Summer night

Sam Pepys and me

This morning did give my wife 4l. to lay out upon lace and other things for herself. I to Wardrobe and so to Whitehall and Westminster, where I dined with my Lord and Ned Pickering alone at his lodgings. After dinner to the office, where we sat and did business, and Sir W. Pen and I went home with Sir R. Slingsby to bowls in his ally, and there had good sport, and afterwards went in and drank and talked. So home Sir William and I, and it being very hot weather I took my flageolette and played upon the leads in the garden, where Sir W. Pen came out in his shirt into his leads, and there we staid talking and singing, and drinking great drafts of claret, and eating botargo and bread and butter till 12 at night, it being moonshine; and so to bed, very near fuddled.

in my thin robe
I dine with owls

and the hot weather
leads to drinking
great drafts of moon


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 June 1661.

Reassembling the Ghost

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
You can still reassemble the ghost

whose hand parted the gauze nettings at night,

wanting one last touch—an ivory key, soft

whirr of a cab engine waiting its summons;

a lamp post shrouded in bridal veils

of palest wings. When you are conjuring

a ghost, you search through the kitchen

for acceptable offerings: a tin of luncheon

meat, a dimpled orange, a pour of Calvados

in a shot glass. What you are hungry for in this

life, you can be hungry for in the next. Press

a coin into its hand when it comes calling.

Remember to tear off the broiled wing at

the joint, pinch the boiled rice into a small hill.

Elder care

Sam Pepys and me

The Comptroller came this morning to get me to go see a house or two near our office, which he would take for himself or Mr. Turner, and then he would have me have Mr. Turner’s lodgings and himself mine and Mr. Davis’s. But the houses did not like us, and so that design at present is stopped.
Then he and I by water to the bridge, and then walked over the Bank-side till we came to the Temple, and so I went over and to my father’s, where I met with my cozen J. Holcroft, and took him and my father and my brother Tom to the Bear tavern and gave them wine, my cozen being to go into the country again to-morrow.
From thence to my Lord Crew’s to dinner with him, and had very good discourse about having of young noblemen and gentlemen to think of going to sea, as being as honourable service as the land war. And among other things he told us how, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, one young nobleman would wait with a trencher at the back of another till he came to age himself. And witnessed in my young Lord of Kent, that then was, who waited upon my Lord Bedford at table, when a letter came to my Lord Bedford that the Earldom of Kent was fallen to his servant, the young Lord; and so he rose from table, and made him sit down in his place, and took a lower for himself, for so he was by place to sit. From thence to the Theatre and saw “Harry the 4th,” a good play. That done I went over the water and walked over the fields to Southwark, and so home and to my lute. At night to bed.

I would turn like a bear
into the country

of old age
witnessed in you

who wait upon
a fallen rose

as I go over the fields
to my bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 4 June 1661.

Oneiric Image

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Here is the library of my longings,
said the philosopher, gesturing
toward stacks of books still unread.

In the yard, a stony
plot of irises that bloomed earlier
in the season—only their brown

gauze wrappers left on softened
stalks. This is how desire works
after its forthright articulation.

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 22

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, the summer travel season is underway, with blue domes, a country of murderers, the Essex muse, an economy based on beauty, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 22”

Attrition

Sam Pepys and me

To the Wardrobe, where discoursing with my Lord, he did instruct me as to the business of the Wardrobe, in case, in his absence, Mr. Townsend should die, and told me that he do intend to joyne me and Mr. Moore with him as to the business, now he is going to sea, and spoke to me many other things, as to one that he do put the greatest confidence in, of which I am proud. Here I had a good occasion to tell him (what I have had long in my mind) that, since it has pleased God to bless me with something, I am desirous to lay out something for my father, and so have pitched upon Mr. Young’s place in the Wardrobe, which I desired he would give order in his absence, if the place should fall that I might have the refusal. Which my Lord did freely promise me, at which I was very glad, he saying that he would do that at the least. So I saw my Lord into the barge going to Whitehall, and I and Mr. Creed home to my house, whither my father and my cozen Scott came to dine with me, and so we dined together very well, and before we had done in comes my father Bowyer and my mother and four daughters, and a young gentleman and his sister, their friends, and there staid all the afternoon, which cost me great store of wine, and were very merry.
By and by I am called to the office, and there staid a little. So home again, and took Mr. Creed and left them, and so he and I to the Towre, to speak for some ammunition for ships for my Lord; and so he and I, with much pleasure, walked quite round the Towre, which I never did before. So home, and after a walk with my wife upon the leads, I and she went to bed.
This morning I and Dr. Peirce went over to the Beare at the Bridge foot, thinking to have met my Lord Hinchinbroke and his brother setting forth for France; but they being not come we went over to the Wardrobe, and there found that my Lord Abbot Montagu being not at Paris, my Lord hath a mind to have them stay a little longer before they go.

in the business of absence
more is less

the war came and left
on a lead foot


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 3 June 1661.

In the second to the last country on earth

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

where divorce is still illegal,
now they are trying to pass a bill
that will allow the married to unshackle
from unhappiness, from pummeling neglect,
from abuse and the thousand other ways
that kind of union dies, with no prospect
of real rehabilitation. Decades ago,
I tried to follow the advice I was given:
hire a lawyer; at least seek an annulment,
pay in order to be taken seriously.
The priests sat in their sanctuaries
drinking rare wines stored in their cellars
and eating dinner prepared by women
they hired from the villages. The lawyer
who was supposed to be working for me
did not hide his annoyance when I was
overcome with tears, which was often.
But he pocketed the fees and even
asked for an adjustment to cover travel,
though we lived in the same city.
At that time, my case did not,
as they say, prosper.

Timeless

Sam Pepys and me

(Whitsunday). The barber having done with me, I went to church, and there heard a good sermon of Mr. Mills, fit for the day. Then home to dinner, and then to church again, and going home I found Greatorex (whom I expected today at dinner) come to see me, and so he and I in my chamber drinking of wine and eating of anchovies an hour or two, discoursing of many things in mathematics, and among others he showed me how it comes to pass the strength that levers have, and he showed me that what is got as to matter of strength is lost by them as to matter of time.
It rained very hard, as it hath done of late so much that we begin to doubt a famine, and so he was forced to stay longer than I desired.
At night after prayers to bed.

one good day
in the wine of an hour

show me how
it comes to pass

a matter of lost time
that we mine for prayers


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 2 June 1661.

A Fatalism

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
It's as if every season, she forfeits 
one thing more for the dead

trees' return to life, for the ice to thaw
so the bluegreen blood of cuttlefish

can pulse again through their
three hearts. No one ever asks

how many times she has had to do it—
or what's collected as ransom each time,

a hundred times, no, a thousand or more,
for the god in the underworld— that bruiser

and extortioner—to release his claims on
the daughter. Was she like that once,

herself; and who paid her price? Now
that she's the one who does the supplicating,

she would like to disappear where a line bisects
the sky at the place where the land seems to end.

Aura of the Unobtainable

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
You blush in front of the cash register 
in the split second you forget the numbers

corresponding to your phone
and store membership, so you can claim
the day's special on butter or eggs.

When you tell this story, you're consoled:
you don't really call your own

number. Why would you need to remember?
Who can say whether the soul wants to drift
closer to the heaven it's been taught to believe,

or back down into the river of undifferentiated
life? Flags flutter on the fringes of consciousness

like riddles whose colors signal to a previous life.
The word for jasmine is the same as its scent
is the same as its shadow strung around your neck.

When you are lost, you stay in one place until
something shimmers to signify the light has changed.