Following orders

Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I sat all the morning hiring of ships to go to Guinny, where we believe the warr with Holland will first break out. At noon dined at home, and after dinner my wife and I to Sir W. Pen’s, to see his Lady, the first time, who is a well-looked, fat, short, old Dutchwoman, but one that hath been heretofore pretty handsome, and is now very discreet, and, I believe, hath more wit than her husband. Here we staid talking a good while, and very well pleased I was with the old woman at first visit. So away home, and I to my office, my wife to go see my aunt Wight, newly come to town.
Creed came to me, and he and I out, among other things, to look out a man to make a case, for to keep my stone, that I was cut of, in, and he to buy Daniel’s history, which he did, but I missed of my end.
So parted upon Ludgate Hill, and I home and to the office, where busy till supper, and home to supper to a good dish of fritters, which I bespoke, and were done much to my mind. Then to the office a while again, and so home to bed.
The newes of the Emperour’s victory over the Turkes is by some doubted, but by most confessed to be very small (though great) of what was talked, which was 80,000 men to be killed and taken of the Turke’s side.

the pen sat hiring ships to go to war
in a pretty hand

and is now very discrete
more than me

I am among other things a man
that history missed

my victory over doubt
was killed and taken


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 19 August 1664.

Roundup

Summer’s on the wane; but weeds, knowing no season,
proliferate under the gum tree; they spread along
the sides of the ramshackle shed and the periphery

of our foundation. Joel, the guy who edges our front
lawn and trims the grass, volunteered to nuke ’em
next time they’re in the neighborhood. I know

Roundup is one of the chemical cocktails red-flagged
as carcinogenic. My husband won’t keep those chunky
plastic jugs anywhere near the house. I read

that a mixture of plain vinegar and water will do
the trick—I know after misting the leaves
of basil in a pot on the deck, the slugs

have generally left it alone. Whenever I’ve used
some foaming Chlorox on a rag to rub away some
deeply ingrained stain or mildewed spot on kitchen

sink or tile, my hands have itched and the skin
at the base of my fingers has blistered. Nuke,
he said; I keep coming back to that— how

after all the precautions we take to keep
the smallest square of our native soil free
of contaminants, our efforts won’t prevail.

Only the roaches might know, with their
impenetrable bronze shells; the dragonflies
raising their netted flags in the air,

or spiders building and tearing down then
building again, what balance there could ever
be, between our imagined industry and futility.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Talismanic.

Talismanic

Lay too long in bed, till 8 o’clock, then up and Mr. Reeve came and brought an anchor and a very fair loadstone. He would have had me bought it, and a good stone it is, but when he saw that I would not buy it he said he leave it for me to sell for him. By and by he comes to tell me that he had present occasion for 6l. to make up a sum, and that he would pay me in a day or two, but I had the unusual wit to deny him, and so by and by we parted, and I to the office, where busy all the morning sitting.
Dined alone at home, my wife going to-day to dine with Mrs. Pierce, and thence with her and Mrs. Clerke to see a new play, “The Court Secret.”
I busy all the afternoon, toward evening to Westminster, and there in the Hall a while, and then to my barber, willing to have any opportunity to speak to Jane, but wanted it. So to Mrs. Pierces, who was come home, and she and Mrs. Clerke busy at cards, so my wife being gone home, I home, calling by the way at the Wardrobe and met Mr. Townsend, Mr. Moore and others at the Taverne thereby, and thither I to them and spoke with Mr. Townsend about my boy’s clothes, which he says shall be soon done, and then I hope I shall be settled when I have one in the house that is musicall.
So home and to supper, and then a little to my office, and then home to bed. My wife says the play she saw is the worst that ever she saw in her life.

stone and stone
sitting secret as cards

one calling me to ore
one the settled music of my life


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 18 August 1664.

