Year: 2017

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Condition: Exile

To this day I am still asked about origins.
I have learned to intuit
when they don’t mean where I first
recognized the way indigo hills
pulled up like fleece to the sky
as it darkened into sleep.

Most days I am able to go about my business
without having to palm my thoughts
back into my pockets.
In truth I am shy as the wild green
plant whose precisely ordered leaves
retract at the merest touch.

I am wary of using the word gesture
though I know this is what most of us
traveling between the furrows rely on
for recognition. The tongue longs
to salve its thirst with salt,
only because this means it will drink again.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Outlook

Up and all the morning at my office and with Sir J. Minnes, directing him and Mr. Turner about keeping of their books according to yesterday’s work, wherein I shall make them work enough. At noon to the ‘Change, and there long, and from thence by appointment took Luellin, Mount, and W. Symons, and Mr. Pierce, the chirurgeon, home to dinner with me and were merry. But, Lord! to hear how W. Symons do commend and look sadly and then talk bawdily and merrily, though his wife was dead but the other day, would make a dogg laugh. After dinner I did go in further part of kindness to Luellin for his kindness about Deering’s 50l. which he procured me the other day of him.
We spent all the afternoon together and then they to cards with my wife, who this day put on her Indian blue gowne which is very pretty, where I left them for an hour, and to my office, and then to them again, and by and by they went away at night, and so I again to my office to perfect a letter to Mr. Coventry about Department Treasurers, wherein I please myself and hope to give him content and do the King service therein.
So having done, I home and to teach my wife a new lesson in the globes, and to supper, and to bed.
We had great pleasure this afternoon; among other things, to talk of our old passages together in Cromwell’s time; and how W. Symons did make me laugh and wonder to-day when he told me how he had made shift to keep in, in good esteem and employment, through eight governments in one year (the year 1659, which were indeed, and he did name them all), and then failed unhappy in the ninth, viz. that of the King’s coming in. He made good to me the story which Luellin did tell me the other day, of his wife upon her death-bed; how she dreamt of her uncle Scobell, and did foretell, from some discourse she had with him, that she should die four days thence, and not sooner, and did all along say so, and did so.
Upon the ‘Change a great talke there was of one Mr. Tryan, an old man, a merchant in Lyme-Streete, robbed last night (his man and mayde being gone out after he was a-bed), and gagged and robbed of 1050l. in money and about 4000l. in jewells, which he had in his house as security for money. It is believed by many circumstances that his man is guilty of confederacy, by their ready going to his secret till in his desk, wherein the key of his cash-chest lay.

work shall make work
a dog after a deer

blue as ice
the globe ages
through eight governments

in the death-bed dream
of a hangman


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 8 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Poem with window into which a bird has wandered

Not many sleep anymore
with the shutters open.

Sometimes at the grocery store,
near the rafters, there’ll be

an errant bird that wanders in
on some warm draft. It flutters

confused above the ordered glaze
of bell peppers and bumpy lemons,

the curled decline of greens.
I rouse from sleep late at night

and feel my way to the bathroom,
trying to recall what I know

of accidental things— what finds
the one seam in the lock, the loose

partition; the weakness in
the careful armor. And there isn’t

any particular explanation for why
a pigeon should be wandering the hallway

at 4 o’clock, yet there it is,
as the man snores in the guest room

and the woman lies in her own bed,
in sheets soaked with her own urine.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Out walking

Up, putting on my best clothes and to the office, where all the morning we sat busy, among other things upon Mr. Wood’s performance of his contract for masts, wherein I was mightily concerned, but I think was found all along in the right, and shall have my desire in it to the King’s advantage.
At noon, all of us to dinner to Sir W. Pen’s, where a very handsome dinner, Sir J. Lawson among others, and his lady and his daughter, a very pretty lady and of good deportment, with looking upon whom I was greatly pleased, the rest of the company of the women were all of our own house, of no satisfaction or pleasure at all. My wife was not there, being not well enough, nor had any great mind.
But to see how Sir W. Pen imitates me in everything, even in his having his chimney piece in his dining room the same with that in my wife’s closett, and in every thing else I perceive wherein he can. But to see again how he was out in one compliment: he lets alone drinking any of the ladies’ healths that were there, my Lady Batten and Lawson, till he had begun with my Lady Carteret, who was absent, and that was well enough, and then Mr. Coventry’s mistresse, at which he was ashamed, and would not have had him have drunk it, at least before the ladies present, but his policy, as he thought, was such that he would do it.
After dinner by coach with Sir G. Carteret and Sir J. Minnes by appointment to Auditor Beale’s in Salisbury Court, and there we did with great content look over some old ledgers to see in what manner they were kept, and indeed it was in an extraordinary good method, and such as (at least out of design to keep them employed) I do persuade Sir J. Minnes to go upon, which will at least do as much good it may be to keep them for want of something to do from envying those that do something.
Thence calling to see whether Mrs. Turner was returned, which she is, and I spoke one word only to her, and away again by coach home and to my office, where late, and then home to supper and bed.

