in the House; for in the motion made the other day in the House by my Lord Bruce, that none be capable of employment but such as have been loyal and constant to the King and Church, the General and my Lord were mentioned to be excepted; and my Lord Bruce did come since to my Lord, to clear himself that he meant nothing to his prejudice, nor could it have any such effect if he did mean it. After discourse with my Lord; to dinner with him; there dining there my Lord Montagu of Boughton, Mr. William Montagu his brother, the Queen’s Sollicitor, &c., and a fine dinner.
Their talk about a ridiculous falling-out two days ago at my Lord of Oxford’s house, at an entertainment of his, there being there my Lord of Albemarle, Lynsey, two of the Porters, my Lord Bellasses, and others, where there were high words and some blows, and pulling off of perriwiggs; till my Lord Monk took away some of their swords, and sent for some soldiers to guard the house till the fray was ended. To such a degree of madness the nobility of this age is come!
After dinner I went up to Sir Thomas Crew, who lies there not very well in his head, being troubled with vapours and fits of dizziness: and there I sat talking with him all the afternoon from one discourse to another, the most was upon the unhappy posture of things at this time; that the King do mind nothing but pleasures, and hates the very sight or thoughts of business; that my Lady Castlemaine rules him, who, he says, hath all the tricks of Aretin that are to be practised to give pleasure. In which he is too able, having a large —-. but what is the unhappiness in that, as the Italian proverb says, “lazzo dritto non vuolt consiglio.” If any of the sober counsellors give him good advice, and move him in anything that is to his good and honour, the other part, which are his counsellers of pleasure, take him when he is with my Lady Castlemaine, and in a humour of delight, and then persuade him that he ought not to hear nor listen to the advice of those old dotards or counsellors that were heretofore his enemies: when, God knows! it is they that now-a-days do most study his honour. It seems the present favourites now are my Lord Bristol, Duke of Buckingham, Sir H. Bennet, my Lord Ashley, and Sir Charles Barkeley; who, among them, have cast my Lord Chancellor upon his back, past ever getting up again; there being now little for him to do, and he waits at Court attending to speak to the King as others do: which I pray God may prove of good effects, for it is feared it will be the same with my Lord Treasurer shortly. But strange to hear how my Lord Ashley, by my Lord Bristol’s means (he being brought over to the Catholique party against the Bishopps, whom he hates to the death, and publicly rails against them; not that he is become a Catholique, but merely opposes the Bishopps; and yet, for aught I hear, the Bishopp of London keeps as great with the King as ever) is got into favour, so much that, being a man of great business and yet of pleasure, and drolling too, he, it is thought, will be made Lord Treasurer upon the death or removal of the good old man.
My Lord Albemarle, I hear, do bear through and bustle among them, and will not be removed from the King’s good opinion and favour, though none of the Cabinett; but yet he is envied enough.
It is made very doubtful whether the King do not intend the making of the Duke of Monmouth legitimate; but surely the Commons of England will never do it, nor the Duke of York suffer it, whose lady, I am told, is very troublesome to him by her jealousy. But it is wonderful that Sir Charles Barkeley should be so great still, not with the King, but Duke also; who did so stiffly swear that he had lain with her. And another one Armour that he rode before her on horseback in Holland I think, and she rid with her hand upon his ——.
No care is observed to be taken of the main chance, either for maintaining of trade or opposing of factions, which, God knows, are ready to break out, if any of them (which God forbid!) should dare to begin; the King and every man about him minding so much their pleasures or profits.
My Lord Hinchingbroke, I am told, hath had a mischance to kill his boy by his birding-piece going off as he was a-fowling. The gun was charged with small shot, and hit the boy in the face and about the temples, and he lived four days.
In Scotland, it seems, for all the newes-books tell us every week that they are all so quiett, and everything in the Church settled, the old women had like to have killed, the other day, the Bishop of Galloway, and not half the Churches of the whole kingdom conform.
Strange were the effects of the late thunder and lightning about a week since at Northampton, coming with great rain, which caused extraordinary floods in a few hours, bearing away bridges, drowning horses, men, and cattle. Two men passing over a bridge on horseback, the arches before and behind them were borne away, and that left which they were upon: but, however, one of the horses fell over, and was drowned. Stacks of faggots carried as high as a steeple, and other dreadful things; which Sir Thomas Crew showed me letters to him about from Mr. Freemantle and others, that it is very true.
The Portugalls have choused us, it seems, in the Island of Bombay, in the East Indys; for after a great charge of our fleets being sent thither with full commission from the King of Portugall to receive it, the Governour by some pretence or other will not deliver it to Sir Abraham Shipman, sent from the King, nor to my Lord of Marlborough; which the King takes highly ill, and I fear our Queen will fare the worse for it.
The Dutch decay there exceedingly, it being believed that their people will revolt from them there, and they forced to give over their trade. This is talked of among us, but how true I understand not.
Sir Thomas showed me his picture and Sir Anthony Vandike’s, in crayon in little, done exceedingly well.
Having thus freely talked with him, and of many more things, I took leave, and by coach to St. James’s, and there told Mr. Coventry what I had done with my Lord with great satisfaction, and so well pleased home, where I found it almost night, and my wife and the dancing-master alone above, not dancing but talking. Now so deadly full of jealousy I am that my heart and head did so cast about and fret that I could not do any business possibly, but went out to my office, and anon late home again and ready to chide at every thing, and then suddenly to bed and could hardly sleep, yet durst not say any thing, but was forced to say that I had bad news from the Duke concerning Tom Hater as an excuse to my wife, who by my folly has too much opportunity given her with the man, who is a pretty neat black man, but married. But it is a deadly folly and plague that I bring upon myself to be so jealous and by giving myself such an occasion more than my wife desired of giving her another month’s dancing. Which however shall be ended as soon as I can possibly. But I am ashamed to think what a course I did take by lying to see whether my wife did wear drawers to-day as she used to do, and other things to raise my suspicion of her, but I found no true cause of doing it.