Shit talker

Up, and going to Sir W. Batten to speak to him about business, he did give me three bottles of his Epsum water, which I drank and it wrought well with me, and did give me many good stools, and I found myself mightily cooled with them and refreshed.
Thence I to Mr. Honiwood and my father’s old house, but he was gone out, and there I staid talking with his man Herbert, who tells me how Langford and his wife are very foulmouthed people, and will speak very ill of my father, calling him old rogue in reference to the hard penniworths he sold him of his goods when the rogue need not have bought any of them. So that I am resolved he shall get no more money by me, but it vexes me to think that my father should be said to go away in debt himself, but that I will cause to be remedied whatever comes of it.
Thence to my Lord Crew, and there with him a little while. Before dinner talked of the Dutch war, and find that he do much doubt that we shall fall into it without the money or consent of Parliament, that is expected or the reason of it that is fit to have for every warr.
Dined with him, and after dinner talked with Sir Thomas Crew, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is for ever blown up, and now quite out with his father again; to whom he pretended that his going down was, not that he was cast out of the Court, but that he had leave to be absent a month; but now he finds the truth.
Thence to my Lady Sandwich, where by agreement my wife dined, and after talking with her I carried my wife to Mr. Pierce’s and left her there, and so to Captain Cooke’s, but he was not at home, but I there spoke with my boy Tom Edwards, and directed him to go to Mr. Townsend (with whom I was in the morning) to have measure taken of his clothes to be made him there out of the Wardrobe, which will be so done, and then I think he will come to me.
Thence to White Hall, and after long staying there was no Committee of the Fishery as was expected. Here I walked long with Mr. Pierce, who tells me the King do still sup every night with my Lady Castlemayne, who he believes has lately slunk a great belly away, for from very big she is come to be down again.
Thence to Mrs. Pierce’s, and with her and my wife to see Mrs. Clarke, where with him and her very merry discoursing of the late play of Henry the 5th, which they conclude the best that ever was made, but confess with me that Tudor’s being dismissed in the manner he is is a great blemish to the play. I am mightily pleased with the Doctor, for he is the only man I know that I could learn to pronounce by, which he do the best that ever I heard any man.
Thence home and to the office late, and so to supper and to bed.
My Lady Pen came hither first to-night to Sir W. Pen’s lodgings.

how is a foul mouth to be remedied
fit for every war and after-
dinner blow-up

out with his absent truth
and his white fish-belly
big as a blemish on the night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 17 August 1664.

Radio alarm clock

Wakened about two o’clock this morning with the noise of thunder, which lasted for an houre, with such continued lightnings, not flashes, but flames, that all the sky and ayre was light; and that for a great while, not a minute’s space between new flames all the time; such a thing as I never did see, nor could have believed had ever been in nature. And being put into a great sweat with it, could not sleep till all was over. And that accompanied with such a storm of rain as I never heard in my life. I expected to find my house in the morning overflowed with the rain breaking in, and that much hurt must needs have been done in the city with this lightning; but I find not one drop of rain in my house, nor any newes of hurt done. But it seems it has been here and all up and down the countrie hereabouts the like tempest, Sir W. Batten saying much of the greatness thereof at Epsum. Up and all the morning at the office. At noon busy at the ‘Change about one business or other, and thence home to dinner, and so to my office all the afternoon very busy, and so to supper anon, and then to my office again a while, collecting observations out of Dr. Power’s booke of Microscopes, and so home to bed, very stormy weather to-night for winde.
This day we had newes that my Lady Pen is landed and coming hither, so that I hope the family will be in better order and more neate than it hath been.

wakened clock
not a minute’s space between
news of hurt


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 16 August 1664.

Alterity

Up, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to St. James’s, and there did our business with the Duke, who tells us more and more signs of a Dutch warr, and how we must presently set out a fleete for Guinny, for the Dutch are doing so, and there I believe the warr will begin. Thence home with him again, in our way he talking of his cures abroad, while he was with the King as a doctor, and above all men the pox. And among others, Sir J. Denham he told me he had cured, after it was come to an ulcer all over his face, to a miracle.
To the Coffee-house I, and so to the ‘Change a little, and then home to dinner with Creed, whom I met at the Coffee-house, and after dinner by coach set him down at the Temple, and I and my wife to Mr. Blagrave’s. They being none of them at home; I to the Hall, leaving her there, and thence to the Trumpett, whither came Mrs. Lane, and there begins a sad story how her husband, as I feared, proves not worth a farthing, and that she is with child and undone, if I do not get him a place. I had my pleasure here of her, and she, like an impudent jade, depends upon my kindness to her husband, but I will have no more to do with her, let her brew as she has baked, seeing she would not take my counsel about Hawly. After drinking we parted, and I to Blagrave’s, and there discoursed with Mrs. Blagrave about her kinswoman, who it seems is sickly even to frantiqueness sometimes, and among other things chiefly from love and melancholy upon the death of her servant, insomuch that she telling us all most simply and innocently I fear she will not be able to come to us with any pleasure, which I am sorry for, for I think she would have pleased us very well. In comes he, and so to sing a song and his niece with us, but she sings very meanly. So through the Hall and thence by coach home, calling by the way at Charing Crosse, and there saw the great Dutchman that is come over, under whose arm I went with my hat on, and could not reach higher than his eye-browes with the tip of my fingers, reaching as high as I could. He is a comely and well-made man, and his wife a very little, but pretty comely Dutch woman. It is true, he wears pretty high-heeled shoes, but not very high, and do generally wear a turbant, which makes him show yet taller than really he is, though he is very tall, as I have said before. Home to my office, and then to supper, and then to my office again late, and so home to bed, my wife and I troubled that we do not speed better in this business of her woman.

