Prescription

Sam Pepys and me

And did keep my bed most of this morning, my body I find being still bound and little wind, and so my pain returned again, though not so bad, but keeping my body with warm clothes very hot I made shift to endure it, and at noon sent word to Mr. Hollyard of my condition, that I could neither have a natural stool nor break wind, and by that means still in pain and frequent offering to make water. So he sent me two bottles of drink and some syrup, one bottle to take now and the other to-morrow morning. So in the evening, after Commissioner Pett, who came to visit me, and was going to Chatham, but methinks do talk to me in quite another manner, doubtfully and shyly, and like a stranger, to what he did heretofore. After I saw he was gone I did drink one of them, but it was a most loathsome draught, and did keep myself warm after it, and had that afternoon still a stool or two, but in no plenty, nor any wind almost carried away, and so to bed. In no great pain, but do not think myself likely to be well till I have a freedom of stool and wind.
Most of this day and afternoon my wife and I did spend together in setting things now up and in order in her closet, which indeed is, and will be, when I can get her some more things to put in it, a very pleasant place, and is at present very pretty, and such as she, I hope, will find great content in.
So to bed.

keeping my body
in a bottle
to take and talk to

I drink myself warm
and think myself up
a pleasant present


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 9 October 1663.

Earth science

Sam Pepys and me

So, keeping myself warm, to the office, and at noon home to dinner, my pain coming again by breaking no wind nor having any stool. So to Mr. Holliard, and by his direction, he assuring me that it is nothing of the stone, but only my constitution being costive, and that, and cold from without, breeding and keeping the wind, I took some powder that he did give me in white wine, and sat late up, till past eleven at night, with my wife in my chamber till it had done working, which was so weakly that I could hardly tell whether it did work or no. My mayds being at this time in great dirt towards getting of all my house clean, and weary and having a great deal of work to do therein to-morrow and next day, were gone to bed before my wife and I, who also do lie in our room more like beasts than Christians, but that is only in order to having of the house shortly in a cleaner, or rather very clean condition.
Some ease I had so long as this did keep my body loose, and I slept well.

no wind in a stone
only cold and time

dirt having work to do
like us is loose


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 8 October 1663.

Call and Response

river in November light between bare woods and mountain


~ “After great pain, a formal feeling comes—” (Emily Dickinson, 372)


How much time is needed for what must be endured?

In the third movement of Tod und Verklärung, Death invites
a peasant to dance the Trepek in a blizzard until he freezes to death. 

That almost formal moment of stillness in the center of catastrophe—

A once-in-a-century event, they say.

But it happens again in less than a week.

When all the protocols for protection are gone, what can you expect?

First— Chill— then Stupor— then the letting go—

It will be a winter like no other. It will be a summer like no other.

In song 10 of Franz Schubert’s Die schöne Müllerin, the central protagonist and a miller’s daughter sit by a brook.

She sings, Es kommt ein Regen, ade, ich geh nach Haus. A rain is coming – goodbye, I’m going home. That’s how he knows their love is doomed.

Readiness

Sam Pepys and me

They wrought in the morning, and I did keep my bed, and my pain continued on me mightily that I kept within all day in great pain, and could break no wind nor have any stool after my physic had done working. So in the evening I took coach and to Mr. Holliard’s, but he was not at home, and so home again, and whether the coach did me good or no I know not, but having a good fire in my chamber, I begun to break six or seven small and great farts; and so to bed and lay in good ease all night, and pissed pretty well in the morning, but no more wind came as it used to to plentifully, after it once begun, nor any inclination to stool.

I keep my tin
and any tool to hand

fire my gun and fart
as well as I used to


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 7 October 1663.

French Bob

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
In the late 1890s, fashionable 
Filipina or not, likely you sported a head-
ful of long, flowing tresses. The daughters

of ilustrados put theirs up with tortoiseshell
combs or filigreed paynetas, while the women
who did your laundry let dark waterfalls of hair

cascade over their shoulders while they beat
wet bedspreads on river rocks. Lengths long
enough to brush the floorboards, to move

like another layer over a many-paneled
skirt. Until, across the ocean, women sheared
the centuries away with scissors, revealing

not just a face but cheekbones. Your hair-
dresser suggests a French bob—a cut
that hits at the jawline, just enough

layers to add texture to thinning
hair and a look that says tousled,
effortless, undone. Clippings

gather at the base of the chair
as she works, each strand lifting
a weight you barely even noticed

before. But that sounds about right:
first the loss, then the feeling of air
moving freely across your nape again.

