2014 – Page 16 – Via Negativa

October 29, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Theorbo

At the office all the morning, and dined at home, and so to Paul’s Churchyard to Hunt’s, and there found my Theorbo done, which pleases me very well, and costs me 26s. to the altering. But now he tells me it is as good a lute as any is in England, and is worth well 10l. Hither I sent for Captain Ferrers to me, who comes with a friend of his, and they and I to the Theatre, and there saw “Argalus and Parthenia,” where a woman acted Parthenia, and came afterwards on the stage in men’s clothes, and had the best legs that ever I saw, and I was very well pleased with it. Thence to the Ringo alehouse, and thither sent for a belt-maker, and bought of him a handsome belt for second mourning, which cost me 24s., and is very neat.

A theorbo
is as good as
a captain of
a theater,
a woman in
men’s clothes,
the best legs,
an alehouse,
a hit,
a hand-
some urn.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 28 October 1661.

October 29, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Matins

(Lord’s day). At church in the morning; where in the pew both Sir Williams and I had much talk about the death of Sir Robert, which troubles me much; and them in appearance, though I do not believe it; because I know that he was a cheque to their engrossing the whole trade of the Navy office. Home to dinner, and in the afternoon to church again, my wife with me, whose mourning is now grown so old that I am ashamed to go to church with her. And after church to see my uncle and aunt Wight, and there stayed and talked and supped with them, and were merry as we could be in their company. Among other things going up into their chamber to see their two pictures, which I am forced to commend against my judgment, and also she showed us her cabinet, where she had very pretty medals and good jewels. So home and to prayers and to bed.

A morning where
I talk about death
though I do not believe
in mourning, grown
so old that I am ashamed
to be in the picture.
And she showed us
her cabinet where she had
very pretty prayers.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 27 October 1661.

October 28, 2014December 11, 2014 by Luisa A. Igloria

Sideshow

This entry is part 8 of 27 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2014

The sorcerer’s voice calls out in darkness:
Hold your head steady, as if the apple were not
about to fall in clean halves to the ground, as if
its shine and crimson were not once again the target
for arrows and knives aimed from a distance— as if
their whistling, as they ribbon the air, were done
in good sport, not from deliberation. You don’t
always see who it is that raises an arm, the moment
the string draws back, taut to its full extension.
Behind you, the plank of painted wood is nicked
with a tally of misses, a history of lucky evasions.
A monkey on a leash claps brass cymbals and cycles
in its rhinestone tutu. For authentic spectacle,
the audience has paid. And from watching and waiting,
you know how to spring the blade loose
from its cage, how to send dark warnings
with only your eyes; how it takes one flick
of the wrist to release its lethal intention.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

October 28, 2014October 28, 2014 by Dave Bonta

On Berlin walls

The first thing to know about Berlin is that it has many walls — and there is graffiti on almost all of them. Continue reading “On Berlin walls”

October 28, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Talk therapy

This morning Sir W. Pen and I should have gone out of town with my Lady Batten, to have met Sir William coming back from Portsmouth; at Kingston, but could not, by reason that my Lord of Peterborough (who is to go Governor of Tangier) came this morning, with Sir G. Carteret, to advise with us about completing of the affairs and preparacions for that place. So at the office all the morning, and in the afternoon Sir W. Pen, my wife and I to the Theatre, and there saw “The Country Captain,” the first time it hath been acted this twenty-five years, a play of my Lord Newcastle’s, but so silly a play as in all my life I never saw, and the first that ever I was weary of in my life. So home again, and in the evening news was brought that Sir R. Slingsby, our Comptroller (who hath this day been sick a week), is dead; which put me into so great a trouble of mind, that all the night I could not sleep, he being a man that loved me, and had many qualitys that made me to love him above all the officers and commissioners in the Navy. Coming home we called at Dan Rawlinson’s; and there drank good sack, and so home.

My mouth is
a theater, the first
play I never saw,
the first I was
weary of—so dead
that I could
not sleep.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 26 October 1661.

