Month: January 2015

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Missing

I rose and went to Westminster Hall, and there walked up and down upon several businesses, and among others I met with Sir W. Pen, who told me that he had this morning heard Sir G. Carteret extremely angry against my man Will that he is every other day with the Commissioners of Parliament at Westminster, and that his uncle was a rogue, and that he did tell his uncle every thing that passes at the office, and Sir William, though he loves the lad, did advise me to part with him, which did with this surprise mightily trouble me, though I was already angry with him, and so to the Wardrobe by water, and all the way did examine Will about the business, but did not tell him upon what score, but I find that the poor lad do suspect something. To dinner with my Lady, and after dinner talked long with her, and so home, and to Sir W. Batten’s, and sat and talked with him, and so home troubled in mind, and so up to my study and read the two treaties before Mr. Selden’s “Mare Clausum,” and so to bed. This night come about 100l. from Brampton by carrier to me, in holsters from my father, which made me laugh.

I walk up
and down and miss
everything that passes:
love
and water
and her troubled mind.
The treaties
which made me laugh.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 8 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Laying plans

Long in bed, and then rose and went along with Sir W. Pen on foot to Stepny to Mrs. Chappell’s (who has the pretty boy to her son), and there met my wife and Sir W. Pen’s children all, and Mrs. Poole and her boy, and there dined and were very merry, and home again by coach and so to the office. In the afternoon and at night to Sir W. Pen’s, there supped and played at cards with them and were merry, the children being to go all away to school again to-morrow. Thence home and to bed.

a rose on ice
the children go away
to school tomorrow


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 7 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Because the fire is divine

it finds the bodies that charge the air with their death

it finds the pen that draws from the vein

it finds the tongues that copper the bell

it finds the marrow that melts in a fortress of bone

it finds the stalk that does not sleep in the field

it finds what flickers beneath a thickness of ice

it finds the aperture in the glass

it finds the breath to ignite a twist of grass

 

In response to Via Negativa: Rendering unto Caesar.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

At last

This entry is part 4 of 28 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2014-15

the child grows up and learns the word for what was done to her

the marks she gouged into the wood of the window-frame are found

the tongue that boiled for hours in the pot has softened

the pale nubs on the underside are stripped away

the wound is white and seamed where blade met skin

the sheets are bleached and hanging on the line

the ghosts are dead that have no place to go

the cabinet that smells of mothballs gives up

the letter that piece by piece retrieves the history

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Long walk on the beach

(Twelfth day). This morning I sent my lute to the Paynter’s, and there I staid with him all the morning to see him paint the neck of my lute in my picture, which I was not pleased with after it was done. Thence to dinner to Sir W. Pen’s, it being a solemn feast day with him, his wedding day, and we had, besides a good chine of beef and other good cheer, eighteen mince pies in a dish, the number of the years that he hath been married, where Sir W. Batten and his Lady, and daughter was, and Colonel Treswell and Major Holmes, who I perceive would fain get to be free and friends with my wife, but I shall prevent it, and she herself hath also a defyance against him. After dinner they set in to drinking, so that I would stay no longer, but went away home, and Captain Cock, who was quite drunk, comes after me, and there sat awhile and so away, and anon I went again after the company was gone, and sat and played at cards with Sir W. Pen and his children, and so after supper home, and there I hear that my man Gull was gone to bed, and upon enquiry I hear that he did vomit before he went to bed, and complained his head ached, and thereupon though he was asleep I sent for him out of his bed, and he rose and came up to me, and I appeared very angry and did tax him with being drunk, and he told me that he had been with Mr. Southerne and Homewood at the Dolphin, and drank a quart of sack, but that his head did ache before he went out. But I do believe he has drunk too much, and so I did threaten him to bid his uncle dispose of him some other way, and sent him down to bed and do resolve to continue to be angry with him. So to bed to my wife, and told her what had passed.

the day is as long
as the way home
I hear a gull vomit


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 6 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Rendering unto Caesar

