"Naming, however kind, is always an act of estrangement."
~ Aracelis Girmay
brown the soil, brown the sand we call sable that water
paints before it recedes into itself; brown
the shutters of heaven from which the eyes of ancients
regard the world they left with us.
brown the sides of wooden ships swelled with
elegies of blind ambition, so certain
of following the fateful stars. brown the beautiful
bark of cassia shavings, the dark-
tipped nails of clove, the red-tinged roots
of galangal. burnish the sides of brass
hawk bells until you can no longer tell their gleam
from gold. the reefs are lined with coral,
the straits with subterranean eyes and mangrove
roots. crack open a rock to learn of lineage—
turn up the earth, run your brown fingers along
the burns and fading scars.
Orchard
Up, and by water to White Hall, and so to St. James’s, and thence with Mr. Wren by appointment in his coach to Hampstead, to speak with the Atturney-general, whom we met in the fields, by his old route and house; and after a little talk about our business of Ackeworth, went and saw the Lord Wotton’s house and garden, which is wonderfull fine: too good for the house the gardens are, being, indeed, the most noble that ever I saw, and brave orange and lemon trees. Thence to Mr. Chichley’s by invitation, and there dined with Sir John, his father not coming home. And while at dinner comes by the French Embassador Colbert’s mules, the first I ever saw, with their sumpter-clothes mighty rich, and his coaches, he being to have his entry to-day: but his things, though rich, are not new; supposed to be the same his brother had the other day, at the treaty at Aix-la-Chapelle, in Flanders. Thence to the Duke of York’s house, and there saw “Cupid’s Revenge,” under the new name of “Love Despised,” that hath something very good in it, though I like not the whole body of it. This day the first time acted here. Thence home, and there with Mr. Hater and W. Hewer late, reading over all the principal officers’ instructions in order to my great work upon my hand, and so to bed, my eyes very ill.
a field of orange
and lemon trees
by the house
like the whole body
to a hand
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 17 August 1668
Resourceful
(Lord’s day). All the morning at my Office with W. Hewer, there drawing up my Report to the Duke of York, as I have promised, about the faults of this Office, hoping thereby to have opportunity of doing myself [something]. At noon to dinner, and again with him to work all the afternoon till night, till I was weary and had despatched a good deal of business, and so to bed after hearing my wife read a little.
my wing
my promise
my good ear
my wife
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 16 August 1668
Physiology of the Blood
Blood cells are born in the marrow. They flood the columns of the pelvis, the ladders of the spine, the bones armoring the breast and its collection of soft organs. Somewhere in the factory, a lever or switch flips the numbers, electrifies the circuitry, multiplies. One day you're born or wake with too many lunettes; unchecked, they'd proliferate so skin bruises easy, as if a crimson dew formed beneath its outer walls. I don't know how to keep you from this delirium that seethes within, mostly unseen. In early morning light, I scan your body for tell- tale marks, watch as breath curls around the curve of your throat: in the shape of a stone fruit, in the guise of a hive clotted thick with syrup. Aspirate, from aspiratio: an exhalation. How a mouth forms the sound of audible breath, the low hum of a quiet engine.
Consumer affairs
Up, and to the office, where all the morning busy, and after dinner with my wife, Mercer, and Deb., to the King’s playhouse, and there saw “Love’s Mistresse” revived, the thing pretty good, but full of variety of divertisement. So home and to my business at the office, my eyes bad again, and so to bed.
my love is thin
but full of variety
o divert us at the office
my eyes bad in bed
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 15 August 1668
Automatic Writing
Spores that flower along the grassy edge: bread-like and brown, fruit of the lightning. I don't talk to God much these days except through words scratched on the sill. Of questions, of rants, and bottled pleas: more than enough to fill empires of pages. You think I play in the dirt when I keep to my silent labors —more than enough to fill empires of pages; of questions, of rants, and bottled pleas. Except through words scratched on the sill, I don't talk to God much these days. Bread-like and brown, fruit of the lightning: spores that flower along the grassy edge.
