Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
tread lightly in case the willow
has not yet finished mourning.
Leave the hedges untrimmed
for a few more weeks, in case
the colonies of winged things
have not yet finished migrating.
Let the stone basin keep its ring
of verdigris: such faithfulness
is worth emulating. And let the dull
wool of evening cover the naked stones:
its old heart is rich with longing.
In response to Via Negativa: Schooling.
Up early, and my father and I alone into the garden, and there talked about our business, and what to do therein. So after I had talked and advised with my coz Claxton, and then with my uncle by his bedside, we all horsed away to Cambridge, where my father and I, having left my wife at the Beare with my brother, went to Mr. Sedgewicke, the steward of Gravely, and there talked with him, but could get little hopes from anything that he would tell us; but at last I did give him a fee, and then he was free to tell me what I asked, which was something, though not much comfort.
From thence to our horses, and with my wife went and rode through Sturbridge but the fair was almost done. So we did not ‘light there at all, but went back to Cambridge, and there at the Beare we had some herrings, we and my brother, and after dinner set out for Brampton, where we come in very good time, and found all things well, and being somewhat weary, after some talk about tomorrow’s business with my father, we went to bed.
Alone in the garden of little hopes,
I tell the light
to be herrings
and come in good time.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 19 September 1661.
for another poem to document
the clack of acorns falling
from the tree,
for another poet to sit
at a table cleared of all
but oil stains from some
previous feast?
What urgency requires
a document be made of things
that the mouth has tasted,
all the secrets slipped
into the body’s crevices?
Why whittle songs
out of the ordinariness
of days, their thinning larder
and their pickled stores?
Someone counts the stones
that lead up the temple steps.
Someone weighs the grains,
pours them into burlap sacks.
And someone draws the tiller
from one end of the row to another,
before turning around again.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
The next morning up early and begun our march; the way about Puckridge very bad, and my wife, in the very last dirty place of all, got a fall, but no hurt, though some dirt. At last she begun, poor wretch, to be tired, and I to be angry at it, but I was to blame; for she is a very good companion as long as she is well.
In the afternoon we got to Cambridge, where I left my wife at my cozen Angier’s while I went to Christ’s College, and there found my brother in his chamber, and talked with him; and so to the barber’s, and then to my wife again, and remounted for Impington, where my uncle received me and my wife very kindly. And by and by in comes my father, and we supped and talked and were merry, but being weary and sleepy my wife and I to bed without talking with my father anything about our business.
The way, though poor,
was a good companion.
I left my wife,
my brother, my wife,
my uncle, my wife,
my father, my wife
without a thing.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 18 September 1661.
You call and I serve
because you gave me
a name that means hover,
watch over. I give up
and defer, make way,
beg pardon, squeeze
into the narrow
back passage in my
coming and going.
There’s a button
inlaid in the floor,
its purpose
my summons. And I
no longer recall
what it’s like
not to start
at the sound
of my name.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
And the next morning got up, telling my wife of my journey, and she with a few words got me to hire her a horse to go along with me. So I went to my Lady’s and elsewhere to take leave, and of Mr. Townsend did borrow a very fine side-saddle for my wife; and so after all things were ready, she and I took coach to the end of the town towards Kingsland, and there got upon my horse and she upon her pretty mare that I hired for her, and she rides very well. By the mare at one time falling she got a fall, but no harm; so we got to Ware, and there supped, and to bed very merry and pleasant.
Morning-mare:
a red ride.
We are falling
but we go
up.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 17 September 1661.
For what occasion did I save
that ill-fitting suit, those shoes
that pinched, that jeweled clutch
worn only one other time before I
put all away and lined the bags
with mothballs? I still have the two
white underskirts adorned with tiny
satin rosebuds made for my First Communion;
and the jade green blouse and skirt I wore
when I got hitched a second time.
Among the baby shoes and embroidered
bedspreads, there is an envelope too
in which I’ve kept relics— hair and nail
clippings, birth-cords: four dried, indigo-
colored discs smaller than stamps,
threaded through their hearts by safety
pins to paper, the way that mothers like
to keep their daughters close.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
This morning I was busy at home to take in my part of our freight of Coles, which Sir G. Carteret, Sir R. Slingsby, and myself sent for, which is 10 Chaldron, 8 of which I took in, and with the other to repay Sir W. Pen what I borrowed of him a little while ago. So that from this day I should see how long 10 chaldron of coals will serve my house, if it please the Lord to let me live to see them burned.
In the afternoon by appointment to meet Dr. Williams and his attorney, and they and I to Tom Trice, and there got him in discourse to confess the words that he had said that his mother did desire him not to see my uncle about her 200l. bond while she was alive. Here we were at high words with T. Trice and then parted, and we to Standing’s, in Fleet Street, where we sat and drank and talked a great while about my going down to Gravely Court, which will be this week, whereof the Doctor had notice in a letter from his sister this week. In the middle of our discourse word was brought me from my brother’s that there is a fellow come from my father out of the country, on purpose to speak to me, so I went to him and he made a story how he had lost his letter, but he was sure it was for me to go into the country, which I believed, and thought it might be to give me notice of Gravely Court, but I afterwards found that it was a rogue that did use to play such tricks to get money of people, but he got none of me. At night I went home, and there found letters from my father informing me of the Court, and that I must come down and meet him at Impington, which I presently resolved to do…
I take my part
of our freight: coal to burn,
words to see with,
a grave to let me into
the country of letters.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 16 September 1661.
the tiny herald
in the gut.
Before the torrent,
the restless dream.
Before the conflagration,
the careless match.
Before return,
the anxious waiting
at the threshold of no
going back.
In response to Via Negativa: Proverbial.
(Lord’s day). To my aunt Kite’s in the morning to help my uncle Fenner to put things in order against anon for the buriall, and at noon home again; and after dinner to church, my wife and I, and after sermon with my wife to the buriall of my aunt Kite, where besides us and my uncle Fenner’s family, there was none of any quality, but poor rascally people. So we went to church with the corps, and there had service read at the grave, and back again with Pegg Kite who will be, I doubt, a troublesome carrion to us executors; but if she will not be ruled, I shall fling up my executorship. After that home, and Will Joyce along with me where we sat and talked and drank and ate an hour or two, and so he went away and I up to my chamber and then to prayers and to bed.
Lord, my kite,
help my poor corpse
be carrion but not
be ruled,
I pray.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 15 September 1661.