Posts

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Too Much

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
At the beginning of time, all creatures of the deep 
were summoned to a meeting. And all came, except 

for one who claimed it did not have enough bones
in its body that would allow it to cover the great 

distance; and so all the other fish gifted it one bone
from their own bodies. When I feel I have too much, 

sometimes I remember this story about bangus:
milkfish, nawa, ikan bandung, chanos chanos— 

and how its body came to be a minefield of shafts. 
Its scientific name derives from the Greek χάνος 

which means mouth (though its mouth is small
and toothless). This is a story I was told in childhood, 

often as I nearly choked on thread-thin clumps hiding 
within mouthfuls of its tender flesh. There's a whole 

museum dedicated to bangus in a city in Taiwan, 
where schools of sculpted, gleaming milkfish float

above the staircase, held by fishing lines. Then 
as now, I want to know why it didn't or couldn't 

give back what was clearly too much; and what it learned, 
slicing through the waters with its own arsenal of barbs.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Encamped

Sam Pepys and me

This morning I went to my father’s, and there found him and my mother in a discontent, which troubles me much, and indeed she is become very simple and unquiet. Hence he and I to Dr. Williams, and found him within, and there we sat and talked a good while, and from him to Tom Trice’s to an alehouse near, and there sat and talked, and finding him fair we examined my uncle’s will before him and Dr. Williams, and had them sign the copy and so did give T. Trice the original to prove, so he took my father and me to one of the judges of the Court, and there we were sworn, and so back again to the alehouse and drank and parted.
Dr. Williams and I to a cook’s where we eat a bit of mutton, and away, I to W. Joyce’s, where by appointment my wife was, and I took her to the Opera, and shewed her “The Witts,” which I had seen already twice, and was most highly pleased with it.
So with my wife to the Wardrobe to see my Lady, and then home.

in a tent I become simple
and quiet with rice

to copy the original joy
in my high


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 23 August 1661.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Tourists, trapped

Sam Pepys and me

To the Privy Seal, and sealed; so home at noon, and there took my wife by coach to my uncle Fenner’s, where there was both at his house and the Sessions, great deal of company, but poor entertainment, which I wonder at; and the house so hot, that my uncle Wight, my father and I were fain to go out, and stay at an alehouse awhile to cool ourselves. Then back again and to church, my father’s family being all in mourning, doing him the greatest honour, the world believing that he did give us it: so to church, and staid out the sermon, and then with my aunt Wight, my wife, and Pall and I to her house by coach, and there staid and supped upon a Westphalia ham, and so home and to bed.

the sea is great company
but poor entertainment
and so hot

we cool ourselves in a church
mourn the world
give the land up


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 22 August 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Intentional—

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
as in purposeful, deliberate. With foreknowledge, rather than
by accident. In Metaphysics, however, pertaining to the capacity 

of the mind to refer to an existent or non-existent object. In other 
words, what one means to do doesn't necessarily yield the intended 

outcome. In which case, the mind might be said to produce a series 
of beautiful mirages: well-meaning, even ideally proportioned; 

the very thing that would have satisfied, if the outcome had equated 
to whatever wish set it in motion. Prometheus, whose name means 

foresight, stole one flint of fire for humankind from the gods and hid it 
in the hollow of a fennel stalk. Didn't the gods mean to bind him to 

a granite cliff and make the vultures feed on his liver as he watched? 
We're told his ravished body healed each day, only to be ready for 

the next assault. This too is intention—the punishments designed 
to be more intricate, more excruciatingly terrible than the crime.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Efficiency

Sam Pepys and me

This morning by appointment I went to my father, and after a morning draft he and I went to Dr. Williams, but he not within we went to Mrs. Terry, a daughter of Mr. Whately’s, who lately offered a proposal of her sister for a wife for my brother Tom, and with her we discoursed about and agreed to go to her mother this afternoon to speak with her, and in the meantime went to Will. Joyce’s and to an alehouse, and drank a good while together, he being very angry that his father Fenner will give him and his brother no more for mourning than their father did give him and my aunt at their mother’s death, and a very troublesome fellow I still find him to be, that his company ever wearys me. From thence about two o’clock to Mrs. Whately’s, but she being going to dinner we went to Whitehall and there staid till past three, and here I understand by Mr. Moore that my Lady Sandwich is brought to bed yesterday of a young Lady, and is very well. So to Mrs. Whately’s again, and there were well received, and she desirous to have the thing go forward, only is afeard that her daughter is too young and portion not big enough, but offers 200l. down with her. The girl is very well favoured, and a very child, but modest, and one I think will do very well for my brother: so parted till she hears from Hatfield from her husband, who is there; but I find them very desirous of it, and so am I. Hence home to my father’s, and I to the Wardrobe, where I supped with the ladies, and hear their mother is well and the young child, and so home.

by appointment we rot
in the meantime

death to the clock
not on the field of war


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 21 August 1661.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Prescience

river in November light between bare woods and mountain 
"My spirit moves to tell of shapes transformed..." 
                                                              Ovid, Metamorphosis


The body knows before you do.
The body rouses in the early hours 
to empty what it can no longer 
accommodate. How long did it believe 
—not in its invincibility, but in the dream 
of absolution? Now the summer winds
itself around a spool. Now the long 
rains come, and the body knows
how shadows pool like grief 
in the throats of anemones, press
down the length of reeds. The body
fears how much it feels, even as light
shapes a film like armor around 
each object in the world
Posted on by Dave Bonta

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.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

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.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

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.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

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”