Gathering figs in the rain

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

In the rain, globe after globe
of shimmering purple; high up,
tenanted in broad scalloped robes—

No rungs for the feet, no stirrups;
thus always the one the heart really wants
is just out of reach. Jewel on a dark stub,

ticket to certain sweetness: no other response
seems fitting except to peel you off the branch,
fingertips glossed with drops of sap. Chance

turned into choice: green that held out until blanched
in high summer heat, then cooled as clouds rolled in,
pregnant, unable to stay in their own skin. Stanch

the wound that bleeds by pressing down and touching—
Teardrop shape, honeyed light bulb. What you chose and what
dropped into your hand. Stand still. The rain is thinning.

Crucifitness

Up by four o’clock in the morning, and at five by water to Woolwich, there to see the manner of tarring, and all the morning looking to see the several proceedings in making of cordage, and other things relating to that sort of works, much to my satisfaction. At noon came Mr. Coventry on purpose from Hampton Court to see the same, and dined with Mr. Falconer, and after dinner to several experiments of Hemp, and particularly some Milan hemp that is brought over ready dressed.
Thence we walked talking, very good discourse all the way to Greenwich, and I do find most excellent discourse from him. Among other things, his rule of suspecting every man that proposes any thing to him to be a knave; or, at least, to have some ends of his own in it. Being led thereto by the story of Sir John Millicent, that would have had a patent from King James for every man to have had leave to have given him a shilling; and that he might take it of every man that had a mind to give it, and being answered that that was a fair thing, but what needed he a patent for it, and what he would do to them that would not give him. He answered, he would not force them; but that they should come to the Council of State, to give a reason why they would not.
Another rule is a proverb that he hath been taught, which is that a man that cannot sit still in his chamber (the reason of which I did not understand him), and he that cannot say no (that is, that is of so good a nature that he cannot deny any thing, or cross another in doing any thing), is not fit for business. The last of which is a very great fault of mine, which I must amend in.
Thence by boat; I being hot, he put the skirt of his cloak about me; and it being rough, he told me the passage of a Frenchman through London Bridge, where, when he saw the great fall, he begun to cross himself and say his prayers in the greatest fear in the world, and soon as he was over, he swore “Morbleu! c’est le plus grand plaisir du monde,” being the most like a French humour in the world.
To Deptford, and there surprised the Yard, and called them to a muster, and discovered many abuses, which we shall be able to understand hereafter and amend. Thence walked to Redriffe, and so to London Bridge, where I parted with him, and walked home and did a little business, and to supper and to bed.

Any man might give
to them that would not give,
but a man that cannot sit still
in his chamber
is not fit for the cross,
like a world surprised to discover
a hereafter.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 8 August 1662.

Open schedule

Up by four o’clock and to my office, and by and by Mr. Cooper comes and to our modell, which pleases me more and more. At this till 8 o’clock, and so we sat in the office and staid all the morning, my interest still growing, for which God be praised. This morning I got unexpectedly the Reserve for Mr. Cooper to be maister of, which was only by taking an opportune time to motion, which is one good effect of my being constant at the office, that nothing passes without me; and I have the choice of my own time to propose anything I would have. Dined at home, and to the office again at my business all the afternoon till night, and so to supper and to bed. It being become a pleasure to me now-a-days to follow my business, and the greatest part may be imputed to my drinking no wine, and going to no plays.

My clock
is the only tune.
Nothing passes without time—
no days,
no wine.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 7 August 1662.

Codex Lepidoptera

[ex: clandestine-tropic moth, cornella lesioglauca]

Past water lily, feathered mint, transparent
burning prairie— You can come close,

so close to the fire as if to touch, as if any
particle of heat could unloose your rosy

girdle or your dun-legged cloud.
From your trysts in the clandestine

tropics, your unclear early capers,
you rest among the separated cabbages:

boreal head cinnabar, and spring-streaked.
Your capes are jet, are forest-scalloped

and splotched with thought and shagbark.
Even the noxious, stump-humming toadflax

would welcome your company. Agreeable
among catkin soybean, sleepy magpie

next to cup fruitworm: until recently
we had no other names for your morbid dots,

your funerary plummets, your nocturnal
wainscoting. But we’ve been given

the keys to an endless codex, its pages furred
and tented, breathing and glowing in the dark.

*

Inspired by Katie Rose Pipkin and Loren Schmidt, and their @mothgenerator at Twitter

 

In response to How to Make a Moth and Moth Generator at Twitter (Katie Rose Pipkin and Loren Schmidt).

