Via Negativa

September 13, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Butchery

This morning I was sent for by my uncle Fenner to come and advise about the buriall of my aunt, the butcher, who died yesterday; and from thence to the Anchor, by Doctor’s Commons, and there Dr. Williams and I did write a letter for my purpose to Mr. Sedgewick, of Cambridge, about Gravely business, and after that I left him and an attorney with him and went to the Wardrobe, where I found my wife, and thence she and I to the water to spend the afternoon in pleasure; and so we went to old George’s, and there eat as much as we would of a hot shoulder of mutton, and so to boat again and home. So to bed, my mind very full of business and trouble.

for the burial of a butcher
a common grave

after the war I found
a shoulder of mutton

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 13 September 1661.

September 12, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

7AM Strength Training

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Straight up is how I'm supposed to pull
the weight from the floor, how my arms 

are supposed to push the dumbbells up
and away above my shoulders— a clean

line, says the trainer: work the deltoids, engage 
the back muscles, tighten the glutes and core. 

What I've heard about people growing older— taking 
a fall, breaking a wrist, a knee, a hip— isn't mainly what 

drove me here; I don't suddenly want to run a marathon,  
hike the Pyrenees, or swim the English Channel. I just want 

the strength to pull my trash bins to the curb, heft 
grocery bags without stumbling; look forward 

to walking around foreign cities I've always wanted to visit:
nipping in and out of museums, bookstores, and coffee-

shops; falling into bed after a whole day of exploring, then
waking up in a body excited at the prospect of doing it again.

September 12, 2024January 12, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Serenity

Though it was an office day, yet I was forced to go to the Privy Seal, at which I was all the morning, and from thence to my Lady’s to dinner at the Wardrobe; and in my way upon the Thames, I saw the King’s new pleasure-boat that is come now for the King to take pleasure in above bridge; and also two Gundaloes that are lately brought, which are very rich and fine.
After dinner I went into my Lady’s chamber where I found her up now out of her childbed, which I was glad to see, and after an hour’s talk with her I took leave and to Tom Trice again, and sat talking and drinking with him about our business a great while. I do find I am likely to be forced to pay interest for the 200l. By and by in comes my uncle Thomas, and as he was always a close cunning fellow, so he carries himself to me, and says nothing of what his endeavours are, though to my trouble I know that he is about recovering of Gravely, but neither I nor he began any discourse of the business. From thence to Dr. Williams (at the little blind alehouse in Shoe Lane, at the Gridiron, a place I am ashamed to be seen to go into), and there with some bland counsel of his we discuss our matters, but I find men of so different minds that by my troth I know not what to trust to.
It being late I took leave, and by link home and called at Sir W. Batten’s, and there hear that Sir W. Pen do take our jest of the tankard very ill, which I am sorry for.

in my new pleasure boat
I leave business a while

like a cunning fellow
say nothing of the grave

a little blind shoe
ashamed to be bland

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 12 September 1661.

September 12, 2024September 12, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Master Debaters

This entry is part 50 of 51 in the series Une Semaine de Bonté

Page 53 from Max Ernst’s *Une Semaine de Bonté*

down the drain says the shapeshifter
you can hear the call of the wild
life in the sewers and boardrooms

but the witch doctor is no octopus
his head cannot thread a needle
his craft is no match for running water

down the drain or into the gutter
with your mutter of all bums
says the shapeshifter’s body language

her people knead her
to be better bread
rising like a mushroom cloud

while the witch doctor’s salt
returns to the dead sea
fed by a river neither deep nor wide

September 11, 2024September 11, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Impossible

The yolk and white returned to the un-
damaged chamber. Spacecraft launched

beyond escape velocity, crossing
the Kármán line. That a man in a pressure

suit planted his feet and a flag on the moon
while I was learning two-digit addition

and subtraction at the kitchen counter.
Years later, that I birthed not one but three 

daughters; and each time the threads 
suturing the episiotomies close, melted 

back into my body (self-healing, the doctor 
called it). That I sat in a high-ceilinged room 

and nearly signed a document laid on two
sheets of carbon paper, saying it was my fault 

my marriage did not prosper—this being 
the only way I was told I could apply for 

annulment. In an earthquake, that the firewall 
cracked, roof to foundation; and the dining 

cabinet slid from one wall to the other but 
not a single glass shattered. Every year,

storms flooded poor, makeshift houses 
around the quarry, but every year, they were 

rebuilt. And I remarried, though I swore I'd 
never do so again; and bore another daughter 

when I was 40. That I am still alive somehow,
after a lifetime of breaking and mending.