October 27, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Lessons

To Whitehall, and so to dinner at the Wardrobe, where my wife met me, and there we met with a venison pasty, and my Lady very merry and very handsome, methought. After dinner my wife and I to the Opera, and there saw again “Love and Honour,” a play so good that it has been acted but three times and I have seen them all, and all in this week; which is too much, and more than I will do again a good while. Coming out of the house we met Mrs. Pierce and her comrade Mrs. Clifford, and I seeming willing to stay with them to talk my wife grew angry, and whether she be jealous or no I know, not, but she loves not that I should speak of Mrs. Pierce. Home on foot very discontented, in my way I calling at the Instrument maker, Hunt’s, and there saw my lute, which is now almost done, it being to have a new neck to it and to be made to double strings. So home and to bed. This day I did give my man Will a sound lesson about his forbearing to give us the respect due to a master and mistress.

Hands ought
to play. Three times
this week we speak,
my instrument and I, neck
to strings.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 25 October 1661.

October 27, 2014December 11, 2014 by Luisa A. Igloria

Alembic

This entry is part 7 of 27 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2014

Alembic: an apparatus used in distillation;
something that refines or transmutes as if by distillation

Time’s a flask, narrow at the waist or neck
depending on who swings the apparatus— Who gives
the order to intercept the ordinary citizen
on his way to or from work, salvage the journalist
called to witness; open fire on the NGO convoy
in pickup trucks loaded with rice, canned goods,
medical supplies, used clothing? In hamlets live
the poor and dispossessed, the ones whose farms
swelled, flooded; and drowning, made way for dams
in the government’s new hydroelectric project.
Their votes don’t count. Or do they? Their number
slight, equivalent to the powdered ash that falls
from wings of bodies that nightly hurl themselves
into the lantern’s crucible of trembled light.

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

October 25, 2014December 11, 2014 by Luisa A. Igloria

Modified CDC Villanelle

A woman throws up in a crowded bus.
Within minutes, the men in hazmat suits descend.
Fear of contagion panics escalations of distress.

A mother claps a hand upon a baby’s mouth; breathless
she’s crushed by bodies in the street, their frenzied blend
caused by a woman throwing up in a crowded bus.

Meanwhile in Texas, one recovered nurse
gives statements to the press. Daily unpinned,
fear of contagion panics escalations of distress.

I listen on the radio for reports on body counts.
My daughter asks how disease transfers, blood to blood—
What danger is posed by throwing up in a crowded bus?

A radio report recreates conditions— let’s say, a virus
lurking in a monkey’s blood: let’s say the hunter nicked
his hand. Days later: swollen glands, nausea; night sweats.

Cities teem with airports, rivers, bridges. How to adjust
the portals and vents? No current wisdom provides defense.
Watch as a woman throws up in a crowded bus.
Watch the fear of contagion escalate beyond distress.

In response to Via Negativa: Outbreak.

October 25, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Tour guide

At the office all morning, at noon Luellin dined with me, and then abroad to Fleet Street, leaving my wife at Tom’s while I went out and did a little business. So home again, and went to see Sir Robert, who continues ill, and this day has not spoke at all, which makes them all afeard of him. So home.

Road to street
my bus went

to see and poke
at the ear.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 24 October 1661.

October 25, 2014May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Vagrant

To Whitehall, and there, to drink our morning, Sir W. Pen and I to a friend’s lodging of his (Collonell Treswell), and at noon he and I dined together alone at the Legg in King Street, and so by coach to Chelsy to my Lord Privy Seal’s about business of Sir William’s, in which we had a fair admittance to talk with my Lord, and had his answer, and so back to the Opera, and there I saw again “Love and Honour,” and a very good play it is. And thence home, calling by the way to see Sir Robert Slingsby, who continues ill, and so home.
This day all our office is invited against Tuesday next, my Lord Mayor’s day, to dinner with him at Guildhall. This evening Mr. Holliard came and sat with us, and gave us both directions to observe.

I drink alone.
The street is
a good play—
a way to see
home in all
directions.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 23 October 1661.