Month: August 2013

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Sad Money

To White Hall, where my Lord and the principal officers met, and had a great discourse about raising of money for the Navy, which is in very sad condition, and money must be raised for it. Mr. Blackburne, Dr. Clerke, and I to the Quaker’s and dined there. I back to the Admiralty, and there was doing things in order to the calculating of the debts of the Navy and other business, all the afternoon. At night I went to the Privy Seal, where I found Mr. Crofts and Mathews making up all their things to leave the office tomorrow, to those that come to wait the next month. I took them to the Sun Tavern and there made them drink, and discoursed concerning the office, and what I was to expect tomorrow about Baron, who pretends to the next month.
Late home by coach so far as Ludgate with Mr. Mathews, and thence home on foot with W. Hewer with me, and so to bed.

I had sad money
and a din of debts all night,
things that come to wait:
the sun on ice,
a pretend home on foot.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 31 July 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

From Empire: Trendy Triolet

8

This summer, the tribal look is all the rage—
tropical glow, ikat weave, frayed jute and hemp.
Selection’s key: leave out requirements for paying a fair wage.
This summer, the tribal look is all the rage—
chiseled cheekbones complete the effect, that ravaged-
seeming look airbrushed and primed, Botoxed, exempt
from blemish. This summer, the tribal look is all the rage—
tropical glow, ikat weave, frayed jute and hemp.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Sacred Scarab.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

From Empire: Triolet, with Recycled Paper Placemat and Coaster Set

7

My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter;
and on the margins of the export processing zone, a child takes
a soldier by the hand, says: Virgin, Joe? I take you to my mother.
My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter.
One man’s trash, another’s treasure: as long as the middleman’s offer
translates to cash for food, shelter. Fair’s fair, not just for those who take.
My country’s rolled-up newspapers adorn your Formica counter.
Destitute, on the margins— how blame the child for what she takes?

 

In response to Via Negativa: Poem for Display in a Shopping Mall Food Court.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

From Empire: Leftover Triolet, with Stray Dogs

6

Sing, mutts and creatures bred by colonizing histories—
Sing, women ravaged on riverbanks, left for dead in alley-ways—
Sing, children scavenging in city sewers amid debris—
Sing, mutts and creatures bred by colonizing histories—
Sing in the open, burn the old signs; reinstate stories
unsung, whitewashed, glossed over, banished by lies or stays.
Sing, mutts and creatures bred by colonizing histories—
Sing, women ravaged on riverbanks, left for dead in alley-ways.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Imperial Official.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

From Empire: Discrimination Triolet

5

How long am I supposed to sing in only a minor key?
Not half-, not bi-; not pre-, not post-; not black, not fair—
Though my mind and tongue, my heart can trill as fluently.
How long am I supposed to sing in only a minor key?
When installed to office finally, it’s almost always grudgingly:
always one more checkpoint for those neither here nor there.
How long am I supposed to sing in only a minor key?
Not half-, not bi-; not pre-, not post-; not black, not fair.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Imperial Official.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

From Empire: Triolet for Daughters Born in a Third World Country

4

As the elders taught, I saved the stumps of their umbilical cords,
then dried and strung them through a safety pin to keep them close.
And I named them, oiled their limbs, called the spirits to watch over them—
As the elders taught, I dried and saved the stumps of their umbilical cords.
As they grew, they saw how life cuts through the gourd; I gave them words
for power stirred from the gut, words for kindness, words to dress like bones.
As the elders taught, I saved the stumps of their umbilical cords,
then dried and strung them through a safety pin to keep them close.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Homeless.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Imperial Official

Sat at our office to-day, and my father came this day the first time to see us at my new office. And Mrs. Crisp by chance came in and sat with us, looked over our house and advised about the furnishing of it. This afternoon I got my 50l., due to me for my first quarter’s salary as Secretary to my Lord, paid to Tho. Hater for me, which he received and brought home to me, of which I am full glad.
To Westminster and among other things met with Mr. Moore, and took him and his friend, a bookseller of Paul’s Churchyard, to the Rhenish Winehouse, and drinking there the sword-bearer of London (Mr. Man) came to ask for us, with whom we sat late, discoursing about the worth of my office of Clerk of the Acts, which he hath a mind to buy, and I asked four years’ purchase. We are to speak more of it to-morrow. Home on foot; and seeing him at home in Butlersbury, he lent me a torch, which Will carried; and so home.

At my new office, paid
to hate, I am full
of sword and torch.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 30 July 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

More from Empire: School Triolet

3

We stretched out both arms and knelt on dried beans—
exquisite punishment meted out in our schools
when we weren’t reciting in unison or cleaning latrines.
In first grade we knelt on dried mung beans
for not learning the right greeting routines,
for having dirty fingernails, or breaking some other rule.
A book balanced in each hand, we knelt on dried beans—
who invented these punishments meted out in our schools?

 

In response to Via Negativa: Tribute.