Freight

Up early, and, going to my office, met Sir G. Carteret in coming through the yard, and so walked a good while talking with him about Sir W. Batten, and find that he is going down the wind in every body’s esteem, and in that of his honesty by this letter that he wrote to Captn. Allen concerning Alderman Barker’s hemp. Thence by water to White Hall; and so to St. James’s; but there found Mr. Coventry gone to Hampton Court. So to my Lord’s; and he is also gone: this being a great day at the Council about some business at the Council before the King. Here I met with Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu hath lately had a duell with Mr. Cholmely, that is first gentleman-usher to the Queen, and was a messenger from the King to her in Portugall, and is a fine gentleman; but had received many affronts from Mr. Montagu, and some unkindness from my Lord, upon his score (for which I am sorry). He proved too hard for Montagu, and drove him so far backward that he fell into a ditch, and dropt his sword, but with honour would take no advantage over him; but did give him his life: and the world says Mr. Montagu did carry himself very poorly in the business, and hath lost his honour for ever with all people in it, of which I am very glad, in hopes that it will humble him. I hear also that he hath sent to my Lord to borrow 400l., giving his brother Harvey’s security for it, and that my Lord will lend it him, for which I am sorry.
Thence home, and at my office all the morning, and dined at home, and can hardly keep myself from having a mind to my wench, but I hope I shall not fall to such a shame to myself. All the afternoon also at my office, and did business. In the evening came Mr. Bland the merchant to me, who has lived long in Spain, and is concerned in the business of Tangier, who did discourse with me largely of it, and after he was gone did send me three or four printed things that he hath wrote of trade in general and of Tangier particularly, but I do not find much in them. This afternoon Mr. Waith was with me, and did tell me much concerning the Chest, which I am resolved to look into; and I perceive he is sensible of Sir W. Batten’s carriage; and is pleased to see any thing work against him. Who, poor man, is, I perceive, much troubled, and did yesterday morning walk in the garden with me, did tell me he did see there was a design of bringing another man in his room, and took notice of my sorting myself with others, and that we did business by ourselves without him. Part of which is true, but I denied, and truly, any design of doing him any such wrong as that. He told me he did not say it particularly of me, but he was confident there was somebody intended to be brought in, nay, that the trayne was laid before Sir W. Pen went, which I was glad to hear him say. Upon the whole I see he perceives himself tottering, and that he is suspected, and would be kind to me, but I do my business in the office and neglect him.
At night writing in my study a mouse ran over my table, which I shut up fast under my shelf’s upon my table till to-morrow, and so home and to bed.

the evening train
I hear a mouse under
my table


Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 6 August 1662.

Comfort Food

This entry is part 3 of 6 in the series Poets in the Kitchen

There’s no requirement to gather
what you might need in the heat
of noon, or under the watchful eye

of a full moon. Neither is there need
for ritual, certainly not for festive
occasion— Hunger has its own pure

logic: working from naked intuition,
giving shape to what flickers faintly
at first in the hollow of the mouth

then plucking raw, as you wake,
as if at a nerve— Head and chest
packed in cotton, bones fevered,

you know what you crave most
is comfort: some soup for simmering
away your hurts, as when a voice

first broke through the fog, lifted
you from a swamp of bedclothes,
coaxed a spoon to your mouth—

And you found you could open,
you could taste again the salt
and the heat of the world.

*

One of my comfort foods is Arroz Caldo— Filipino rice soup with chicken. The way we make it, its consistency is not as thin as gruel, but a little thicker and more substantial than congee. It’s the food we think of when someone is sick or convalescing. Its basic ingredients are unfussy and soothing and hence a perfect go-to food if one is not feeling well— rice, chicken broth, pieces of chicken (and the latter may be dispensed with or not served to the one who has not quite recovered his or her full gustatory powers). The side notes struck by toasted garlic and ginger, and the finishing touch of a splash of citrus, also contribute to the aromatic, head-clearing effects experienced when sitting down to a hot bowl of this food. Arroz Caldo is also a great rainy or winter day food; perhaps that’s why, in my family, it has become one of the foods that we traditionally prepare for the media noche (midnight) feast on New Year’s eve— when we’re all up and bundled in sweaters, watching the frosty curls of our breath as we light sparklers in the yard and wait to toast the new year.

Arroz Caldo
(Filipino Chicken Soup with Rice)

2 Tbsp vegetable or olive oil
6-8 cloves crushed and minced fresh garlic
1 knob of ginger, washed, peeled, and sliced into thin discs
1/2 of a small onion, diced
1 1/2 c uncooked “Milagrosa” or white jasmine rice, washed and rinsed
1-2 pounds chicken, washed and cleaned, chopped into pieces
8-10 cups water
1 – 1 1/2 tsp salt and several pinches white pepper

Garnishes (to arrange in small bowls):

Soy sauce
Fish sauce or patis
Washed halves of kalamansi or wild lime
Toasted garlic
Toasted matchsticks of ginger
Chopped green or spring onions

*

In a large stock pot, heat the oil, but not to the point of burning.

Saute half* of the minced garlic, the onion, and the ginger until just beginning to brown.

Pour in the uncooked jasmine rice and turn frequently with a spoon to coat with the oil and herbs.

Add the chicken pieces; continue stirring, with the heat on medium.

Add water, and turn up the heat.

Allow mixture to come to a boil, frequently stirring to loosen rice from the bottom of the pot.

Add salt and white pepper.