in the woods I found
good company

everyone was absent as a drunk
present as an old sign

I spoke one word
and away home


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 7 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Winter Tale

We push the shovel through the snow
to find the walk again, the border

of stubbled grass. On either side,
white banks grow. I can’t help

recalling that winter tale, the one
where the girl was taken under—

some fissure in the earth lined
with moss, lengthening drop

of dark shale. How far and how long
could a handful of red beads fall

before you’d hear their tinkle echo?
Our arms and thighs burn; late light

gilds the mounds we scrape and toss.
A stinging wind pushes the empty swing

back and forth, back and forth— the way
we repeat what we should have learned.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Cutting back.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Once upon a time,

a winged thing carved a hole in my heart.

I didn’t mind, I let it nest there
because it sang a small

defenseless song that lofted

marbles into the air. I wove them
into a tiara I wore on my hair,

not knowing yet how every note

of shimmering blue could drown
eventually in the wood. There is

that moment between two chords,

invisible space between a foreground
and what pounds beneath— and always,

one eternal tear that slides

down the middle of my chest
as the world turns and the sky

fills with the raucous cries of birds.

~ after “Once Upon a Time,” acrylic on canvas, 2016; Ulysses Duterte Jr.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Cutting back

(Twelfth day). Up and to my office, where very busy all the morning, being indeed over loaded with it through my own desire of doing all I can. At noon to the ‘Change, but did little, and so home to dinner with my poor wife, and after dinner read a lecture to her in Geography, which she takes very prettily and with great pleasure to her and me to teach her, and so to the office again, where as busy as ever in my life, one thing after another, and answering people’s business, particularly drawing up things about Mr. Wood’s masts, which I expect to have a quarrel about with Sir W. Batten before it be ended, but I care not. At night home to my wife, to supper, discourse, prayers, and to bed.
This morning I began a practice which I find by the ease I do it with that I shall continue, it saving me money and time; that is, to trimme myself with a razer: which pleases me mightily.

where in the geography
of busy people’s prayers
to find ease

I shall continue saving time
that self-razor


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 6 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Distraction

Up and to our office, where we sat all the morning, where my head being willing to take in all business whatever, I am afraid I shall over clogg myself with it. But however, it is my desire to do my duty and shall the willinger bear it. At noon home and to the ‘Change, where I met with Luellin, who went off with me and parted to meet again at the Coffeehouse, but missed. So home and found him there, and Mr. Barrow came to speak with me, so they both dined with me alone, my wife not being ready, and after dinner I up in my chamber with Barrow to discourse about matters of the yard with him, and his design of leaving the place, which I am sorry for, and will prevent if I can.
He being gone then Luellin did give me the 50l. from Mr. Deering, which he do give me for my pains in his business and what I may hereafter take for him, though there is not the least word or deed I have yet been guilty of in his behalf but what I am sure has been to the King’s advantage and the profit of the service, nor ever will. And for this money I never did condition with him or expected a farthing at the time when I did do him the service, nor have given any receipt for it, it being brought me by Luellin, nor do purpose to give him any thanks for it, but will wherein I can faithfully endeavour to see him have the privilege of his Patent as the King’s merchant. I did give Luellin two pieces in gold for a pair of gloves for his kindness herein.
Then he being gone, I to my office, where busy till late at night, that through my room being over confounded in business I could stay there no longer, but went home, and after a little supper to bed.

I clog myself with desire
and miss the peak

alone in my barrow
I endeavor to see
give two loves for one
late-night stay


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 5 January 1663/64.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Nocturne

Fog. Rain taps on the roof.
Someone says, it is the fingers

of our dead trying to remember
what it was like when cold

still touched them. Inside,
we sit huddled around the table.

When we long for moonlight we heat
small puddles of milk in mugs.

Why do we call it midnight
when no one knows what it is

that darkness cleaves
so one part falls

and the other,
falls away from?

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Impossible task

It is impossible
because you cannot love it,
and yet you must do it.
How can you love it

when it asks of you
the impossible— To bring
water in a sieve, braid
a rope out of ashes,

carry fire or wind
in a paper house?
Last but not least,
and not always in the fine

print: to rip out your heart
or skewer it, return it
to its place, then
do it over again.