I believe in the face
a miracle of change and inner child

like a grave that’s able to sing
under a hat and eyebrows


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 15 August 1664.

Elegy for the Slaughtered

In the country where now it is the darkest form
of dark, every night has turned nightmare. There,

where demons think they have permission to freely
take what they want from among us, every encounter

is no longer rehearsal but battle. In the lands
where our foremothers sang through their teeth

through the air on wings of power, the cowardly
stumble to erect barricade after barricade.

They have outlawed Uber, though you might still
be able to get a Grab. Merciless traffic, lines

for public transportation so long their measure
could take you out of this world. I wish they would

actually take you out of this world, where not even
the most cautious child can find a sliver of clear

moonlight to guarantee home. But let us sing anyway:
for somewhere, someone winding and rewinding

the closed circuit TV tape has come to the part
where voices have doused the lamps in the alley; where

it is shown how they turned the alley into a sink,
fetid blood and liquids pooling slowly toward a clotted

drain. O for the beating of wings to shrive what they try
to hide in the dank pits of darkness. Collective hubbub

beyond the tracks and open air markets, where butchers
periodically wet their glistening wares with water— animal

jowls; flanks and sweetbreads pulsing under bare light bulbs.
The animal would first have been stunned with some kind

of blow: rendered unconscious, but not yet immediately
dead. The throat might be slashed, or a stake driven

close to the heart, the liver, the spleen. A captive bolt
pistol or conventional firearm might be fired into

the animal’s brain. On the tape, you might hear the boy
as he pleads: not necessarily for his life, just for time.

Someone heard his concern about having yet enough night after this
moment in which to memorize his lessons for a test. What is

the shortest distance between two points if not a line? His killers
were heard goading him to hold a gun; fire it, then run. This is how

animals are trussed tight for the final serve into the fire. It’s how
you know this is something they could not possibly have done to themselves.

~ in memoriam, Kian Loyd Delos Santos and all youth EJK victims; and the 13,000+

Panata

To pray, I no longer rely
on the language of the memorized,

on the round of mysteries made
by pressing thumb and index finger

around a carved wooden bead,
then dropping to the next. Now

and at the hour, to pray is
the whole shattered vessel

of the body’s need; and the spirit
propelling it forward on its knees.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Scientist.

Ice Mountain now available in music form

It started as a series of poems here on Via Negativa, was turned into a book by my artist-friend Beth Adams at Phoenicia Publishing, and now has been turned into an album by another brilliant artist-friend, Marc Neys. If you’ve been wondering when the summer heat will abate, the answer is: the moment you put on headphones and start listening to Ice Mountain. And if you’ve already purchased a copy of the book, send Marc a photo of yourself holding the book and he’ll email you the download for free.

I’ve posted a mini review on my author site, but I should perhaps emphasize that one of the best things about this, as a poetry + music collection, is that you don’t just have to listen to my voice. Marc also worked in readings by both my parents, Bruce and Marcia Bonta, as well as the young daughter of some friends, and she kind of stole the show in my opinion. So there’s this great multi-vocal, multi-generational dimension.

Speaking of reviews, by the way, the online art and poetry journal Escape Into Life published a wonderful review of Ice Mountain (the book) a few weeks back. Reviewer Kathleen Kirk concluded:

As we laze or doze during the dog days of summer, it’s good to recall that “huge natural refrigerator” [the Allegheny Front] and let it remind us to do what we can do to counter global warming, lest all our windmills become flowers for the dead.

Umbra, Penumbra, Antumbra

Our science teachers told us to find and bring
old rolls of undeveloped film— then showed us

how to pull the strips out. They made a somehow
satisfyingly crisp sound as they cleared

the revolving sprockets. Each of us snipped
two squares from the reel, which we separated

with scissors and taped to cardboard windows
we then could hold before our eyes to shield them.

We’d go into the playground to witness how
the moon slid into position directly between

the earth and the sun. We were warned: the sky
would go dark even in broad daylight. The dogs

would howl, the roosters in their cages crow
in confusion. We were not to look directly

at the sun, or its concentrated rays could damage
our eyes. Another teacher said, if we filled a pail

or basin with water and set it on the ground,
we could look into it as into a mirror to see

this heavenly passage that would not come again
for maybe fifty years, or a hundred. We learned

the names for those cone-shaped shadows and the one
that superimposes its dark body upon an aura edged

with light: how it’s darkest at the center
where the source of light is completely occluded,

how the area released in passage shades off into
an almost or nearly dark. How in the old days,

the people beat their drums and gongs in a frenzy,
believing the god of light had been eaten by a beast.