September 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Menagerie

Early to my cozen Thomas Trice to discourse about our affairs, and he did make demand of the 200l. and the interest thereof. But for the 200l. I did agree to pay him, but for the other I did desire to be advised. So from him to Dr. Williams, who did carry me into his garden, where he hath abundance of grapes; and did show me how a dog that he hath do kill all the cats that come thither to kill his pigeons, and do afterwards bury them; and do it with so much care that they shall be quite covered; that if but the tip of the tail hangs out he will take up the cat again, and dig the hole deeper. Which is very strange; and he tells me that he do believe that he hath killed above 100 cats. After he was ready we went up and down to inquire about my affairs and then parted, and to the Wardrobe, and there took Mr. Moore to Tom Trice, who promised to let Mr. Moore have copies of the bond and my aunt’s deed of gift, and so I took him home to my house to dinner, where I found my wife’s brother, Balty, as fine as hands could make him, and his servant, a Frenchman, to wait on him, and come to have my wife to visit a young lady which he is a servant to, and have hope to trepan and get for his wife. I did give way for my wife to go with him, and so after dinner they went, and Mr. Moore and I out again, he about his business and I to Dr. Williams: to talk with him again, and he and I walking through Lincoln’s Fields observed at the Opera a new play, “Twelfth Night” was acted there, and the King there; so I, against my own mind and resolution, could not forbear to go in, which did make the play seem a burthen to me, and I took no pleasure at all in it; and so after it was done went home with my mind troubled for my going thither, after my swearing to my wife that I would never go to a play without her. So that what with this and things going so cross to me as to matters of my uncle’s estate, makes me very much troubled in my mind, and so to bed. My wife was with her brother to see his mistress today, and says she is young, rich, and handsome, but not likely for him to get.

a dog to dig
a cat to let out
and I to walk

in my mind my mind
my never mind
you

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 11 September 1661.

September 10, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Not Demeter

"Exaltation is the going" ~ Emily Dickinson


How many months, years now, 
has she scoured the countryside 
for traces of her lost 

loves? She's leaning more,
day by day, toward trails 
bordered by nothing 

more copious than vegetation,
devoid of signposts to a life
where everyone just learned 

the roles they were expected 
to play, then passed these 
down to whoever came 

after them. How many rule 
books have been broken, 
how many rituals 

revised? Let those who don't 
wish to be found remain 
in their kingdom 

of braided walls. Let her 
choose to inhabit her own time,
stop hanging gauze in each tree;

let her eat and drink simply, sleep 
and wake while she can, walk 
by the water under the moon.

September 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Exercise

At the office all the morn, dined at home; then my wife into Wood Street to buy a chest, and thence to buy other things at my uncle Fenner’s (though by reason of rain we had ill walking), thence to my brother Tom’s, and there discoursed with him about business, and so to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and after supper with the young ladies, bought a link and carried it myself till I met one that would light me home for the link. So he light me home with his own, and then I did give him mine. This night I found Mary, my cozen W. Joyce’s maid, come to me to be my cook maid, and so my house is full again.
So to bed.

the woods stand in rain
we walk to see

you and I
light for light

give night
a full bed

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 10 September 1661.

September 9, 2024September 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 36

A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. You can also browse the blog digest archive at Via Negativa or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack (where the posts might be truncated by some email providers).

This week: topophilia, lagniappe, proboscises, diaspora, harvests, syllabi, and much more. Enjoy!

September 9, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Not Persephone

She is tired of the mole-
blind days, the silence 
and cold of winter broken

only intermittently 
by the rasp of ice 
sliding off the roof,

or the rare snowplow 
diverted to these smaller 
residential streets. Once, 

she may have thought
she could survive on a diet
of clear broth, herbal tea,

fruit whose insides 
you could pare thin as 
the skin of windowpanes.

Who, again, is enforcer
of her removal from 
the world of normal

mothers and daughters, 
her isolation in a cave
of her own displacement?

She pours some flakes 
of cereal into a smooth white bowl, 
tops them with a surfeit of berries.