Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
(Lord’s day). At church in the morning, a stranger preached a good honest and painfull sermon. My wife and I dined upon a chine of beef at Sir W. Batten’s, so to church again. Then home, and put some papers in order. Then to supper at Sir W. Batten’s again, where my wife by chance fell down and hurt her knees exceedingly. So home and to bed.
Each honest pain
upon a chin? A church—
a chance hurt.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 17 March 1660/61.
A circling crow
turns into a hawk
as it clears the trees
with their bare-boned
parceling of the light. And then
those upswept wings—
primaries splayed like hands
open to the ground—
can only be vulture.
Early at Sir Wm. Pen’s, and there before Mr. Turner did reconcile the business of the purveyance between us two. Then to Whitehall to my Lord’s, and dined with him, and so to Whitefriars and saw “The Spanish Curate,” in which I had no great content.
So home, and was very much troubled that Will staid out late, and went to bed angry, intending not to let him come in, but by and by he comes and I did let him in, and he did tell me that he was at Guildhall helping to pay off the seamen, and cast the books late. Which since I found to be true. So to sleep, being in bed when he came.
The business of the Lord
is in a tent. I went
to bed angry, but by and by
I let him tell me all.
I am the Book I sleep in.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 16 March 1660/61.
A gray day in March
is the best time to go hunting
for teaberries—
bright as fresh drops of blood
under the glossy wings
of wintergreen,
sharp and sweet
after all those months
of frozen burial.
At the office all the morning. At noon Sir Williams both and I at a great fish dinner at the Dolphin, given us by two tar merchants, and very merry we were till night, and so home. This day my wife and Pall went to see my Lady Kingston, her brother’s lady.
At the office, I am
a fish in the dolphin.
Tar me and err.
Night is my wife, a pall my king.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 15 March 1660/61.
After months under snow,
last autumn’s leaves
barely stir in the wind,
pressed flat as ears
to the forest floor.
Surely they know what’s coming.
Stones lie askew.
Whatever is beneath them shows no sign
of resting in peace.
With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Mr. Coventry’s, and there had a dispute about my claim to the place of Purveyor of Petty-provisions, and at last to my content did conclude to have my hand to all the bills for these provisions and Mr. Turner to purvey them, because I would not have him to lose the place. Then to my Lord’s, and so with Mr. Creed to an alehouse, where he told me a long story of his amours at Portsmouth to one of Mrs. Boat’s daughters, which was very pleasant.
Dined with my Lord and Lady, and so with Mr. Creed to the Theatre, and there saw “King and no King,” well acted.
Thence with him to the Cock alehouse at Temple Bar, where he did ask my advice about his amours, and I did give him it, which was to enquire into the condition of his competitor, who is a son of Mr. Gauden’s, and that I promised to do for him, and he to make [what] use he can of it to his advantage.
Home and to bed.
I claim the place of purveyor
of petty visions: my hand is lace,
my creed an alehouse,
a long story is a mouth
as pleasant as amours.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 14 March 1660/61.
The highway’s tar
has been bleached by
a winter’s worth of salt,
and in the mid-day sun
it almost shines. I squint
at the shapes on the shoulder—
here the humped corpse
of some salt-lover, there
a fetal curl of flayed tire.
On a warm day,
a patch of ice dulls over
like a dead eye,
except that something moves
under and through it,
like the soul—
that bubble of breath—
surrounded by meltwater
and the bluebird’s song.
Early up in the morning to read “The Seaman’s Grammar and Dictionary” I lately have got, which do please me exceeding well.
At the office all the morning, dined at home, and Mrs. Turner, The, Joyce, and Mr. Armiger, and my father and mother with me, where they stand till I was weary of their company and so away.
Then up to my chamber, and there set papers and things in order, and so to bed.
Early in the morning,
the sea’s grammar
and diction please me,
exceeding all joy.
I weary of company.
The papers thin.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 13 March 1660/61.