Month: January 2017

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Rock dove

Up, and after sending my wife to my aunt Wight’s to get a place to see Turner hanged, I to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon going to the ‘Change; and seeing people flock in the City, I enquired, and found that Turner was not yet hanged. And so I went among them to Leadenhall Street, at the end of Lyme Street, near where the robbery was done; and to St. Mary Axe, where he lived. And there I got for a shilling to stand upon the wheel of a cart, in great pain, above an houre before the execution was done; he delaying the time by long discourses and prayers one after another, in hopes of a reprieve; but none came, and at last was flung off the ladder in his cloake. A comely-looked man he was, and kept his countenance to the end: I was sorry to see him. It was believed there were at least 12 or 14,000 people in the street. So I home all in a sweat, and dined by myself, and after dinner to the Old James, and there found Sir W. Rider and Mr. Cutler at dinner, and made a second dinner with them, and anon came Mr. Bland and Custos, and Clerke, and so we fell to the business of reference, and upon a letter from Mr. Povy to Sir W. Rider and I telling us that the King is concerned in it, we took occasion to fling off the business from off our shoulders and would have nothing to do with it, unless we had power from the King or Commissioners of Tangier, and I think it will be best for us to continue of that mind, and to have no hand, it being likely to go against the King.
Thence to the Coffee-house, and heard the full of Turner’s discourse on the cart, which was chiefly to clear himself of all things laid to his charge but this fault, for which he now suffers, which he confesses. He deplored the condition of his family, but his chief design was to lengthen time, believing still a reprieve would come, though the sheriff advised him to expect no such thing, for the King was resolved to grant none. After that I had good discourse with a pretty young merchant with mighty content. So to my office and did a little business, and then to my aunt Wight’s to fetch my wife home, where Dr. Burnett did tell me how poorly the sheriffs did endeavour to get one jewell returned by Turner, after he was convicted, as a due to them, and not to give it to Mr. Tryan, the true owner, but ruled against them, to their great dishonour. Though they plead it might be another jewell for ought they know and not Tryan’s. After supper home, and my wife tells me mighty stories of my uncle’s fond and kind discourses to her to-day, which makes me confident that he has thoughts of kindness for us, he repeating his desire for her to be with child, for it cannot enter into my head that he should have any unworthy thoughts concerning her. After doing some business at my office, I home to supper, prayers, and to bed.

seeing people flock in the city
on the leaden street

I wheel above
in all that nothing

clear of sign or chant
but to a child


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 21 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Lord Sand

