Category: Poems & poem-like things

Original poetry, translations and videopoems by the authors of this blog. (See Poets and poetry for criticism, etc.)

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Double Dutch: two poems

An office day, and in the afternoon at home all the day, it being the first that I have been at home all day since I came hither.
Putting my papers, books and other things in order, and writing of letters. This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland.

An off day, an in day,
a be-at-home day.
I am my things.
I let this day down.


~or~


An office day, and in the afternoon at home all the day, it being the first that I have been at home all day since I came hither.
Putting my papers, books and other things in order, and writing of letters. This day my Lord set sail from the Downs for Holland.

Ice in the fir
came paper-thin—
a sail from Holland.


Erasure poems derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 September 1660.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Voyager

To Whitehall by water with Sir W. Batten, and in our passage told me how Commissioner Pett did pay himself for the entertainment that he did give the King at Chatham at his coming in, and 20s. a day all the time he was in Holland, which I wonder at, and so I see there is a great deal of envy between the two.
At Whitehall I met with Commissioner Pett, who told me how Mr. Coventry and Fairbank his solicitor are falling out, one complaining of the other for taking too great fees, which is too true.
I find that Commissioner Pett is under great discontent, and is loth to give too much money for his place, and so do greatly desire me to go along with him in what we shall agree to give Mr. Coventry, which I have promised him, but am unwilling to mix my fortune with him that is going down the wind.
We all met this morning and afterwards at the Admiralty, where our business is to ask provision of victuals ready for the ships in the Downs, which we did, Mr. Gauden promising to go himself thither and see it done. Dined Will and I at my Lord’s upon a joint of meat that I sent Mrs. Sarah for.
Afterwards to my house and sent all my books to my Lord’s, in order to send them to my house that I now dwell in. Home and to bed.

Between discontent and desire,
I am willing to mix
my fortune with the wind—
ready for the ships
in all my books.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 6 September 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Atlantis Rising

This entry is part 12 of 18 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2013

We live on the coast,
where it floods each time
a hard rain falls—

Streets turn into rivers,
rivers push past front doors,
enter through garages and mews.

At such times, a boat or kayak
comes in handy. So when they read
the news about the imminence of ice

melting far up north,
at the pole, the locals shrug:
the whole planet’s self-winding.

The clock’s set to alarm. Come
shuck an oyster, raise a glass
topped off with foam.

We’ll all put our bones to bed one
way or another— salt marsh,
wet clay, turf, ocean floor.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Reprise

Chance said, Build for me a house;
sketch a blueprint as if for real.

But the rogue contractor out for a fast deal
doesn’t turn up. The clock ticks the hours.

Hands that labored since well before dawn
hauled stone, squared off beams, laid

the foundation by themselves. Dreams are made
from more than hope or dreaming: Money down,

says the one whose job is to procure
the hardware. Or take out a loan

equivalent to your desire. When that’s all gone,
sell dream after dream for someone else’s sinecure.

Surely there’s sacrifice still pleasing to the gods;
surely some reward exists as more than just a goad.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Proverbial.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Proverbial (1)

To the office.
From thence by coach upon the desire of the principal officers to a Master of Chancery to give Mr. Stowell his oath, whereby he do answer that he did hear Phineas Pett say very high words against the King a great while ago.
Coming back our coach broke, and so Stowell and I to Mr. Rawlinson’s, and after a glass of wine parted, and I to the office, home to dinner, where (having put away my boy in the morning) his father brought him again, but I did so clear up my boy’s roguery to his father, that he could not speak against my putting him away, and so I did give him 10s. for the boy’s clothes that I made him, and so parted and tore his indenture.
All the afternoon with the principal officers at Sir W. Batten’s about Pett’s business (where I first saw Col. Slingsby, who has now his appointment for Comptroller), but did bring it to no issue. This day I saw our Dedimus to be sworn in the peace by, which will be shortly.
In the evening my wife being a little impatient I went along with her to buy her a necklace of pearl, which will cost 4l. 10s., which I am willing to comply with her in for her encouragement, and because I have lately got money, having now above 200l. in cash beforehand in the world.
Home, and having in our way bought a rabbit and two little lobsters, my wife and I did sup late, and so to bed.
Great news now-a-day of the Duke d’Anjou’s desire to marry the Princesse Henrietta.
Hugh Peters is said to be taken, and the Duke of Gloucester is ill, and it is said it will prove the small-pox.

Chance is a rogue: my clothes tore.

I saw no peace, my wife being impatient to buy it.

A rabbit and lobster desire to marry, it is said.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 September 1660.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Selective Memory

I did many things this morning at home before I went out, as looking over the joiners, who are flooring my diningroom, and doing business with Sir Williams both at the office, and so to Whitehall, and so to the Bullhead, where we had the remains of our pasty, where I did give my verdict against Mr. Moore upon last Saturday’s wager, where Dr. Fuller coming in do confirm me in my verdict.
From thence to my Lord’s and despatched Mr. Cooke away with the things to my Lord. From thence to Axe Yard to my house, where standing at the door Mrs. Diana comes by, whom I took into my house upstairs, and there did dally with her a great while, and found that in Latin “Nulla puella negat.”
So home by water, and there sat up late setting my papers in order, and my money also, and teaching my wife her music lesson, in which I take great pleasure.
So to bed.

