Downward Mobility

This entry is part 47 of 51 in the series Une Semaine de Bonté
Page 50 from Max Ernst’s Une Semaine de Bonté

All winter in your garden the tea rose went on blooming even with the sun so cold and distant. I didn’t realize I was on a pilgrimage until I arrived, still dripping and possibly drowned from crossing the river/channel/sea. You slept like an officiant, giving yourself up to dreams you knew you’d forget the moment you awoke. From time to time your mouthparts moved as if in speech. I eventually relocated to the garden and became its folly. When the sun appeared, I tried to trace my shadow’s outline on the flagstones with chalk, but it wouldn’t stay still. This is what it means to live on nothing.

Collation

Sam Pepys and me

At the office in the morning and all the afternoon at home to put my papers in order. This day we come to some agreement with Sir R. Ford for his house to be added to the office to enlarge our quarters.

office afternoon
a home to paper

order is a meagre
use of our art


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 20 August 1661.

Scale is the Insistence of Small Movements Against a More Dramatic Backdrop

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
I know someone who has watched the movie
Titanic at least 18 times, on the big screen, in
a movie theatre. He loves the ridiculous drama
of that scene where Jack tells Rose to close
her eyes as he leads her to the bow of the ship.
She flings her arms wide and exclaims she is flying.
The opening bars of Celine Dion's My Heart Will
Go On crescendo in the background, as first class
passengers lift wineglasses to their lips and push
small, expensive morsels around their gilt-edged
plates. The skin of the sea is faceted with diamond
shimmer. No one knows yet about the impending
disaster and the cold ocean bed. The septet plays
a requiem even as the ship sinks into the depths.

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 33

Poetry Blogging Network

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: little bits of deformed plastic, the work of imagining the impossible, a postcard from Mars, the names of things on the verge of disappearing, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 33”

Holiday park

Sam Pepys and me

At the office all the morning; at noon the children are sent for by their mother my Lady Sandwich to dinner, and my wife goes along with them by coach, and she to my father’s and dines there, and from thence with them to see Mrs. Cordery, who do invite them before my father goes into the country, and thither I should have gone too but that I am sent for to the Privy Seal, and there I found a thing of my Lord Chancellor’s to be sealed this afternoon, and so I am forced to go to Worcester House, where severall Lords are met in Council this afternoon. And while I am waiting there, in comes the King in a plain common riding-suit and velvet cap, in which he seemed a very ordinary man to one that had not known him. Here I staid till at last, hearing that my Lord Privy Seal had not the seal here, Mr. Moore and I hired a coach and went to Chelsy, and there at an alehouse sat and drank and past the time till my Lord Privy Seal came to his house, and so we to him and examined and sealed the thing, and so homewards, but when we came to look for our coach we found it gone, so we were fain to walk home afoot and saved our money.
We met with a companion that walked with us, and coming among some trees near the Neate houses, he began to whistle, which did give us some suspicion, but it proved that he that answered him was Mr. Marsh (the Lutenist) and his wife, and so we all walked to Westminster together, in our way drinking a while at my cost, and had a song of him, but his voice is quite lost.
So walked home, and there I found that my Lady do keep the children at home, and lets them not come any more hither at present, which a little troubles me to lose their company. This day my aunt Fenner dyed.

all morning for the sand
and the afternoon for the sea

but when we came to look
we found it gone

among trees
a song of lost children


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 19 August 1661.

The Only Dance

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
In a movie by a Dutch filmmaker, the central protagonist 
declares one morning: it is time to die. The film has been

described as a feminist fable, because the woman Antonia
is so strong and stands up for the marginalized and down-

trodden in her village. She takes them in and celebrates
community at a long table in her garden, where they eat

bread and cheese and pass hot covered casseroles around.
Though she's had a long life, is not unwell, and believes that life

wants to live, she's decided. Nothing dies forever, she tells her
granddaughter. Which must be true, because the grandmother

they're burying has the uncanny ability to sit up in her coffin and
belt just a few bars of My Blue Heaven. The sureness of her will

is a marvel—she seems to know exactly how to touch the mystery
of the universe, and wrap it like a curtain sash around her hand.

Imprisoned

This entry is part 46 of 51 in the series Une Semaine de Bonté

Page 49 from Max Ernst’s Une Semaine de Bonté

I thought I was in a forest but there were no birds and no trees, only the long shadows of the bars in my cage. I walk for miles without leaving my cell: the cellphone in my pocket makes sure of that. Beyond the visible bars are the stronger, invisible ones, guarded by angels and demons. But any noise a voice box can make is no match for the average syrinx, whether of a wood thrush or a bittern: the dinosaurs that escaped extinction have a laugh for every cry and a cry for every laugh. It was they who guided us when it mattered, not that supple bride the soul. They whose annual return from another world made us leave room for the miraculous.

I thought I was in a forest again but it was only people with their fists in the air. They swayed in a wind that didn’t speak English and fell in a rain of bombs. I plant myself in a likely sidewalk crack and dedicate the rest of my life to wordless prayer.

Dividing

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The plant guides say sterilize your garden 
shears or blade before cutting beneath a visible
node, before plunging newly shorn stems into
a tall vessel of clean water. Change the water
every few days, or when it turns murky; in a month
or two, observe a ghostly emergence of roots.
Let them grow longer, until their tassels look strong
enough to settle into a new pot of soil. In this case,
the severing is not its choice to make—unlike when
a child decides she wants to have no more to do with
you, or with the human unit into which she was born.
It has been more than a few months. Who is uprooter,
who is uprooted? Each night, let the kindness
of water cloud over our wounded feet.

Nocturne

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). To our own church in the morning and so home to dinner, where my father and Dr. Tom Pepys came to me to dine, and were very merry. After dinner I took my wife and Mr. Sidney to my Lady to see my Lord Hinchingbroke, who is now pretty well again, and sits up and walks about his chamber.
So I went to White Hall, and there hear that my Lord General Monk continues very ill: so I went to la belle Pierce and sat with her; and then to walk in St. James’s Park, and saw great variety of fowl which I never saw before and so home.
At night fell to read in “Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity,” which Mr. Moore did give me last Wednesday very handsomely bound; and which I shall read with great pains and love for his sake.
So to supper and to bed.

into an ear of owl
night fell

ecclesiastical with love
for his supper


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 18 August 1661.

Street corner

Sam Pepys and me

At the Privy Seal, where we had a seal this morning. Then met with Ned Pickering, and walked with him into St. James’s Park (where I had not been a great while), and there found great and very noble alterations. And, in our discourse, he was very forward to complain and to speak loud of the lewdness and beggary of the Court, which I am sorry to hear, and which I am afeard will bring all to ruin again. So he and I to the Wardrobe to dinner, and after dinner Captain Ferrers and I to the Opera, and saw “The Witts” again, which I like exceedingly. The Queen of Bohemia was here, brought by my Lord Craven.
So the Captain and I and another to the Devil tavern and drank, and so by coach home. Troubled in mind that I cannot bring myself to mind my business, but to be so much in love of plays.
We have been at a great loss a great while for a vessel that I sent about a month ago with, things of my Lord’s to Lynn, and cannot till now hear of them, but now we are told that they are put into Soale Bay, but to what purpose I know not.

a loud beggar
like the queen of Bohemia

and I another devil
to mind my business

so much we cannot hear
now we are old


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 17 August 1661.