(Lord’s day). Left my wife in bed not well with her moys and I to church, and so home to dinner, and dined alone upon some marrow bones, and had a fine piece of rost beef, but being alone I eat none. So after dinner comes in my brother Tom, and he tells me how he hath seen the father and mother of the girl which my cozen Joyces would have him to have for a wife, and they are much for it, but we are in a great quandary what to do therein, 200l. being but a little money; and I hope, if he continues as he begins, he may look out for one with more.
To church, and before sermon there was a long psalm, and half another sung out while the Sexton gathered what the church would give him for this last year. I gave him 3s., and have the last week given the Clerk 2s., which I set down that I may know what to do the next year, if it please the Lord that I live so long; but the jest was, the Clerk begins the 25th psalm, which hath a proper tune to it, and then the 116th, which cannot be sung with that tune, which seemed very ridiculous.
After church to Sir W. Batten’s, where on purpose I have not been this fortnight, and I am resolved to keep myself more reserved to avoyd the contempt which otherwise I must fall into, and so home and sat and talked and supped with my wife, and so up to prayers and to bed, having wrote a letter this night to Sir J. Mennes in the Downs for his opinion in the business of striking of flags.

With bones for money
I give what I live on—
a tune which cannot be sung.

This void I fall into
and pray to
is in the business of flags.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 5 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

¿Cómo estás?

“And now? How are you? Is there also a membrane
in the volcano along which the tongue glides?…”

~ “Colombia,” Tomaž Šalamun

It is the fifth day of the new year. Considering everything else, we are fine. I think we are fine. But of course it will be better once I have coffee, or something hot. No, no, I don’t want cookies or chocolate. My tongue is always homesick for something savory, something piquant; the sour mixed with hot; or a bitter green. Fermented fish I once ate with a scoop of rice, as the rain flooded all the plants in pots on the balcony. An entire library of little bones that melted to paste in the cave of the mouth— I know I will never have that again. Years ago, hiking on volcano island, Aunt L showed me where the lava was thickest, flowing across the road. I smelled hard-boiled eggs, as we scanned the horizon for long-legged birds. She reminded me to put back the rust-colored stone I picked up, thinking to take a souvenir. No, no, she said, the gods of the islands punish for even lesser sins than that. I wonder what would have happened if I had disobeyed? A pebble that threatens to inspire the jealousy of the gods is so much more interesting than a macadamia nut enrobed in dark chocolate, or a piece of dried pineapple. Last night, G. called from the airport, coming back from Antigua; she gushed about the colors: gold of maize, magenta and eggplant on the skirts of worry dolls. Rows of women weaving in the markets— the babies they flipped nonchalantly into slings, into whose mouths they popped their gummy breasts. Were we ever like that when our children were little, she wanted to know; and how do they do it, as though it were no big deal to carry another life on your back?

 

In response to Via Negativa: Correspondence.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Correspondence

At home most of the morning hanging up pictures, and seeing how my pewter sconces that I have bought will become my stayres and entry, and then with my wife by water to Westminster, whither she to her father’s and I to Westminster Hall, and there walked a turn or two with Mr. Chetwin (who had a dog challenged of him by another man that said it was his, but Mr. Chetwin called the dog, and the dog at last would follow him, and not his old master, and so Chetwin got the dog) and W. Symons, and thence to my wife, who met me at my Lord’s lodgings, and she and I and old East to Wilkinson’s to dinner, where we had some rost beef and a mutton pie, and a mince-pie, but none of them pleased me. After dinner by coach my wife and I home, and I to the office, and there till late, and then I and my wife to Sir W. Pen’s to cards and supper, and were merry, and much correspondence there has been between our two families all this Christmas. So home and to bed.

I have a twin
who had a dog
but the dog would follow me home.
Much correspondence there
has been between
our two lies.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 4 January 1661/62.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Azimuth

Make friends again with the oar
in the lock, with the gears that turn
and the rudder that creaks
as it steers your craft

Don’t look at the water
and its treacherous surface of glass
or its depths that connive
with their legends of doubt

Make peace with the charterless
sky and the trail of marks left by each passing wing—
There are no witnesses here: only each body bearing
forward, leaving what needs to be left behind.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Stranger here myself.