Up and by coach to my Lord Sandwich’s, and after long staying till his coming down (he not sending for me up, but it may be he did not know I was there), he came down, and I walked with him to the Tennis Court, and there left him, seeing the King play. At his lodgings this morning there came to him Mr. W. Montague’s fine lady, which occasioned my Lord’s calling me to her about some business for a friend of hers preferred to be a midshipman at sea. My Lord recommended the whole matter to me. She is a fine confident lady, I think, but not so pretty as I once thought her. My Lord did also seal a lease for the house he is now taking in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, which stands him in 250 per annum rent.
Thence by water to my brother’s, whom I find not well in bed, sicke, they think, of a consumption, and I fear he is not well, but do not complain, nor desire to take anything. From him I visited Mr. Honiwood, who is lame, and to thank him for his visit to me the other day, but we were both abroad. So to Mr. Commander’s in Warwicke Lane, to speak to him about drawing up my will, which he will meet me about in a day or two. So to the ‘Change and walked home, thence with Sir Richard Ford, who told me that Turner is to be hanged to-morrow, and with what impudence he hath carried out his trial; but that last night, when he brought him newes of his death, he began to be sober and shed some tears, and he hopes will die a penitent; he having already confessed all the thing, but says it was partly done for a joke, and partly to get an occasion of obliging the old man by his care in getting him his things again, he having some hopes of being the better by him in his estate at his death.
Home to dinner, and after dinner my wife and I by water, which we have not done together many a day, that is not since last summer, but the weather is now very warm, and left her at Axe Yard, and I to White Hall, and meeting Mr. Pierce walked with him an hour in the Matted Gallery; among other things he tells me that my Lady Castlemaine is not at all set by by the King, but that he do doat upon Mrs. Stewart only; and that to the leaving of all business in the world, and to the open slighting of the Queene; that he values not who sees him or stands by him while he dallies with her openly; and then privately in her chamber below, where the very sentrys observe his going in and out; and that so commonly, that the Duke or any of the nobles, when they would ask where the King is, they will ordinarily say, “Is the King above, or below?” meaning with Mrs. Stewart.
That the King do not openly disown my Lady Castlemaine, but that she comes to Court; but that my Lord FitzHarding and the Hambletons,1 and sometimes my Lord Sandwich, they say, have their snaps at her. But he says my Lord Sandwich will lead her from her lodgings in the darkest and obscurest manner, and leave her at the entrance into the Queene’s lodgings, that he might be the least observed.
That the Duke of Monmouth the King do still doat on beyond measure, insomuch that the King only, the Duke of York, and Prince Rupert, and the Duke of Monmouth, do now wear deep mourning, that is, long cloaks, for the Duchesse of Savoy; so that he mourns as a Prince of the Blood, while the Duke of York do no more, and all the nobles of the land not so much; which gives great offence, and he says the Duke of York do consider. But that the Duke of York do give himself up to business, and is like to prove a noble Prince; and so indeed I do from my heart think he will.
He says that it is believed, as well as hoped, that care is taken to lay up a hidden treasure of money by the King against a bad day. Pray God it be so! but I should be more glad that the King himself would look after business, which it seems he do not in the least.
By and by came by Mr. Coventry, and so we broke off; and he and I took a turn or two and so parted, and then my Lord Sandwich came upon me, to speak with whom my business of coming again to-night to this ende of the town chiefly was, in order to the seeing in what manner he received me, in order to my inviting him to dinner to my house, but as well in the morning as now, though I did wait upon him home and there offered occasion of talk with him, yet he treated me, though with respect, yet as a stranger, without any of the intimacy or friendship which he used to do, and which I fear he will never, through his consciousness of his faults, ever do again. Which I must confess do trouble me above anything in the world almost, though I neither do need at present nor fear to need to be so troubled, nay, and more, though I do not think that he would deny me any friendship now if I did need it, but only that he has not the face to be free with me, but do look upon me as a remembrancer of his former vanity, and an espy upon his present practices, for I perceive that Pickering to-day is great with him again, and that he has done a great courtesy for Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, to a good value, though both these and none but these did I mention by name to my Lord in the business which has caused all this difference between my Lord and me. However, I am resolved to forbear my laying out my money upon a dinner till I see him in a better posture, and by grave and humble, though high deportment, to make him think I do not want him, and that will make him the readier to admit me to his friendship again, I believe the soonest of anything but downright impudence, and thrusting myself, as others do, upon him, which yet I cannot do, not [nor] will not endeavour.
So home, calling with my wife to see my brother again, who was up, and walks up and down the house pretty well, but I do think he is in a consumption.
Home, troubled in mind for these passages with my Lord, but am resolved to better my case in my business to make my stand upon my owne legs the better and to lay up as well as to get money, and among other ways I will have a good fleece out of Creed’s coat ere it be long, or I will have a fall.
So to my office and did some business, and then home to supper and to bed, after I had by candlelight shaved myself and cut off all my beard clear, which will make my worke a great deal the less in shaving.

Lord Sand left the sea
for the fields

I fear he is not well
that it was done for a joke

the weather is now very warm
an axe white with light

but Lord Sand they say
will lead in the darkest manner

mouth in mourning like a prince
believed to lay up hidden money

lord of anger
without any consciousness of his faults

he has no face but a grave
which I will not call my brother

I resolve to stand on my own legs
or fall


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 20 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Making Steamed Buns

Because he is still mourning
his father who cooked most
meals every day of his life,

his father who passed
away unexpectedly in early
winter— today he is cooking.

He is scouring the stores
for cuts of meat, for hoisin
sauce, for rice vinegar

and anise. He inspects the jar
of yeast in the refrigerator
and deems it past its prime.

He is sifting flour
into the wide-mouthed bowl
of the stand mixer— one of two

concessions versus doing things
in completely the old-fashioned way
(the other being vegetable shortening

in place of rendered pig fat).
While yeast from a fresh packet
blooms in a bowl, he measures carefully,

leveling everything dry with the edge
of a knife. The water begins to sing
beneath slats of the bamboo basket;

the house fills with clouds of spice
and steam. He’s folded back the sleeves
of his shirt: intent from the effort

to neatly pleat filled circles of dough
and slide them on squares of parchment,
his expression resembles so much

his namesake’s. As pillowy mounds of bread
rise, he waits for the first one to lift onto
the waiting plate. There’ll be more than enough

to last a couple of weeks, enough to sample now.
The quiet pleasure of this memory: gathering the dough
into a ball, his father patiently watching it grow.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Terminus

Hard heat at noon. If not, rain
that will fall on clock towers,

on train platforms and bus stations
where people spill out of turnstiles

carrying their suffering like hundreds
of flickering storms in their hands.

The harder the rain, the darker the letters
where poems have been chiseled on pavement.

