Sound of the Sea

My brother Tom came to me with patterns to choose for a suit. I paid him all to this day, and did give him 10l. upon account.
To Mr. Coventry, who told me that he would do me all right in my business.
To Sir G. Downing, the first visit I have made him since he came. He is so stingy a fellow I care not to see him; I quite cleared myself of his office, and did give him liberty to take any body in. Hawly and he are parted too, he is going to serve Sir Thos. Ingram.
I went also this morning to see Mrs. Pierce, the chirurgeon. I found her in bed in her house in Margaret churchyard. Her husband returned to sea. I did invite her to go to dinner with me and my wife to-day. After all this to my Lord, who lay a-bed till eleven o’clock, it being almost five before he went to bed, they supped so late last night with the King.
This morning I saw poor Bishop Wren going to Chappel, it being a thanksgiving-day for the King’s return.
After my Lord was awake, I went up to him to the Nursery, where he do lie, and, having talked with him a little, I took leave and carried my wife and Mrs. Pierce to Clothworkers’-Hall, to dinner, where Mr. Pierce, the Purser, met us. We were invited by Mr. Chaplin, the Victualler, where Nich. Osborne was. Our entertainment very good, a brave hall, good company, and very good music. Where among other things I was pleased that I could find out a man by his voice, whom I had never seen before, to be one that sang behind the curtaine formerly at Sir W. Davenant’s opera. Here Dr. Gauden and Mr. Gauden the victualler dined with us. After dinner to Mr. Rawlinson’s, to see him and his wife, and would have gone to my Aunt Wight, but that her only child, a daughter, died last night.
Home and to my Lord, who supped within, and Mr. E. Montagu, Mr. Thos. Crew, and others with him sat up late. I home and to bed.

My brother the sea,
who lay so late awake,
I find by his voice.
His only child died
last night at home.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 28 June 1660.

Splitting the Shell

Heat like a mouth,
high musical whine

of cicadas emerging
from that womb

cracked open
beneath the trees—

Scents of dry leaf,
camphor, burning;

and the long days
touching down,

finishing—
Brass and gold,

deep bass chord,
o you that rouse

the sleeping wing
to its small mystery.

Resonant

With my Lord to the Duke, where he spoke to Mr. Coventry to despatch my business of the Acts, in which place every body gives me joy, as if I were in it, which God send.
Dined with my Lord and all the officers of his regiment, who invited my Lord and his friends, as many as he would bring, to dinner, at the Swan, at Dowgate, a poor house and ill dressed, but very good fish and plenty. Here Mr. Symons, the Surgeon, told me how he was likely to lose his estate that he had bought, at which I was not a little pleased.
To Westminster, and with Mr. Howe by coach to the Speaker’s, where my Lord supped with the King, but I could not get in. So back again, and after a song or two in my chamber in the dark, which do (now that the bed is out) sound very well, I went home and to bed.

My body gives me joy,
as if I were a swan or a fish.
A song or two
in my chamber in the dark,
now that the bed is out,
sound very well.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 27 June 1660.

Reality Show

They only want you to think
there isn’t a script: that buildup

from behind-the-scenes confession
to crestfallen admission, to wrath

then tears as cameras twist from face
to eager face in the audience? That’s not

natural outburst— and if for some
unfathomable reason that has become

a credible picture of the soul’s
wilderness
, take me away now

and throw away the key. I’d rather be
a monk sentenced to celibacy, confined

to a musty carrel within a library,
assigned to a lifetime of illustrating

page after page: nightshade, monkshood,
bitter oleander, blue cohosh. World

ungraspable except in pieces,
world of unseen danger, unfinished

psalms and lamentations: your dust
powders an edge and for a moment

its parts shine almost like a halo.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Against Nature.

Arboresque

Up and was called on by Mr. Pinckny, to whom I paid 16l for orders that he hath made for my Lord’s Cloakes and coats. Then to my Lord’s lodgings. My Lord dined at his lodgings all alone to-day. I went to Secretary Nicholas to carry him my Lord’s resolutions about his title, which he had chosen, and that is Portsmouth. I met with Mr. Throgmorton, a merchant, who went with me to the old Three Tuns, at Charing Cross, who did give me five pieces of gold for to do him a small piece of service about a convoy to Bilbo, which I did.
In the afternoon, one Mr. Watts came to me, a merchant, to offer me 500l. if I would desist from the Clerk of the Acts place. I pray God direct me in what I do herein.
Went to my house, where I found my father, and carried him and my wife to Whitefriars, and myself to Puddlewharf, to the Wardrobe, to Mr. Townsend, who went with me to Backwell, the goldsmith’s, and there we chose 100l. worth of plate for my Lord to give Secretary Nicholas. Back and staid at my father’s, and so home to bed.

An oak
all alone and old
I place myself back
at my father’s bed.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 26 June 1660.

Against Nature

With my Lord at White Hall, all the morning. I spoke with Mr. Coventry about my business, who promised me all the assistance I could expect. Dined with young Mr. Powell, lately come from the Sound, being amused at our great changes here, and Mr. Southerne, now Clerk to Mr. Coventry, at the Leg in King-street. Thence to the Admiralty, where I met with Mr. Turner of the Navy-office, who did look after the place of Clerk of the Acts. He was very civil to me, and I to him, and shall be so.
There came a letter from my Lady Monk to my Lord about it this evening, but he refused to come to her, but meeting in White Hall, with Sir Thomas Clarges, her brother, my Lord returned answer, that he could not desist in my business; and that he believed that General Monk would take it ill if my Lord should name the officers in his army; and therefore he desired to have the naming of one officer in the fleet.
With my Lord by coach to Mr. Crew’s, and very merry by the way, discoursing of the late changes and his good fortune.
Thence home, and then with my wife to Dorset House, to deliver a list of the names of the justices of the peace for Huntingdonshire. By coach, taking Mr. Fox part of the way with me, that was with us with the King on board the Nazeby, who I found to have married Mrs. Whittle, that lived at Mr. Geer’s so long. A very civil gentleman.
At Dorset House I met with Mr. Kipps, my old friend, with whom the world is well changed, he being now sealbearer to the Lord Chancellor, at which my wife and I are well pleased, he being a very good natured man.
Home and late writing letters. Then to my Lord’s lodging, this being the first night of his coming to Whitehall to lie since his coming from sea.

All the assistance I could expect:
the sound of an evening,
a large desire for
my old friend, the world.
Nature is the first lie
since coming from sea.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 25 June 1660.

Forecast

Weathermen scan the skies
for signs of rain, watching
for drifts of heat and cold

that might spin wayward
into twisters, touching down
to flatten silos, trailer

homes, neat rows of brick houses
and their same-color picket fences.
What winds and currents churn

slow then fast in the ocean,
then loft their blue and green
fury above that granite-speckled

mortar? Burnt halo of scorched
hair smell in the air, creosote
spores that bilious clouds

are seeding— Doorjambs, casements
catch; joints swell and ache: we’re
always tensing for what might come.

Furniture

Some things destroyed and then remade me
in their wake
— Tufted, shredded,

combed through, threaded: is it any wonder
these hands do inventory in the stations

of the hours, measuring width and length,
the span of years, the tracks of silverfish

that burrowed deep in pages on the shelf?
The hassock bears the imprint of my heels.

The armchair has memorized the curvature
of my back. It’s hard to sell or give

away the emblems of accumulated life.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Solar Flair.