This morning at home, looking over
the remains of our past:
where did I patch the house,
where did I paper?


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 4 September 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Salon

Everything’s collage, pastiche, pictures gummed atop each other; puppets strung on wire or made to bob on long sticks behind the shower curtain. Show a leg, honey; it doesn’t matter if you haven’t shaved. Whistle some kind of sarabande and curtsy. The image of the king is drawn with curlicues of paperclip wire for a beard; he’s consort to a queen dressed in petticoats of coffee filters, stiletto heels clad in leather and copper. How handsome they look, in that hipster kind of way. I strain to hear them speak, but the noise levels on the patio are much too high: clatter of dishes and coffee cups, banter across the counters; buzz of tiny machines that fit in the palm of the hand. The leaves of potted plants need moisturizing. The only one I want to talk to is the bird in a cage in the back of the room, its eye a tiny bead, surveying.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Fishy.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Fishy

Up and to Mr. –—, the goldsmith near the new Exchange, where I bought my wedding ring, and there, with much ado, got him to put a gold ring to the jewell, which the King of Sweden did give my Lord: out of which my Lord had now taken the King’s picture, and intends to make a George of it.
This morning at my Lord’s I had an opportunity to speak with Sir George Downing, who has promised me to give me up my bond, and to pay me for my last quarter while I was at sea, that so I may pay Mr. Moore and Hawly.
About noon my Lord, having taken leave of the King in the Shield Gallery (where I saw with what kindness the King did hug my Lord at his parting), I went over with him and saw him in his coach at Lambeth, and there took leave of him, he going to the Downs, which put me in mind of his first voyage that ever he made, which he did begin like this from Lambeth. In the afternoon with Mr. Moore to my house to cast up our Privy Seal accounts, where I found that my Lord’s comes to 400 and odd pounds, and mine to 132l., out of which I do give him as good as 25l. for his pains, with which I doubt he is not satisfied, but my heart is full glad. Thence with him to Mr. Crew’s, and did fetch as much money as did make even our accounts between him and me.
Home, and there found Mr. Cooke come back from my Lord for me to get him some things bought for him to be brought after them, a toilet cap and comb case of silk, to make use of in Holland, for he goes to the Hague, which I can do to-morrow morning.
This day my father and my uncle Fenner, and both his sons, have been at my house to see it, and my wife did treat them nobly with wine and anchovies.
By reason of my Lord’s going to-day I could not get the office to meet to-day.

I take the king’s picture
and make it speak:
Pay me in kindness.
A lamb is not glad
to fetch money.
Even our accounts
with wine and anchovies.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 3 September 1660.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Relay

“I will not go to bed with you because/ I want to very much.” – Marilyn Hacker

Who does not want that kind of stubborn love, weaving down a road full of uncertain certainty, a glass of some fortifying spirit in hand, a clutch of what passes for worldly provision in the other? Everyone’s such a cynic— all sentiment is suspect these days, all language mannered. There are at least a thousand synonyms for careful, though not all the money in the world could buy enough insurance. Long-sleeved oxfords now have little pockets sewn on the sleeves: for the heart, of course. They’re not to be worn out anymore. So then, I won’t be redundant. There go the runners in the race, true to form, bodies glistening from the earnestness of effort. Sometimes it’s a baton they pass, sometimes a torch. It’s the tiny lights bobbing off into the distance when you lean out the window into the dark. It’s the lick of flame circling the pond just before the koi swim away as one body from view.

 

In response to Via Negativa: My Dream About Being Robbed.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

My dream about being robbed

I’ve lost my bus ticket home along with my billfold, which I suspect a pickpocket of having lifted. Nevertheless, I try to retrace my steps — a daunting task. How long have I been here? There’s hardly a house or shop that doesn’t seem familiar inside. I remember even the houses that are no longer there, their contents removed for resale in a junk shop that occupies several floors of a crumbling old hotel. We wander from room to room. Chairs hang high on the wall; a group of antique gramophones are gathered in a corner like musicians practicing their silence.

Back out on the street, I find an old roommate leaning against a car. I had heard he over-dosed in his bathtub after three tours of duty in Iraq. Can I get a ride, I ask. Of course, he says. We’re leaving in half an hour. I notice my wallet on the roof of his car, where I suddenly recall having set it down that morning. It’s been flipped open by the wind or some other thief. All my money and the ticket are still there. But it has other pockets I’ve never known about, like a book with pages omitted from an initial printing. It opens and opens. The thief has been thorough, but what exactly he took, I cannot say. I have a lucid moment and think: this dream is not about me. Mine is only a supporting role. Soon the stars will arrive, flashing their immaculate teeth.