Cover and simmer (stirring frequently) until the rice is tender and almost porridge-soft.

Check frequently and see if you need to adjust the amount of water remaining.

Adjust seasonings.

Serve hot in wide bowls and top off with garnishes.

*Note: you will toast the remaining half of the garlic in a smaller saucepan and set this aside for garnish.

Wake

…got right again with much ado, after two or three circles and so on, and at Greenwich set in Captain Cocke, and I set forward, hailing to all the King’s ships at Deptford, but could not wake any man: so that we could have done what we would with their ships. At last waked one man; but it was a merchant ship, the Royall Catharine: so to the Towerdock and home, where the girl sat up for me. It was about three o’clock, and putting Mr. Boddam out of my bed, went to bed, and lay till nine o’clock, and so to the office, where we sat all the morning, and I did give some accounts of my service. Dined alone at home, and was glad my house is begun tiling. And to the office again all the afternoon, till it was so dark that I could not see hardly what it is that I now set down when I write this word, and so went to my chamber and to bed, being sleepy.

After the ship
the wake.

At the dock
the girl sat alone

till it was so dark
I could not see

what it is that
I now write.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 5 August 1662.

Proof

What is bread
if it does not rise?

I seeded the water,
waiting for its skin

to foam: to thicken
from the undertow

of sugar, to loft
from all that rich,

slow tempering.
Isn’t this premise

based on increase?
What might be achieved

when one and all
together rose.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Leveler.

Leveler

Up by four o’clock in the morning and walked to the Dock, where Commissioner Pett and I took barge and went to the guardships and mustered them, finding them but badly manned; thence to the Sovereign, which we found kept in good order and very clean, which pleased us well, but few of the officers on board. Thence to the Charles, and were troubled to see her kept so neglectedly by the boatswain Clements, who I always took for a very good officer; it is a very brave ship. Thence to Upnor Castle, and there went up to the top, where there is a fine prospect, but of very small force; so to the yard, and there mustered the whole ordinary, where great disorder by multitude of servants and old decrepid men, which must be remedied. So to all the storehouses and viewed the stores of all sorts and the hemp, where we found Captain Cocke’s (which he came down to see along with me) very bad, and some others, and with much content (God forgive me) I did hear by the Clerk of the Ropeyard how it was by Sir W. Batten’s private letter that one parcel of Alderman Barker’s was received.
At two o’clock to dinner to the Hill-house, and after dinner dispatched many people’s business, and then to the yard again, and looked over Mr. Gregory’s and Barrow’s houses to see the matter of difference between them concerning an alteration that Barrow would make, which I shall report to the board, but both their houses very pretty, and deserve to be so, being well kept. Then to a trial of several sorts of hemp, but could not perform it here so well as at Woolwich, but we did do it pretty well.
So took barge at the dock and to Rochester, and there Captain Cocke and I and our two men took coach about 8 at night and to Gravesend, where it was very dark before we got thither to the Swan; and there, meeting with Doncaster, an old waterman of mine above bridge, we eat a short supper, being very merry with the drolling, drunken coachman that brought us, and so took water. It being very dark, and the wind rising, and our waterman unacquainted with this part of the river, so that we presently cast upon the Essex shore, but got off again, and so, as well as we could, went on, but I in such fear that I could not sleep till we came to Erith, and there it begun to be calm, and the stars to shine, and so I began to take heart again, and the rest too, and so made shift to slumber a little.
Above Woolwich we lost our way, and went back to Blackwall, and up and down, being guided by nothing but the barking of a dog, which we had observed in passing by Blackwall, and so…

we must find order always
in the ordinary multitude

I view the private letter
that is a well-kept grave

above us the wind
unacquainted with sex and fear

the stars guided by nothing
but the barking of a dog


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 4 August 1662.

Soul Spa

This entry is part 5 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2015

Always or afterward, one face tipped open, unguarded—
Beautiful flower pinched from the stem before the bloom,
corolla of calm churning at weather’s
dead center. Have you learned how to be that way,
equanimity unperturbed by whatever descends
from the sky, slate gray, azure, in between?
Go lightly, in joy as in sorrow: these mortal
hours not weighted by custom, unheeding of care.
I used to chafe so much at my lot. Always wanting,
jaded when at last my will and I conspired.
Keepsakes jangled sometimes into my arms, things
like wealth to endlessly catalogue. But they couldn’t
mother the hankering, put to bed the restless-
ness that comes of not having learned the lesson.
Once, I entered a dream that was a kind of humming:
purled sheets of white linen undulating like a sea;
quietly electric, fine-tuned somehow like a pulse.
Read me its meaning, I begged of the soothsayer.
She smiled her dusky smile and had me lie down,
then scrubbed the crooked length of my back
until it unwound and tingled. Fingers traced
vertebrae with rounds of salt and shells of grain,
warming and chilling my core. A sign read
Exit, but I didn’t want to leave so soon.
Your time isn’t up, she said, and I knew—
Zones only feel spectral when light wears a veil.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.