Month: January 2015

Posted on by Dave Bonta

In practice

After musique-practice, to White Hall, and thence to Westminster, in my way calling at Mr. George Montagu’s, to condole him the loss of his son, who was a fine gentleman, and it is no doubt a great discomfort to our two young gentlemen, his companions in France. After this discourse he told me, among other news, the great jealousys that are now in the Parliament House. The Lord Chancellor, it seems, taking occasion from this late plot to raise fears in the people, did project the raising of an army forthwith, besides the constant militia, thinking to make the Duke of York General thereof. But the House did, in very open terms, say, they were grown too wise to be fooled again into another army; and said they had found how that man that hath the command of an army is not beholden to any body to make him King. There are factions (private ones at Court) about Madam Palmer; but what it is about I know not. But it is something about the King’s favour to her now that the Queen is coming.
He told me, too, what sport the King and Court do make at Mr. Edward Montagu’s leaving his things behind him. But the Chancellor (taking it a little more seriously) did openly say to my Lord Chamberlain, that had it been such a gallant as my Lord Mandeville his son, it might have; been taken as a frolique; but for him that would be thought a grave coxcomb, it was very strange.
Thence to the Hall, where I heard the House had ordered all the King’s murderers, that remain, to be executed, but Fleetwood and Downes.
So to the Wardrobe and there dined, meeting my wife there, who went after dinner with my Lady to see Mr. George Montagu’s lady, and I to have a meeting by appointment with Tho. Trice and Dr. Williams in order to a treating about the difference between us, but I find there is no hopes of ending it but by law, and so after a pint or two of wine we parted.
So to the Wardrobe for my wife again, and so home, and after writing and doing some things to bed.

I practice loss,
lousy as a fool in
the king’s favor leaving
his things in
an open grave.
Strange to hear all
the murderers of a pint
part for home.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 22 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Letter in January, with a line from Federico Garcia Lorca

Every day the light stays
a little longer, and night
does not fall so hard, so fast.
By the upstairs window where the blinds
are open, I can read till nearly suppertime:
I sought in my heart to give you

the ivory letters that say “siempre,”
“siempre,” “siempre:” garden of my agony—
But oh Federico, isn’t the exile’s heart
always a ferment of agony, always in search
of the elusive body or the heat of another clime?
Here, how quiet it is on our street: the men

who clip the grass and trim the hedges
will not return until winter is over,
and dogs do not roam the streets but howl
in the muffled recesses of living rooms
behind locked doors. Should I hear chimes
from bell towers, their music is mere

adornment to the day. Pigeons and gulls
inspect the trash bins in the alleyway.
Startled, they’ll flee— swath of their wings
the color of indeterminacy. Pine needles mark
sidewalks with their thin virgules, some strands
in puddles left after the last hard rain.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Night shift.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Night shift

To the finishing of the Treasurer’s accounts this morning, and then to dinner again, and were merry as yesterday, and so home, and then to the office till night, and then home to write letters, and to practise my composition of musique, and then to bed. We have heard nothing yet how far the fleet hath got toward Portugall, but the wind being changed again, we fear they are stopped, and may be beat back again to the coast of Ireland.

a night to write letters
I hear the wind change, stop
and beat again


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 21 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Accounting

This morning Sir Wm. Batten and Pen and I did begin the examining the Treasurer’s accounts, the first time ever he had passed in the office, which is very long, and we were all at it till noon, and then to dinner, he providing a fine dinner for us, and we eat it at Sir W. Batten’s, where we were very merry, there being at table the Treasurer and we three, Mr. Wayth, Ferrer, Smith, Turner, and Mr. Morrice, the wine cooper, who this day did divide the two butts, which we four did send for, of sherry from Cales, and mine was put into a hogshead, and the vessel filled up with four gallons of Malaga wine, but what it will stand us in I know not: but it is the first great quantity of wine that I ever bought. And after dinner to the office all the afternoon till late at night, and then home, where my aunt and uncle Wight and Mrs. Anne Wight came to play at cards (at gleek which she taught me and my wife last week) and so to supper, and then to cards and so good night. Then I to my practice of musique and then at 12 o’clock to bed.
This day the workmen began to make me a sellar door out of the back yard, which will much please me.

the treasurer’s accounts—
hogs make a cellar
out of the yard


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 20 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Geophagy

