Idealist

Up, and carrying my wife and her brother to Covent Garden, near their father’s new lodging, by coach, I to my Lord Sandwich’s, who receives me now more and more kindly, now he sees that I am respected in the world; and is my most noble patron.
Here I staid and talked about many things, with my Lord and Mr. Povy, being there about Tangier business, for which the Commission is a taking out.
Hence (after talking with Mr. Cooke, whom I met here about Mrs. Butler’s portion, he do persist to say that it will be worth 600l. certain, when he knows as well as I do now that it is but 400l., and so I told him, but he is a fool, and has made fools of us). So I by water to my brother’s, and thence to Mr. Smith’s, where I was, last night, and there by appointment met Mrs. Butler, with whom I plainly discoursed and she with me. I find she will give but 400l., and no more, and is not willing to do that without a joynture, which she expects and I will not grant for that portion, and upon the whole I find that Cooke has made great brags on both sides, and so has abused us both, but know not how to help it, for I perceive she had much greater expectations of Tom’s house and being than she finds. But however we did break off the business wholly, but with great love and kindness between her and me, and would have been glad we had known one another’s minds sooner, without being misguided by this fellow to both our shames and trouble. For I find her a very discreet, sober woman, and her daughter, I understand and believe, is a good lady; and if portions did agree, though she finds fault with Tom’s house, and his bad imperfection in his speech, I believe we should well agree in other matters. After taking a kind farewell, I to Tom’s, and there did give him a full account of this sad news, with which I find he is much troubled, but do appear to me to be willing to be guided herein, and apprehends that it is not for his good to do otherwise, and so I do persuade [him] to follow his business again, and I hope he will, but for Cooke’s part and Dr. Pepys, I shall know them for two fools another time.
Hence, it raining hard, by coach home, being first trimmed here by Benier, who being acquainted with all the players, do tell me that Betterton is not married to Ianthe, as they say; but also that he is a very sober, serious man, and studious and humble, following of his studies, and is rich already with what he gets and saves, and then to my office till late, doing great deal of business, and settling my mind in pretty good order as to my business, though at present they are very many. So home and to bed.
This night was buried, as I hear by the bells at Barking Church, my poor Morena, whose sickness being desperate, did kill her poor father; and he being dead for sorrow, she could not recover, nor desire to live, but from that time do languish more and more, and so is now dead and buried.

who sees the world without rags
without imperfection
taking a kind farewell to sad news
who is rich already
with what he saves in sorrow


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 22 October 1662.

Instructions for calling the soul back to the body

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

It swings imperceptibly on the slack
end of a clothesline. Dark hooded shape,

wings glossier than tree ear mushrooms, its
marble eye fixed on my own. Every afternoon

I come to the kitchen threshold
and there it sits; I almost want to raise

my right hand and swear with my left
on the cover of a sacred book. It never stays

long— swooping into the bush to stab
a worm in half before arcing away

into the sky. Vines settle back upon
their blue-green cowl when it leaves.

Say to the soul, I know you. Chant a spell
learned long ago: Maykan, maykan, di ka agbutbuteng.*

*Come back, come back, do not be frightened. [Ilocano]

Proverbial (14)

Up, and while I was dressing myself, my brother Tom being there I did chide him for his folly in abusing himself about the match, for I perceive he do endeavour all he can to get her, and she and her friends to have more than her portion deserves, which now from 6 or 700l. is come to 450l.. I did by several steps shew Tom how he would not be 100l. the better for her according to the ways he took to joynture her. After having done with him to the office, and there all the morning, and in the middle of our sitting my workmen setting about the putting up of my rails upon my leads, Sir J. Minnes did spy them and fell a-swearing, which I took no notice of, but was vexed, and am still to the very heart for it, for fear it should put him upon taking the closett and my chamber from me, which I protest I am now afraid of. But it is my very great folly to be so much troubled at these trifles, more than at the loss of 100l., or things of greater concernment; but I forget the lesson I use to preach to others of τὰ ἐφ ἡμιν χγ τὰ γχ ἐφ ἡμῖν.
After dinner to my office with my head and heart full of troublesome business, and thence by water with Mr. Smith, to Mr. Lechmore, the Counsellor at the Temple, about Field’s business; and he tells me plainly that, there being a verdict against me, there is no help for it, but it must proceed to judgment. It is 30l. damage to me for my joining with others in committing Field to prison, we being not justices of the Peace in the City, though in Middlesex; this troubled me, but I hope the King will make it good to us.
Thence to Mr. Smith, the scrivener, upon Ludgate Hill, to whom Mrs. Butler do committ her business concerning her daughter and my brother. He tells me her daughter’s portion is but 400l., at which I am more troubled than before; and they find fault that his house is too little. So after I had told him my full mind, I went away to meet again to-morrow, but I believe the business will be broke off, which for Tom’s sake I am much grieved for, but it cannot be helped without his ruin. Thence to see Mr. Moore, who is pretty well again, and we read over and discoursed about Mrs. Goldsborough’s business, and her son coming by my appointment thither, I did tell him our resolution as to her having her estate reconveyed to her.
Hither also came my brother, and before Mr. Moore I did advise and counsel him about his match, and how we had all been abused by Mr. Cooke’s folly. So home and to my office, and there settled many businesses, and so home and to supper, and so to bed, Sir W. Pen being still in great pain.