If you took away the bee’s song
don’t you think it would pine

harder for scent? If you took the field
away from the horse, don’t you think

it would canter through the hallways of your grand,
soulless house? Mind the rush and creak of pulleys,

the great bellowing wind arising from newfound
wings. Don’t you think it would kick its way

till it came to even one sheltering bird,
one gold hope still lashed to its stalk?

 

In response to Via Negativa: Insider.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Settler

Up, without any kindness to my wife, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon I to the ‘Change, and thence to Mr. Cutler’s with Sir W. Rider to dinner, and after dinner with him to the Old James upon our reference of Mr. Bland’s, and, having sat there upon the business half an hour, broke up, and I home and there found Madame Turner and her sister Dike come to see us, and staid chatting till night, and so away, and I to my office till very late, and my eyes began to fail me, and be in pain which I never felt to now-a-days, which I impute to sitting up late writing and reading by candle-light. So home to supper and to bed.

I sat all morning
and the land sat there
till night
and my very eyes
began to sit


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 19 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

The stars, they say

are a woman’s diadems,
strings of milky agate

and bits of polished bone
she stripped from her hair
and gleaned from the altar

fashioned of her clavicle.
It’s hard to see them now—
but they’re there, swimming

in the onyx currents
above reach, speckled bands
she once hung in the arms

of trees. She took them off
because of the weight
of timeless things.

Bar, space, bar
above her breasts.
Once light-filled hollow.

Clouds of golden chaff
with every swing of the pestle:
so close, so bound to earth.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Unlikely.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Insider

Up, being troubled to find my wife so ready to have me go out of doors. God forgive me for my jealousy! but I cannot forbear, though God knows I have no reason to do so, or to expect her being so true to me as I would have her. I abroad to White Hall, where the Court all in mourning for the Duchesse of Savoy. We did our business with the Duke, and so I to W. Howe at my Lord’s lodgings, not seeing my Lord, he being abroad, and there I advised with W. Howe about my having my Lord to dinner at my house, who likes it well, though it troubles me that I should come to need the advice of such a boy, but for the present it is necessary. Here I found Mr. Mallard, and had from him a common tune set by my desire to the Lyra Vyall, which goes most admirably. Thence home by coach to the ‘Change, after having been at the Coffee-house, where I hear Turner is found guilty of felony and burglary; and strange stories of his confidence at the barr, but yet great indiscretion in his argueing. All desirous of his being hanged.
So home and found that Will had been with my wife. But, Lord! why should I think any evil of that; and yet I cannot forbear it. But upon enquiry, though I found no reason of doubtfulness, yet I could not bring my nature to any quiet or content in my wife all day and night, nor though I went with her to divert myself at my uncle Wight’s, and there we played at cards till 12 at night and went home in a great shower of rain, it having not rained a great while before. Here was one Mr. Benson, a Dutchman, played and supped with us, that pretends to sing well, and I expected great matters but found nothing to be pleased with at all. So home and to bed, yet troubled in my mind.

doors, forgive me
for having a house

who likes to need
such a common evil
for quiet or content in the rain

a rain that tends to sing well
and eat nothing at all


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 18 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Unlikely

(Lord’s day). Up, and I and my wife to church, where Pembleton appeared, which, God forgive me, did vex me, but I made nothing of it. So home to dinner, and betimes my wife and I to the French church and there heard a good sermon, the first time my wife and I were there ever together. We sat by three sisters, all pretty women. It was pleasant to hear the reader give notice to them, that the children to be catechized next Sunday were them of Hounsditch and Blanche Chapiton. Thence home, and there found Ashwell come to see my wife (we having called at her lodging the other day to speak with her about dressing my wife when my Lord Sandwich dines here), and is as merry as ever, and speaks as disconcerned for any difference between us on her going away as ever. She being gone, my wife and I to see Sir W. Pen and there supped with him much against my stomach, for the dishes were so deadly foule that I could not endure to look upon them.
So after supper home to prayers and to bed.

if God made nothing
if he heard me

if I were to catechize
the ditch and the well

if I called the peak my Lord
disconcerned for any difference

if I were so dead
that I could not look up


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 17 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Offering

“The heart is what I imagine I give.” ~ Roland Barthes

There was a time I couldn’t imagine
knowing what time feels like, reduced

to a void by an absence. I learned
how the grass and flowers opened,

how two dragonflies transfixed in air
become a crucible for what could

go on. Dogs in the street sniff
then lean upon one another,

their flanks trembling. How long
can the heart abide in another’s

suffering? I become exhausted
by the identification with what I

can barely alter or contain. The moon
knows better, detaching from its screen

of branches. Fronds of curling fern
undo me— proof I have so much to learn.