(Lord’s day). To church in the morning, where Mr. Mills preached upon Christ’s being offered up for our sins, and there proving the equity with what justice God would lay our sins upon his Son, he did make such a sermon (among other things pleading, from God’s universal sovereignty over all his creatures, the power he has of commanding what he would of his Son by the same rule as that he might have made us all, and the whole world from the beginning to have been in hell, arguing from the power the potter has over his clay), that I could have wished he had let it alone; and speaking again, the Father is now so satisfied by our security for our debt, that we might say at the last day as many of us as have interest in Christ’s death: Lord, we owe thee nothing, our debt is paid. We are not beholden to, thee for anything, for thy debt is paid to thee to the full; which methinks were very bold words.
Home to dinner, and then my wife and I on foot to see Mrs. Turner, who continues still sick, and thence into the Old Bayly by appointment to speak with Mrs. Norbury who lies at (it falls out) next door to my uncle Fenner’s; but as God would have it, we having no desire to be seen by his people, he having lately married a midwife that is old and ugly, and that hath already brought home to him a daughter and three children, we were let in at a back door. And here she offered me the refusall of some lands of her at Brampton, if I have a mind to buy, which I answered her I was not at present provided to do. She took occasion to talk of her sister Wight’s making much of the Wights, who for namesake only my uncle do shew great kindness to, so I fear may do us that are nearer to him a great deal of wrong, if he should die without children, which I am sorry for. Thence to my uncle Wight’s, and there we supped and were merry, though my uncle hath lately lost 200 or 300 at sea, and I am troubled to hear that the Turks do take more and more of our ships in the Straights, and that our merchants here in London do daily break, and are still likely to do so.
So home, and I put in at Sir W. Batten’s, where Major Holmes was, and in our discourse and drinking I did give Sir J. Mennes’ health, which he swore he would not pledge, and called him knave and coward (upon the business of Holmes with the Swedish ship lately), which we all and I particularly did desire him to forbear, he being of our fraternity, which he took in great dudgeon, and I was vexed to hear him persist in calling him so, though I believe it to be true, but however he is to blame and I am troubled at it. So home and to prayers, and to bed.

I eat clay again,
satisfied by that nothing
to the full,
that ugly child let in
at a back door.
Off the land
I have no name,
only the troubled dish
we all call home.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 19 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Standards of Learning

This entry is part 10 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2014-15

I know the shadow cast by the thing
is not equivalent to the thing itself

and that the sheen of some pearls
does not betray their hearts of paste—

But I have also been taken aside
for such lectures too often: how in my case,

to be forthright is seen as speaking
out of turn; to ask for my due, ingratitude.

After a lifetime and a half of service, the quality
of my speech and learning is still to be held

for further scrutiny: and there is always one more
Assessment before the Welcome or Enter sign.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Engrossed

This morning I went to Dr. Williams, and there he told me how T. Trice had spoke to him about getting me to meet that our difference might be made up between us by ourselves, which I am glad of, and have appointed Monday next to be the day. Thence to the Wardrobe, and there hearing it would be late before they went to dinner, I went and spent some time in Paul’s Churchyard among some books, and then returned thither, and there dined with my Lady and Sir H. Wright and his lady, all glad of yesterday’s mistake, and after dinner to the office, and then home and wrote letters by the post to my father, and by and by comes Mr. Moore to give me an account how Mr. Montagu was gone away of a sudden with the fleet, in such haste that he hath left behind some servants, and many things of consequence; and among others, my Lord’s commission for Embassador. Whereupon he and I took coach, and to White Hall to my Lord’s lodgings, to have spoke with Mr. Ralph Montagu, his brother (and here we staid talking with Sarah and the old man); but by and by hearing that he was in Covent Garden, we went thither: and at my Lady Harvy’s, his sister, I spoke with him, and he tells me that the commission is not left behind. And so I went thence by the same coach (setting down Mr. Moore) home, and after having wrote a letter to my Lord at 12 o’clock at night by post I went to bed.

time among books—
my dinner by and by
gone with the ants


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 18 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Concert call

This entry is part 9 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2014-15

There is always one
burnishing with rosin
or turning a peg
in the soundboard,
while another clicks
the row of red, yellow,
and green on a Rubik’s
cube to warm up the hours,
repeating a scale or that
same passage from one
of Vivaldi’s Seasons—
cuckoo clearing its throat,
spangles of ice thawing
from the roof, wheels
of a carriage turning
heroically in the mud,
and the rider pressing
his mount onward to that
breathless destination.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.