Via Negativa

June 14, 2024June 13, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Hereafter

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

On the radio, the man waiting to die 
explains what he is doing to feed  
the stories of his life into a computer
program. The more stories he can tell
before his cancer claims him, the more
information the program will have 
to search through, so any family member
who has a question can hear an answer 
in his own voice, resembling one 
he might give, were he still alive. 

Perhaps it is better to spend the time
left to you, like this. Perhaps the sorrow
is too much, staring at a hospital wall or 
out a window at lake water crisscrossed 
with shadows of ghosts. Some people 
don't wish to be burned when they pass;
some want to go into the earth simply, without
wrappers, so they can grow back as a tree. None
of us know what it really means to be immortal.
You only know you want something of you to go on.

June 13, 2024January 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

I went up and down to Alderman Backwell’s, but his servants not being up, I went home and put on my gray cloth suit and faced white coat, made of one of my wife’s pettycoates, the first time I have had it on, and so in a riding garb back again and spoke with Mr. Shaw at the Alderman’s, who offers me 300l. if my Lord pleases to buy this cloth with, which pleased me well. So to the Wardrobe and got my Lord to order Mr. Creed to imprest so much upon me to be paid by Alderman Backwell.
So with my Lord to Whitehall by water, and he having taken leave of the King, comes to us at his lodgings and from thence goes to the garden stairs and there takes barge, and at the stairs was met by Sir R. Slingsby, who there took his leave of my Lord, and I heard my Lord thank him for his kindness to me, which Sir Robert answered much to my advantage.
I went down with my Lord in the barge to Deptford, and there went on board the Dutch yacht and staid there a good while, W. Howe not being come with my Lord’s things, which made my Lord very angry. By and by he comes and so we set sayle, and anon went to dinner, my Lord and we very merry; and after dinner I went down below and there sang, and took leave of W. Howe, Captain Rolt, and the rest of my friends, then went up and took leave of my Lord, who give me his hand and parted with great respect.
So went and Captain Ferrers with me into our wherry, and my Lord did give five guns, all they had charged, which was the greatest respect my Lord could do me, and of which I was not a little proud. So with a sad and merry heart I left them sailing pleasantly from Erith, hoping to be in the Downs tomorrow early.
We toward London in our boat. Pulled off our stockings and bathed our legs a great while in the river, which I had not done some years before.
By and by we come to Greenwich, and thinking to have gone on the King’s yacht, the King was in her, so we passed by, and at Woolwich went on shore, in the company of Captain Poole of Jamaica and young Mr. Kennersley, and many others, and so to the tavern where we drank a great deal both wine and beer. So we parted hence and went home with Mr. Falconer, who did give us cherrys and good wine. So to boat, and young Poole took us on board the Charity and gave us wine there, with which I had full enough, and so to our wherry again, and there fell asleep till I came almost to the Tower, and there the Captain and I parted, and I home and with wine enough in my head, went to bed.

in a white coat
the war comes

and takes me
for a gun

off on some green shore
others part with

who give us
no sleep

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 13 June 1661.

June 13, 2024June 12, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Homestretch

All these years, I've looked for a pattern:
on painted ceramic plates, blue spatter of a willow,
deft foliage reflected in blue waves of water on which 

a single boatman is traveling. I've seen
that footbridge leading to a house in the mountains,
a wall of stones shoring up an edge of earth—

And then, every detail in miniature, as if
a careful hand laid them there against the moss
for someone to marvel at. I can see 

a figure in an upstairs window, but I don't know 
if it is me or you. I don't know if there is a bed in that 
room; or if we are old or older, since we can be 

only those things now. Spring or fall, different
colors enter the world and bind themselves 
to the books we're making. Summer

or winter, we decant clouds of light and dark. 
I think I know how the story ends, how it always ends;
but the woman singing in the hills has other ideas.

June 12, 2024June 12, 2024 by Dave Bonta

What Does the Shadow Know?

This entry is part 20 of 51 in the series Une Semaine de Bonté

Page 20 of Max Ernst’s *Une semaine de bonté*

I have held back my shadow
long enough, like a sheepdog
too long among the sheep.
It has learned only how to obey,
not how to bay for blood. I will stop
hiding it in the folds of my costume
like a chained watch.
But what
is this conspiracy of a mirrored floor
to unmoor us and flood our secret
parts with light? What other
oppressive heaven has sent
this self-on-a-shelf?