False witness

Sam Pepys and me

Slept pretty well, and my wife waked to ring the bell to call up our mayds to the washing about 4 o’clock, and I was and she angry that our bell did not wake them sooner, but I will get a bigger bell. So we to sleep again till 8 o’clock, and then I up in some ease to the office, where we had a full board, where we examined Cocke’s second account, when Mr. Turner had drawn a bill directly to be paid the balance thereof, as Mr. Cocke demanded, and Sir J. Minnes did boldly assert the truth of it, and that he had examined it, when there is no such thing, but many vouchers, upon examination, missing, and we saw reason to strike off several of his demands, and to bring down his 5 per cent. commission to 3 per cent. So we shall save the King some money, which both the Comptroller and his clerke had absolutely given away. There was also two occasions more of difference at the table; the one being to make out a bill to Captain Smith for his salary abroad as commander-in-chief in the Streights. Sir J. Minnes did demand an increase of salary for his being Vice-Admiral in the Downes, he having received but 40s. without an increase, when Sir J. Lawson, in the same voyage, had 3l., and others have also had increase, only he, because he was an officer of the board, was worse used than any body else, and particularly told Sir W. Batten that he was the opposer formerly of his having an increase, which I did wonder to hear him so boldly lay it to him. So we hushed up the dispute, and offered, if he would, to examine precedents, and report them, if there was any thing to his advantage to be found, to the Duke.
The next was, Mr. Chr. Pett and Deane were summoned to give an account of some knees which Pett reported bad, that were to be served in by Sir W. Warren, we having contracted that none should be served but such as were to be approved of by our officers. So that if they were bad they were to be blamed for receiving them. Thence we fell to talk of Warren’s other goods, which Pett had said were generally bad, and falling to this contract again, I did say it was the most cautious and as good a contract as had been made here, and the only [one] that had been in such terms. Sir J. Minnes told me angrily that Winter’s timber, bought for 33s. per load, was as good and in the same terms. I told him that it was not so, but that he and Sir W. Batten were both abused, and I would prove it was as dear a bargain as had been made this half year, which occasioned high words between them and me, but I am able to prove it and will. That also was so ended, and so to other business.
At noon Lewellin coming to me I took him and Deane, and there met my uncle Thomas, and we dined together, but was vexed that, it being washing-day, we had no meat dressed, but sent to the Cook’s, and my people had so little witt to send in our meat from abroad in that Cook’s dishes, which were marked with the name of the Cook upon them, by which, if they observed anything, they might know it was not my own dinner.
After dinner we broke up, and I by coach, setting down Luellin in Cheapside. So to White Hall, where at the Committee of Tangier, but, Lord! how I was troubled to see my Lord Tiviott’s accounts of 10,000l. paid in that manner, and wish 1000 times I had not been there.
Thence rose with Sir G. Carteret and to his lodgings, and there discoursed of our frays at the table to-day, and particularly of that of the contract, and the contract of masts the other day, declaring my fair dealing, and so needing not any man’s good report of it, or word for it, and that I would make it so appear to him, if he desired it, which he did, and I will do it.
Thence home by water in great pain, and at my office a while, and thence a little to Sir W. Pen, and so home to bed, and finding myself beginning to be troubled with wind as I used to be, and in pain in making water, I took a couple of pills that I had by me of Mr. Hollyard’s.

we ring a bigger bell
to assert the truth

when there is only
a body we hushed up
in winter’s timber
well dressed and marked
with a white rose

particular as a word
beginning to trouble us


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 6 October 1663.

Inventories of the Missing and Not Yet Used Up

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

There are many tiny keys in bowls
and drawers throughout the house.

They should be able to open things like doors
and locks for luggage, but no one remembers

now which ones are coupled. And I myself feel
sometimes like a misplaced rudder, other times

like a sock whose pair went missing, somewhere
between the wash and dry cycles. Years ago,

when I left my first country, my mother placed
a plaster saint in my hand and wrapped my fingers

around it. Its painted skirt is still blue, its halo
a chipped gold. It stands on a shelf of drawers

dwarfed by the telescope which was a birthday
present for my husband, but which he has not

yet trained upon any corner of the night sky.
Time unsheathes its slim blade, releasing each

year’s envelope of unpredictable directives.
These open with no need for keys. Sometimes

there are folded maps inside, islands and oceans
inked in the shapes of rare fish and birds.

Chrono logic

Sam Pepys and me

Up with pain, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to the Temple, and then I to my brother’s, and up and down on business, and so to the New Exchange, and there met Creed, and he and I walked two or three hours, talking of many businesses, especially about Tangier, and my Lord Tiviot’s bringing in of high accounts, and yet if they were higher are like to pass without exception, and then of my Lord Sandwich sending a messenger to know whether the King intends to come to Newmarket, as is talked, that he may be ready to entertain him at Hinchingbroke.
Thence home and dined, and my wife all day putting up her hangings in her closett, which she do very prettily herself with her own hand, to my great content. So I to the office till night, about several businesses, and then went and sat an hour or two with Sir W. Pen, talking very largely of Sir J. Minnes’s simplicity and unsteadiness, and of Sir W. Batten’s suspicious dealings, wherein I was open, and he sufficiently, so that I do not care for his telling of tales, for he said as much, but whether that were so or no I said nothing but what is my certain knowledge and belief concerning him. Thence home to bed in great pain.

the hour ringing out
all day

an hour of simplicity
where I was sufficient

not that nothing
but what is now


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 5 October 1663.

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 40

Poetry Blogging Network

A personal selection of posts from around the Anglophone blogosphere, including Substack, with a commitment to following a somewhat haphazardly chosen selection of poets, poetry lovers, literary critics and publishers over time. 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: the tiny clothes of tiny women, weeds in heaven, an expansive view of Pandemonium, the shared texture of echoes, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 40”