a park keeper weeping
told me what the earth is

cockle shells and weather
dust and dead beds

a face for
the bountiful world

which we must of necessity
break in pieces

with words and blows
and a degree of madness

and what is the unhappiness in that
if the light is good

as death keeps rolling
old bear doubtful in the mouth

surely the land will never suffer
it is so great still

we know every bird
going quiet like a drowned island

how many more dead
could be yet to raise


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 15 May 1663.

Time: Textures

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The average lifespan  
is four thousand weeks, give or take.

What should we do
with our allotment?

In this economy of days,
a work week is held in contrast

to paid time off or vacations.
Doing nothing is still

a form of doing and there are many fine
forms of doing nothing— sitting

in a cathedral built of slow
mornings, sleeping while rain

divides into currencies you'll
eventually give up counting.

The days wrap around you sometimes
like a thin clinical gown,

neither cloth nor paper.
You can wear it to open in front

or in the back. Either way, you are
easier to access. Forget your bad

hip, your bum shoulder. They're mere
distractions when you want to take

time peeling an orange, releasing its scent
as you pull pith away from flesh.

Divined

Sam Pepys and me

Up betimes and put up some things to send to Brampton. Then abroad to the Temple, and up and down about business, and met Mr. Moore; and with him to an alehouse in Holborn; where in discourse he told me that he fears the King will be tempted to endeavour the setting the Crown upon the little Duke, which may cause troubles; which God forbid, unless it be his due! He told me my Lord do begin to settle to business again, which I am glad of, for he must not sit out, now he has done his own business by getting his estate settled, and that the King did send for him the other day to my Lady Castlemaine’s, to play at cards, where he lost 50l.; for which I am sorry, though he says my Lord was pleased at it, and said he would be glad at any time to lose 50l. for the King to send for him to play, which I do not so well like.
Thence home, and after dinner to the office, where we sat till night, and then made up my papers and letters by the post, and so home to dance with Pembleton.
This day we received a baskett from my sister Pall, made by her of paper, which hath a great deal of labour in it for country innocent work.
After supper to bed, and going to bed received a letter from Mr. Coventry desiring my coming to him to-morrow morning, which troubled me to think what the business should be, fearing it must be some bad news in Tom Hater’s business.

the temple
tempted the god
to play king

to play
like the night
all innocent

after a letter
from tomorrow
bled ink


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 14 May 1663.

Self-portrait at Women’s Health Clinic, with Nail Stickers

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
I tell the specialist I'm exhausted. Not the ordinary 
kind of tired but a tired that feels bone-deep, comes on
suddenly and without warning hands me gears to a machine
I'm now supposed to steer indefinitely. I grit my teeth

just to get through the day. I'm tired not because
I had one too many salt-rimmed drinks, or binged

episode after episode of Grantchester. She scrolls
through my files, and my history pops up like an old
neighborhood: biopsy fifteen years ago, atypical
breast hyperplasia. Menopause, the threshold

I passed, lined with night sweats and mood swings.
She says this late, hormone replacement won't help;

and in fact might increase the risk for strokes,
heart attack, cancer. What can help? I ask. I still
have so many things I want to do! She says I'll have
to discuss this further with my primary care doctor,

explore other avenues. Then— just like that— she pauses
over my hands. Where did you get your nails done?

I tell her they're stickers, a set my daughter ordered
online from Japan. No gel, no ammonia, and they last
at least two weeks. She calls in the resident and
the assistants, delighted. They marvel at the gloss

and artful gradations of color. It's as if I've become
a wonder, an amazing specimen instead of just another

problematic body. She apologizes for not being more
helpful but thanks me for teaching her something new.
I walk back to the parking garage, my tired body
somehow still capable of offering beauty.

Documentation

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
It's what they ask for
when they want to know

what was cut, filled,
altered; removed, taken,

and how much. Trees do
what they do, with or

without witness. Water,
too, will seek its way

through stone. Method
is the preferred way

of building the record,
with language that holds

what it's given to carry.
But there are times

the record is more of
invention: a shift

in the shape of things,
the making of something

that will have no ability
to reply to a question.