Millions of Monarchs Make the Rarest Sound
"...for the world is laboring to eclipse us" ~ D. Bonta As waterfall— rain of wings and bodies that did not perish, purling from the arms of pine: clouds that feed on milkweed and wildflowers, that filter light down to the forest floor. What bright-striped tribes, what vapory tapestries made to make themselves over every season. Who taught each one to bear one flimsy pane of light, one flap of sound through the bars? A maw opens at the top of the canopy, waiting for the unbearable cascade of beauty: for now, this certainty that they will come, until they don't.
Natural selection
Up, and by water to White Hall and St. James’s, and to see Sir W. Coventry, and discourse about business of our Office, telling him my trouble there, to see how things are ordered. I told him also what Cocke told me the other day, but he says there is not much in it, though he do know that this hath been in the eye of some persons to compass for the turning all things in the navy, and that it looks so like a popular thing as that he thinks something may be done in it, but whether so general or no, as I tell it him, he knows not.
Thence to White Hall, and there see how much turning
all things dowait at the Council-chamber door a good while, talking with one or other, and so home by water, though but for a little while, because I am to return to White Hall. At home I find Symson, putting up my new chimney-piece, in our great chamber, which is very fine, but will cost a great deal of money, but it is not flung away.
So back to White Hall, and after the council up, I with Mr. Wren, by invitation, to Sir Stephen Fox’s to dinner, where the Cofferer and Sir Edward Savage; where many good stories of the antiquity and estates of many families at this day in Cheshire, and that part of the kingdom, more than what is on this side, near London.
My Lady [Fox] dining with us; a very good lady, and a family governed so nobly and neatly as do me good to see it.
Thence the Cofferer, Sir Stephen, and I to the Commissioners of the Treasury about business: and so I up to the Duke of York, who enquired for what I had promised him, about my observations of the miscarriages of our Office; and I told him he should have it next week, being glad he called for it; for I find he is concerned to do something, and to secure himself thereby, I believe: for the world is labouring to eclipse him, I doubt; I mean, the factious part of the Parliament. The Office met this afternoon as usual, and waited on him; where, among other things, he talked a great while of his intentions of going to Dover soon, to be sworn as Lord Warden, which is a matter of great ceremony and state, and so to the Temple with Mr. Wren, to the Attorney’s chamber, about business, but he abroad, and so I home, and there spent the evening talking with my wife and piping, and pleased with our chimney-piece, and so to bed.
see how much turning
all things do
whether door or water
stories or ages
for the world is laboring
to eclipse us
the dove and wren
pleased with our chimney
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 14 August 1668
Rehab
Up, and Greeting comes, and there he and I tried some things of Mr. Locke’s for two flageolets, to my great content, and this day my wife begins again to learn of him; for I have a great mind for her to be able to play a part with me. Thence I to the Office, where all the afternoon [morning??], and then to dinner, where W. Howe dined with me, who tells me for certain that Creed is like to speed in his match with Mrs. Betty Pickering. Here dined with me also Mr. Hollier, who is mighty vain in his pretence to talk Latin. So to the Office again all the afternoon till night, very busy, and so with much content home, and made my wife sing and play on the flageolet to me till I slept with great pleasure in bed.
greeting the lock
I begin to learn
for I have a mind
to play a part
how like a mad flag
I slept with pleasure
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 13 August 1668
The Oldest Light in the Universe
A cosmic day is longer than any of our ordinary days: delirium of time ticking in expanding circles, distributing the slow-built honey of the universe. Telephone coil, endless transmitting chain drive, celestial ladder: the bounded seas and rivers' continuous movements shadowing the heavens, partitioning these puny hours. What is the actual length of wars, of the track by which both soldiers and prisoners return? And the years wrapped as circlets of gold around ring fingers, or the time it takes for a branch to break out in doubloons of persimmon? Smoke from a thurible lofts and holds in the air: threads of frankincense write a long letter in the coals after burning. What is it we hold on our tongues, mouthing love for the other? Echo of bodies that cleaved together: outlasting the swing of the chain, its pulleys, crescents, counterweights.