Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Original poetry, translations and videopoems by the authors of this blog. (See Poets and poetry for criticism, etc.)
No guide, no map, no FAQs,
no numbered answers
No silverware, no plates,
no interface but these leaves
No shade, no cover,
no awning fleeced with cloud
No blueprint, no dream but what
you contract with your hands
In response to Via Negativa: Sitting.
With Sir W. Batten and Pen to Whitehall to Mr. Coventry’s chamber, to debate upon the business we were upon the other day morning, and thence to Westminster Hall. And after a walk to my Lord’s; where, while I and my Lady were in her chamber in talk, in comes my Lord from sea, to our great wonder. He had dined at Havre de Grace on Monday last, and came to the Downs the next day, and lay at Canterbury that night; and so to Dartford, and thence this morning to White Hall. All my friends his servants well. Among others, Mr. Creed and Captain Ferrers tell me the stories of my Lord Duke of Buckingham’s and my Lord’s falling out at Havre de Grace, at cards; they two and my Lord St. Alban’s playing.
The Duke did, to my Lord’s dishonour, often say that he did in his conscience know the contrary to what he then said, about the difference at cards; and so did take up the money that he should have lost to my Lord. Which my Lord resenting, said nothing then, but that he doubted not but there were ways enough to get his money of him. So they parted that night; and my Lord sent for Sir R. Stayner and sent him the next morning to the Duke, to know whether he did remember what he said last night, and whether he would own it with his sword and a second; which he said he would, and so both sides agreed. But my Lord St. Alban’s, and the Queen and Ambassador Montagu, did waylay them at their lodgings till the difference was made up, to my Lord’s honour; who hath got great reputation thereby.
I dined with my Lord, and then with Mr. Shepley and Creed (who talked very high of France for a fine country) to the tavern, and then I home. To the office, where the two Sir Williams had staid for me, and then we drew up a letter to the Commissioners of Parliament again, and so to Sir W. Batten, where I staid late in talk, and so home, and after writing the letter fair then I went to bed.
The sea, to our great
wonder, is a well.
Captain, tell me stories
of cards playing cards,
money that lost money,
greed made a creed.
O talk high of France
for a fine country,
the tavern for a parliament
staid in talk.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 7 February 1660/61.
Opossum out at mid-day
on the glare ice
wipes its snout with its paws.
It’s digging through the crust
to reach food we’ve pitched—
old barbecue sauce, rotten cabbage—
inserting its head
as if through the shell
of a great white egg…
Called up by my Cozen Snow, who sat by me while I was trimmed, and then I drank with him, he desiring a courtesy for a friend, which I have done for him. Then to the office, and there sat long, then to dinner, Captain Murford with me. I had a dish of fish and a good hare, which was sent me the other day by Goodenough the plasterer.
So to the office again, where Sir W. Pen and I sat all alone, answering of petitions and nothing else, and so to Sir W. Batten’s, where comes Mr. Jessop (one whom I could not formerly have looked upon, and now he comes cap in hand to us from the Commissioners of the Navy, though indeed he is a man of a great estate and of good report), about some business from them to us, which we answered by letter.
Here I sat long with Sir W., who is not well, and then home and to my chamber, and some little, music, and so to bed.
My Zen: I drank with
a friend, then sat
long with a fish.
The other day I sat all alone
and nothing—no form,
no answer—sat with me.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 6 February 1660/61.
Fresh holes gape in a maple trunk,
as if from some Roman
soldier’s lance.
The new, smooth ground of ice and sleet
hasn’t quite set;
I keep breaking through.
Cardinals peck at the plowed road,
gathering faux teeth
for their reliquaries.
Washing-day. My wife and I by water to Westminster. She to her mother’s and I to Westminster Hall, where I found a full term, and here I went to Will’s, and there found Shaw and Ashwell and another Bragrave (who knew my mother wash-maid to my Lady Veere), who by cursing and swearing made me weary of his company and so I went away. Into the Hall and there saw my Lord Treasurer (who was sworn to-day at the Exchequer, with a great company of Lords and persons of honour to attend him) go up to the Treasury Offices, and take possession thereof; and also saw the heads of Cromwell, Bradshaw, and Ireton, set up upon the further end of the Hall.
Then at Mrs. Michell’s in the Hall met my wife and Shaw, and she and I and Captain Murford to the Dog, and there I gave them some wine, and after some mirth and talk (Mr. Langley coming in afterwards) I went by coach to the play-house at the Theatre, our coach in King Street breaking, and so took another. Here we saw Argalus and Parthenia, which I lately saw, but though pleasant for the dancing and singing, I do not find good for any wit or design therein.
That done home by coach and to supper, being very hungry for want of dinner, and so to bed.
My mother’s cursing
and swearing take
possession of the heads
in the hall.
The dog and I play
at theater, dancing,
hungry for want of dinner.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 5 February 1660/61.
Not enough
to kill—
Will try
with kindness
looking
in the eye;
will try
without
flinching,
clench heart
around
hand, around
the smallest
pebble,
inscribe
on it
any word
for thanks.
In response to Via Negativa: Snow plow.
Our neighbor plows
down-hollow and back,
his wife riding shotgun.
The old plow truck hasn’t left
the mountain in years,
bound to its one road.
In each yard,
it raises white ramparts
from the fallen enemy.
Early up to Court with Sir W. Pen, where, at Mr. Coventry’s chamber, we met with all our fellow officers, and there after a hot debate about the business of paying off the Fleet, and how far we should join with the Commissioners of Parliament, which is now the great business of this month more to determine, and about which there is a great deal of difference between us, and then how far we should be assistants to them therein. That being done, he and I back again home, where I met with my father and mother going to my cozen Snow’s to Blackwall, and had promised to bring me and my wife along with them, which we could not do because we are to go to the Dolphin to-day to a dinner of Capt. Tayler’s. So at last I let my wife go with them, and I to the tavern, where Sir William Pen and the Comptroller and several others were, men and women; and we had a very great and merry dinner; and after dinner the Comptroller begun some sports, among others the naming of people round and afterwards demanding questions of them that they are forced to answer their names to, which do make very good sport. And here I took pleasure to take the forfeits of the ladies who would not do their duty by kissing of them; among others a pretty lady, who I found afterwards to be wife to Sir W. Batten’s son.
Home, and then with my wife to see Sir W. Batten, who could not be with us this day being ill, but we found him at cards, and here we sat late, talking with my Lady and others and Dr. Whistler, who I found good company and a very ingenious man. So home and to bed.
Ice and snow
go into a tavern—
people demand them.
I kiss a lady on a card
and talk with a whistle.
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 4 February 1660/61.
Nothing you’ve learned has taught you
how to bring back the dead
father so you can thank him
for the only inheritance
he could leave you—
dubious talent for stringing
words in every weather: twigs
dark as grief to rub together
in heartbreak, vowels shredded
for kindling or confetti; short-lived
brilliance to loft like soap
bubbles above a clothesline
before the wind breaks them open
and the sidewalk’s printed
with a line of Os, their ink
disappearing along the road
he used to walk with you,
mornings, to take you to school.
In response to Via Negativa: Secondary school.