A heart put in a closet
is a loss of great concern,
but a heart in the prison of sex
will find too little to grieve for.
Ruin is our ointment.
The other is a match to any pain.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 21 October 1662.

Inscrutable Sonnets

8

Brat (n.) ~ c. 1500, slang, “beggar’s child,” originally northern, Midlands and western England dialect word for “makeshift or ragged garment;” probably the same … as Old English bratt “cloak,” which is from a Celtic source (compare Old Irish bratt “cloak, cloth”).

The amuse-bouche is a mouth-amuser, a smaller bite
than a regular hors d’œuvre: how did I know this before
first grade and not yet (though in due time) that Ouagadougou
is the capital of Burkina Faso? My parents plied me, sickly child,
with mostly solitary amusements: books to devour hour upon hour;
coloring pencils, paper. When I wasn’t doing poorly, they took me
with them everywhere— which means, in the company of mostly adults,
I got to listen as they drank and smoked, trading news, puns, insults,
blushing jokes, tirades, other confidences of language. My father’s cousin
the congressman had a Korean mistress— She bore him a daughter, apple
of his eye. Once, we had to house them, out of sight, away from his wife’s
ire. The girl was older than me, but prissy: hard to feed, prone to tantrums.
I knew how to sweep floors, wash dishes. I can’t imagine what my parents’
friends mean: they say I remember you, you were such a brat back then.

Inscrutable Sonnets

7

Scrutiny: n., early 15c., …from PIE root *skreu- “to cut; cutting tool” …first recorded c. 1600. Perhaps the original notion of the Latin word is “to search through trash,” via scruta (plural) “trash, rags” (“shreds”)

To catalogue the shards that make up a thing,
to rescue them from the dustbin. Why should a sliver
of laundry soap, a yellowed letter or broken rosary
chain mean anything? Damp rot that blotted those rooms
of barracks green, that gloved the small red phosphorus
heads of every matchstick. If I should learn to work
with hook and needle the patterns on window panels
and on bedspreads, before I finished I might forget
the color that rubbed against the hills at sundown.
On the sill, a row of wooden idols sits on their haunches:
not giving anything away, not altering; not withering,
not granting. I pass a dust-cloth around their carved
eyelids, their earlobes, their crossed arms; I even wipe
between the thighs where I think their sex might be.

Guilt trip

Up and in Sir J. Minnes’s coach with him and Sir W. Batten to White Hall, where now the Duke is come again to lodge: and to Mr. Coventry’s little new chamber there. And by and by up to the Duke, who was making himself ready; and there among other discourse young Killigrew did so commend “The Villaine,” a new play made by Tom Porter; and acted only on Saturday at the Duke’s house, as if there never had been any such play come upon the stage. The same yesterday was told me by Captain Ferrers; and this morning afterwards by Dr. Clerke, who saw it. Insomuch that after I had done with the Duke, and thence gone with Commissioner Pett to Mr. Lilly’s, the great painter, who came forth to us; but believing that I come to bespeak a picture, he prevented us by telling us, that he should not be at leisure these three weeks; which methinks is a rare thing. And then to see in what pomp his table was laid for himself to go to dinner; and here, among other pictures, saw the so much desired by me picture of my Lady Castlemaine, which is a most blessed picture; and that that I must have a copy of. And having thence gone to my brother’s, where my wife lodged last night, and eat something there, I took her by coach to the Duke’s house, and there was the house full of company: but whether it was in over-expecting or what, I know not, but I was never less pleased with a play in my life. Though there was good singing and dancing, yet no fancy in the play, but something that made it less contenting was my conscience that I ought not to have gone by my vow, and, besides, my business commanded me elsewhere. But, however, as soon as I came home I did pay my crown to the poor’s box, according to my vow, and so no harm as to that is done, but only business lost and money lost, and my old habit of pleasure wakened, which I will keep down the more hereafter, for I thank God these pleasures are not sweet to me now in the very enjoying of them. So by coach home, and after a little business at my office, and seeing Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, I went to bed.
Dunkirk, I am confirmed, is absolutely sold; for which I am very sorry.

am I a villain not to see
a brother
lodged in a box

these pleasures
are not sweet to me now
for which I am sorry


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 20 October 1662.

Inscrutable Sonnets

6

Thrift is the animal whose every part
is put to use: its singed hairs for the brush,
its hide for the switch and for the wine sac.
Meat is merely the name we give to pieces
we’ve quartered and boiled, to fill the hunger
in our bellies. No blood is wasted, either—
clotted then forced back into miles of clean
membrane. Meanwhile, the glinting geodes
of liver and spleen, white-marbled, slick-
roped insides are dense with prophesy.
Did you lop off and tie with crimson a small
gift for the gods? Watch what clouds suspend
in the depths of your bowl of broth. They’re
always watching, always hungrier than we are.

