Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
So soon after the start
of a new year and I'm trying
not to think of sad
*
Green crysanthemums
in a tall glass of water help
to change the tempo of the room
*
When I get up for a glass of water
at four in the morning, I remember
breastfeeding my babies at that hour
*
Their little mouths were full
of hunger and pleasure,
everything at the same time
Home all the morning. Several people came to me about business, among others the great Tom Fuller, who came to desire a kindness for a friend of his, who hath a mind to go to Jamaica with these two ships that are going, which I promised to do.
So to Whitehall to my Lady, whom I found at dinner and dined with her, and staid with her talking all the afternoon, and thence walked to Westminster Hall. So to Will’s, and drank with Spicer, and thence by coach home, staying a little in Paul’s Churchyard, to bespeak Ogilby’s Æsop’s Fables and Tully’s Officys to be bound for me. So home and to bed.
desire is a mind
with two hips
that white lady
who walked in the churchyard
a fable
bound for bed
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 5 January 1660/61.
How should I measure a distance that remains incalculable, that gestures like a filament in turquoise water or the edge of a feather flashing beyond the hills? A long time ago when you arrived, I looked beyond your eyes and understood we come from a luminosity in darkness, a wound that crackles the sky continually open with stars. How could I match their offerings? Overnight it dips below freezing and the floorboards palm the soles of my feet. Some people refuse to turn a steamed fish over in its platter— Instead, they lift the spine and its forest of bones entire, this being one way to arrive unharmed at the softer side.
Office all the morning, my wife and Pall being gone to my father’s to dress dinner for Mr. Honiwood, my mother being gone out of town. Dined at home, and Mr. Moore with me, with whom I had been early this morning at White Hall, at the Jewell Office, to choose a piece of gilt plate for my Lord, in return of his offering to the King (which it seems is usual at this time of year, and an Earl gives twenty pieces in gold in a purse to the King). I chose a gilt tankard, weighing 31 ounces and a half, and he is allowed 30; so I paid 12s. for the ounce and half over what he is to have; but strange it was for me to see what a company of small fees I was called upon by a great many to pay there, which, I perceive, is the manner that courtiers do get their estates.
After dinner Mr. Moore and I to the Theatre, where was “The Scornful Lady,” acted very well, it being the first play that ever he saw. Thence with him to drink a cup of ale at Hercules Pillars, and so parted. I called to see my father, who told me by the way how Will and Mary Joyce do live a strange life together, nothing but fighting, &c., so that sometimes her father has a mind to have them divorced. Thence home.
gone to the wood
out of town we turn
strange as small states
together but fighting
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 4 January 1660/61.
Last night we ate a dish of green. Basil and spinach, a pesto. Citrus zest binding the grains of orzo. The kitchen window overlooks the yard, where the persimmon and fig are still wintering. Sometimes we crave a cleansing. But keep the fire alive in the grate, the quiet smolder inside, honey softening in the comb.
Early in the morning to the Exchequer, where I told over what money I had of my Lord’s and my own there, which I found to be 970l.. Thence to Will’s, where Spicer and I eat our dinner of a roasted leg of pork which Will did give us, and after that to the Theatre, where was acted “Beggars’ Bush,” it being very well done; and here the first time that ever I saw women come upon the stage. From thence to my father’s, where I found my mother gone by Bird, the carrier, to Brampton, upon my uncle’s great desire, my aunt being now in despair of life. So home.
a dove
in the theater
was a beggar on stage
I found my mother
gone by bird
no air of life
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 3 January 1660/61.
Ask what glows faintly in the light of a hidden moon, where the sudden whiff of sulfur and clove comes from— Someone somewhere is always burning something: the slats of a broken door, moving boxes, letters that still have the power to hold you hostage to old griefs. When only the ashes remain, you can't tell one apart from the other. Go inside and change your clothes so the smell of smoke won't sink into your skin. Feel how, like a clear stream, the water you drink pours down your throat.
Up early, and being called up to my Lord he did give me many commands in his business. As about taking care to write to my uncle that Mr. Barnewell’s papers should be locked up, in case he should die, he being now suspected to be very ill. Also about consulting with Mr. W. Montagu for the settling of the 4000l. a year that the King had promised my Lord. As also about getting of Mr. George Montagu to be chosen at Huntingdon this next Parliament, &c.
That done he to White Hall stairs with much company, and I with him; where we took water for Lambeth, and there coach for Portsmouth.
The Queen’s things were all in White Hall Court ready to be sent away, and her Majesty ready to be gone an hour after to Hampton Court to-night, and so to be at Portsmouth on Saturday next.
I by water to my office, and there all the morning, and so home to dinner, where I found Pall (my sister) was come; but I do not let her sit down at table with me, which I do at first that she may not expect it hereafter from me. After dinner I to Westminster by water, and there found my brother Spicer at the Leg with all the rest of the Exchequer men (most of whom I now do not know) at dinner. Here I staid and drank with them, and then to Mr. George Montagu about the business of election, and he did give me a piece in gold; so to my Lord’s and got the chest of plate brought to the Exchequer, and my brother Spicer put it into his treasury. So to Will’s with them to a pot of ale, and so parted.
I took a turn in the Hall, and bought the King and Chancellor’s speeches at the dissolving the Parliament last Saturday.
So to my Lord’s, and took my money I brought ‘thither last night and the silver candlesticks, and by coach left the latter at Alderman Backwell’s, I having no use for them, and the former home. There stood a man at our door, when I carried it in, and saw me, which made me a little afeard.
Up to my chamber and wrote letters to Huntingdon and did other business.
This day I lent Sir W. Batten and Captn. Rider my chine of beef for to serve at dinner tomorrow at Trinity House, the Duke of Albemarle being to be there and all the rest of the Brethren, it being a great day for the reading over of their new Charter, which the King hath newly given them.
taking care to lock up
I die on the stairs
mouth to mouth
oh sister or brother
having a door
made fear my amber
hunting for a tomorrow
here in art
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 2 January 1660/61.
You know no proper toast for the realization that all the years of married life combined now add up to more than half your age. A minor miracle, considering you swore you'd never do it again. Only in two of those years did the night- blooming cereus show itself. And only in a few instances did you feel you were ready to throw in the towel, storm off into the night and never come back. Which is to say, perhaps you might not have liked always being by yourself. When the flower that blooms only for a night starts unfurling its petals, the sight and scent last a few hours. The botanical guide suggests holding a late night party; you and your loves could watch as this scrawny vine blooms, and takes your breath away.
Happy 2024! This edition of the digest—a personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond—takes us from the winter solstice to New Year’s, with year-end summary posts, favorite books, and plans for the year ahead as well as reflections on the season. 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, subscribe to its RSS feed in your favorite feed reader, or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2023, Weeks 51-52: Holidaze edition”