Year: 2014

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Trigger-happy

(Lord’s day). Lay long in bed. To church and heard a good sermon at our own church, where I have not been a great many weeks. Dined with my wife alone at home pleasing myself in that my house do begin to look as if at last it would be in good order.
This day the Parliament received the communion of Dr. Gunning at St. Margaret’s, Westminster.
In the afternoon both the Sir Williams came to church, where we had a dull stranger. After church home, and so to the Mitre, where I found Dr. Burnett, the first time that ever I met him to drink with him, and my uncle Wight and there we sat and drank a great deal, and so I to Sir W. Batten’s, where I have on purpose made myself a great stranger, only to get a high opinion a little more of myself in them. Here I heard how Mrs. Browne, Sir W. Batten’s sister, is brought to bed, and I to be one of the godfathers, which I could not nor did deny. Which, however, did trouble me very much to be at charge to no purpose, so that I could not sleep hardly all night, but in the morning I bethought myself, and I think it is very well I should do it.
Sir W. Batten told me how Mr. Prin (among the two or three that did refuse to-day to receive the sacrament upon their knees) was offered by a mistake the drink afterwards, which he did receive, being denied the drink by Dr. Gunning, unless he would take it on his knees; and after that by another the bread was brought him, and he did take it sitting, which is thought very preposterous. Home and to bed.

Alone at home,
I begin to look at a gun.
I burn, a stranger
to myself and to God.
I could not sleep all night,
and I think I should receive
the sacrament of the gun
in bed.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 26 May 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

The Buddha marvels

at the way the blue chameleon-
woman changes form: one moment
a foreign general at a diplomatic
summit, and then the midget evil
scientist who wants to cleanse the world
of all mutations. Each time she changes,
the camera catches a new corona of colors
framing the irises of her eyes— copper
and metallic grey, hummingbird green,
swift kick of the foot to catch the enemy
in the groin or jaw. He marvels too
at the talons unsheathed from between
the knuckles of the wolf-faced man:
how he winces each time the body’s flesh
is pierced, is bullet-shattered; then heals.
Who is this boy who tried to but could not
save his mother, and so grew up magnetized
by his own story of guilt and loss? Fate
might as well be a train, and our desire
the wish to bend the tracks away from their
set course. And oh, the lonely crippled one
whose gift or curse is to know the pain
and suffering of all— how the myriad sounds
they make are one voice, including his: wanting
to be understood, taken in for what they are.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Bibliophile

All the morning at home about business. At noon to the Temple, where I staid and looked over a book or two at Playford’s, and then to the Theatre, where I saw a piece of “The Silent Woman,” which pleased me. So homewards, and in my way bought “The Bondman” in Paul’s Churchyard, and so home, where I found all clean, and the hearth and range, as it is now enlarged, set up, which pleases me very much.

All morning in a book—
and then heat,
a woman,
my yard.
I found the earth
as it is now: enlarged.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 25 May 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Neighbors

“Morning is a clear house,
afternoon a wardrobe.” – D. Bonta

With her auburn hair turning to rusted
grey, Mrs. D. did not ever feel she belonged.
No matter what the season, she insisted
on wearing dark brown skirts that billowed
like canvas sails; often, we wondered if
they were repurposed from some pioneer wagon—
It was the first thing we saw of her on the rise
marking the end of the street, when she returned
from market. Don’t be silly, said Martina the maid.
No one can be that old today. At half past seven
every morning, Judge C. walked past. He always
dressed in white; only his hatband gleamed a dull
shade of gold, matching his wedding ring. I didn’t
know the name of the tenants in the apartment
next door: only that the husband had Parkinson’s—
his head rattled like a musical gourd at the end
of a stick. Mrs. S. raised flowers in her back-
yard, white and fuschia phaleonopsis, moth
orchids. Sometimes she came out and absently
touched the cascade of blooms, late at night,
when we rushed to our windows afraid
of the drunken commotion and screams from four
houses down: G.’s husband throwing her against
the furniture, their boarder R., our town’s first
policewoman on the force rushing to intervene,
though hardly anyone respected her badge or uniform.

 

In response to Via Negativa: House of the rising sun .

Posted on by Dave Bonta

House of the Rising Sun

At home all the morning making up my private accounts, and this is the first time that I do find myself to be clearly worth 500l. in money, besides all my goods in my house, &c.
In the afternoon at the office late, and then I went to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lord at supper, and therefore I walked a good while till he had done, and I went in to him, and there he looked over my accounts. And they were committed to Mr. Moore to see me paid what remained due to me. Then down to the kitchen to eat a bit of bread and butter, which I did, and there I took one of the maids by the chin, thinking her to be Susan, but it proved to be her sister, who is very like her.
From thence home.

Morning is a clear house,
afternoon a wardrobe.
At supper, I looked over
what I took to be Susan,
but it proved to be me.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 24 May 1661.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Expatriate

I stare at the wall
without focusing
until it doubles.

From the neighbors’ unseen backyard,
snatches of an English
I can’t quite follow.

A snail comes out of
its banded shell, eye-stalks stretching
in two directions.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Apocryphon

This day I went to my Lord, and about many other things at Whitehall, and there made even my accounts with Mr. Shepley at my Lord’s, and then with him and Mr. Moore and John Bowles to the Rhenish wine house, and there came Jonas Moore, the mathematician, to us, and there he did by discourse make us fully believe that England and France were once the same continent, by very good arguments, and spoke very many things, not so much to prove the Scripture false as that the time therein is not well computed nor understood. From thence home by water, and there shifted myself into my black silk suit (the first day I have put it on this year), and so to my Lord Mayor’s by coach, with a great deal of honourable company, and great entertainment.
At table I had very good discourse with Mr. Ashmole, wherein he did assure me that frogs and many insects do often fall from the sky, ready formed.
Dr. Bates’s singularity in not rising up nor drinking the King’s nor other healths at the table was very much observed.
From thence we all took coach, and to our office, and there sat till it was late.
And so I home and to bed by day-light. This day was kept a holy-day through the town; and it pleased me to see the little boys walk up and down in procession with their broom-staffs in their hands, as I had myself long ago gone.

My Lord and I were once
the same continent
and spoke in Scripture,
false as a black silk suit,
wherein he did assure me
that frogs often fall from
the sky, ready formed,
and bed was kept holy
with the staff in the hands.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 23 May 1661.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Old soldier

To Westminster, and there missed of my Lord, and so about noon I and W. Howe by water to the Wardrobe, where my Lord and all the officers of the Wardrobe dined, and several other friends of my Lord, at a venison pasty. Before dinner, my Lady Wright and my Lady Jem. sang songs to the harpsicon.
Very pleasant and merry at dinner. And then I went away by water to the office, and there staid till it was late. At night before I went to bed the barber came to trim me and wash me, and so to bed, in order to my being clean to-morrow.

I miss the war.
All the officers and friends of my past
sang songs
and then went away.

And night came
to wash me clean.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 22 May 1661.