The Fall

(Lord’s day). Got me ready in the morning and put on my first new laceband; and so neat it is, that I am resolved my great expense shall be lacebands, and it will set off any thing else the more. So walked to my brother’s, where I met Mr. Cooke, and discoursing with him do find that he and Tom have promised a joynture of 50l. to his mistress, and say that I did give my consent that she should be joyntured in 30l. per ann. for Sturtlow, and the rest to be made up out of her portion. At which I was stark mad, and very angry the business should be carried with so much folly and against my mind and all reason. But I was willing to forbear discovering of it, and did receive Mrs. Butler, her mother, Mr. Lull and his wife, very civil people, very kindly, and without the least discontent, and Tom had a good and neat dinner for us. We had little discourse of any business, but leave it to one Mr. Smith on her part and myself on ours. So we staid till sermon was done, and I took leave, and to see Mr. Moore, who recovers well; and his doctor coming to him, one Dr. Merrit, we had some of his very good discourse of anatomy, and other things, very pleasant. By and by, I with Mr. Townsend walked in the garden, talking and advising with him about Tom’s business, and he tells me he will speak with Smith, and says I offer fair to give her 30l. joynture and no more.
Thence Tom waiting for me homewards towards my house, talking and scolding him for his folly, and telling him my mind plainly what he has to trust to if he goes this way to work, for he shall never have her upon the terms they demand of 50l..
He left me, and I to my uncle Wight, and there supped, and there was pretty Mistress Margt. Wight, whom I esteem very pretty, and love dearly to look upon her. We were very pleasant, I droning with my aunt and them, but I am sorry to hear that the news of the selling of Dunkirk is taken so generally ill, as I find it is among the merchants; and other things, as removal of officers at Court, good for worse; and all things else made much worse in their report among people than they are. And this night, I know not upon what ground, the gates of the City ordered to be kept shut, and double guards every where. So home, and after preparing things against to-morrow for the Duke, to bed.
Indeed I do find every body’s spirit very full of trouble; and the things of the Court and Council very ill taken; so as to be apt to appear in bad colours, if there should ever be a beginning of trouble, which God forbid!

her stark anatomy
in the garden

I look at the ground
a city ordered to be kept shut

the body’s a thing
of bad colors


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 19 October 1662.

Three-step

Dulwich Picture Gallery

1.

This beauty’s not for everyone
blind windows like a prison
said a friend indifferent
to Soane’s genius
but I exult in it.

The honey-coloured bricks
and the harmonious outline
are earth and air.

It’s here that I come
to be grounded in a space
where sorrow and regret
can be felt but can’t annihilate
where hope can briefly soar.

The new Dulwich Picture Gallery in bright sunlight

2.

The sheer heft lovely lines
unchanging serenity
are what I love
so the old photo was a shock.

Many bombs fell on south-east London
You can see the places still
where a modern house interrupts
a Victorian terrace.

Around Dulwich small plaques
give the date the names
and ages of the dead

and in July 44 the gallery took a hit
that reduced its heart to rubble.

In this picture no sweet geometry
The honey drips
a waterfall of chaos
a radical artwork depicting
the horror of war.

Today’s fine structure
bears few traces
but once seen never forgotten
The rebuilt harmonies become a hymn
to resilience and repair.

black-and-white photo of Dulwich Picture Gallery reduced to rubble in Word War II

3.

On the corner by the pub car-park is a new mural
after van Dyck’s Venetia Lady Digby on her Deathbed.
Let me count the ways this work based on a portrait
of a dead woman fills me with paradoxical happiness.

Huge and bright and apart from the rose mostly blue,
it’s by the German artist MadC – C is for Claudia,
a woman of bold vision and talent and about the age
Venetia Digby was when she died in her sleep in 1633.

The painting was the muralist’s choice: a clever project,
these “old master murals” by street artists talking back
to their chosen works in the gallery have flashed up
on blank walls and gable ends all over Dulwich, but

none has taken my breath, none makes me stop and
smile and ponder each time I see it the way this does –
a mistressful meeting of past and present, private and
public art, death and unrestrained but not unthinking life.

MadC's Dulwich mural


Links:

Dulwich Picture Gallery
John Soane, the architect
World War 2 bombs in Dulwich
Venetia Lady Digby on her Deathbed by Anthony van Dyck
MadC (Claudia Walde), the muralist
and her Dulwich mural

Inscrutable Sonnets

5

Regarding chronology— She’s come to think of it as one
of the crew backstage: been there forever, still resourceful.
Formerly a stickler for procedure, now chill about how she wants
to shuffle through all the old props in the closet and set them out
again, this time in a different order— the kind of narrative
she wants being no longer only about what happened, where,
and when. There’s the girl in the navy blue skirt who tried to run
away from home when she was nine, with only a toothbrush
in a paper sack. There’s the ex- who flew into a rage and left
the car and everyone in it in the middle of traffic. There’s
the grandmother who put her body between him and his eldest
daughter to prevent a possibly lethal blow. The years have softened
the hard outlines of these figures. Their mouths still open as if
to sing their individual arias. Sometimes now they sing together.