June 12, 2024June 12, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Infiltration

Wednesday, a day kept between a fast and a feast, the Bishops not being ready enough to keep the fast for foul weather before fair weather came; and so they were forced to keep it between both.
I to Whitehall, and there with Captain Rolt and Ferrers we went to Lambeth to drink our morning draft, where at the Three Mariners, a place noted for their ale, we went and staid awhile very merry, and so away. And wanting a boat, we found Captain Bun going down the river, and so we went into his boat having a lady with him, and he landed them at Westminster and me at the Bridge.
At home all day with my workmen, and doing several things, among others writing the letter resolved of yesterday to the Duke.
Then to White Hall, where I met my Lord, who told me he must have 300l. laid out in cloth, to give in Barbary, as presents among the Turks.
At which occasion of getting something I was very glad.
Home to supper, and then to Sir R. Slingsby, who with his brother and I went to my Lord’s at the Wardrobe, and there staid a great while, but he being now taking his leave of his friends staid out late, and so they went away.
Anon came my Lord in, and I staid with him a good while, and then to bed with Mr. Moore in his chamber.

between fast and feast
in foul or fair weather

between went and want
the river

all day among us
to rot and rob

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 12 June 1661.

June 12, 2024June 11, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

“Elephants Call Each Other by Name, Study Finds”

Who's been a parent and, from years
of raising children, has not sometimes
addressed their partner  mom or dad? 
I don't mean intentionally, like the former 
Vice President who calls his wife 
Mother in public, and reportedly never 
eats dinner alone with any woman 
other than Karen (his wife). 

                                  I mean, doesn't hearing 
the sound of your name in your ear, said 
by your beloved, make the phone a richly 
carpeted corridor in a hotel lined with moss-
colored wallpaper? Outside the balcony 
doors, the wind touches every ancient 
magnolia tree along the avenue
as if it knew them, 

                                         which it does. Owls 
signal through the night; frogs submerge 
their bodies in water to amplify the sound 
from their throats. Elephants call each 
other by name, and humpback whales  
weave intricate messages of song 
through the deep.

June 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

One for the road

At the office this morning, Sir G. Carteret with us; and we agreed upon a letter to the Duke of York, to tell him the sad condition of this office for want of money; how men are not able to serve us more without some money; and that now the credit of the office is brought so low, that none will sell us any thing without our personal security given for the same.
All the afternoon abroad about several businesses, and at night home and to bed.

at the morning table
to serve someone
so thin
the road at night

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 11 June 1661.

June 11, 2024June 10, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Juncture

It is the middle of the year
and we are waiting for the first
ripe fig of summer. We are waiting
for stalks of yucca to point 
the way toward a sky hiding 
blunt edges of rain. We are waiting  
for a pause in the air, that hour
between the golden-leaved 
light of afternoon and the moment
the blue-black shade unrolls. 
We are waiting for the matchstick-
struck lights of fireflies to radio
the location of stones, to signal
that it is time to draw one more
oracle card—here is a bee
and here is a hummingbird;
and here is a cormorant 
with a fish in his mouth, larger 
than he could swallow.

June 10, 2024June 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 23

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: the butterfly house, a dead rat’s poem, revising reality, back to the garden, and much more. Enjoy.

June 10, 2024June 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Elemental

Early to my Lord’s, who privately told me how the King had made him Embassador in the bringing over the Queen. That he is to go to Algier, &c., to settle the business, and to put the fleet in order there; and so to come back to Lisbone with three ships, and there to meet the fleet that is to follow him.
He sent for me, to tell me that he do intrust me with the seeing of all things done in his absence as to this great preparation, as I shall receive orders from my Lord Chancellor and Mr. Edward Montagu. At all which my heart is above measure glad; for my Lord’s honour, and some profit to myself, I hope.
By and by, out with Mr. Shepley, Walden, Parliament-man for Huntingdon, Rolt, Mackworth, and Alderman Backwell, to a house hard by, to drink Lambeth ale. So I back to the Wardrobe, and there found my Lord going to Trinity House, this being the solemn day of choosing Master, and my Lord is chosen, so he dines there to-day.
I staid and dined with my Lady; but after we were set, comes in some persons of condition, and so the children and I rose and dined by ourselves, all the children and I, and were very merry and they mighty fond of me. Then to the office, and there sat awhile. So home and at night to bed, where we lay in Sir R. Slingsby’s lodgings in the dining room there in one green bed, my house being now in its last work of painting and whiting.

my private bone
my chance heart
and my back

become our children
at night in one
green bed

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 June 1661.