Via Negativa

May 11, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Indispensable

At the office all the morning, and the afternoon among my workmen with great pleasure, because being near an end of their work. This afternoon came Mr. Blackburn and Creed to see me, and I took them to the Dolphin, and there drank a great deal of Rhenish wine with them and so home, having some talk with Mr. Blackburn about his kinsman my Will, and he did give me good satisfaction in that it is his desire that his kinsman should do me all service, and that he would give him the best counsel he could to make him good. Which I begin of late to fear that he will not because of the bad company that I find that he do begin to take. This afternoon Mr. Hater received for me the 225l. due upon Mr. Creed’s bill in which I am concerned so much, which do make me very glad.
At night to Sir W. Batten and sat a while. So to bed.

the near end of work
is black with burnout

it is desire
that should do me in

not the company to which
I am so much

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 10 May 1661.

May 10, 2024May 10, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Terra Incognita

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

What, divided by summer and multiplied by winter,
             is equal to the number of squares on a map? You 

stand on that shore between northings, I on my own 
           between eastings. Seasons of rain in other worlds,

in other hemispheres, are not so much reversible 
           as they are fed and fevered by more than tears. 

There will always be limits we seem powerless to bend.
          What latitude value creates a square with the largest

room, a space no one needs to bridge? That is where 
           I want to travel, that is where I want to stay.

May 10, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Identity politics

With my workmen all the morning, my wife being ill and in great pain with her old pain, which troubled me much because that my house is in this condition of dirt.
In the afternoon I went to Whitehall and there spoke with my Lord at his lodgings, and there being with him my Lord Chamberlain, I spoke for my old waterman Payne, to get into White’s place, who was waterman to my Lord Chamberlain, and is now to go master of the barge to my Lord to sea, and my Lord Chamberlain did promise that Payne should be entertained in White’s place with him. From thence to Sir G. Carteret, and there did get his promise for the payment of the remainder of the bill of Mr. Creed’s, wherein of late I have been so much concerned, which did so much rejoice me that I meeting with Mr. Childe took him to the Swan Tavern in King Street, and there did give him a tankard of white wine and sugar, and so I went by water home and set myself to get my Lord’s accounts made up, which was till nine at night before I could finish, and then I walked to the Wardrobe, being the first time I was there since my Lady came thither, who I found all alone, and so she shewed me all the lodgings as they are now fitted, and they seem pretty pleasant. By and by comes in my Lord, and so, after looking over my accounts, I returned home, being a dirty and dark walk. So to bed.

in this no place
who am I

to the sea
the remainder of a child

to the swan
a street at night

to the war an ant
dirty and dark

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 9 May 1661.

May 9, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Disappearance

This morning came my brother John to take his leave of me, he being to return to Cambridge to-morrow, and after I had chid him for going with my Will the other day to Deptford with the principal officers, I did give him some good counsell and 20s. in money, and so he went away.
All this day I staid at home with my workmen without eating anything, and took much pleasure to see my work go forward. At night comes my wife not well from my father’s, having had a fore-tooth drawn out to-day, which do trouble me, and the more because I am now in the greatest of all my dirt.
My Will also returned to-night pretty well, he being gone yesterday not very well to his father’s.
To-day I received a letter from my uncle, to beg an old fiddle of me for my Cozen Perkin, the miller, whose mill the wind hath lately broke down, and now he hath nothing to live by but fiddling, and he must needs have it against Whitsuntide to play to the country girls; but it vexed me to see how my uncle writes to me, as if he were not able to buy him one. But I intend tomorrow to send him one. At night I set down my journal of my late journey to this time, and so to bed. My wife not being well and I very angry with her for her coming hither in that condition.

I hid without
eating anything

my night tooth
in the dirt

I turn to wind
nothing to see

on my journey
to not being

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 8 May 1661.

May 8, 2024May 9, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

On Kissing

Instead of getting some version of the birds
and bees talk that every mother is supposed to give 

her daughter at the approach of puberty, I was handed 
a book called On Becoming a Woman. On the front

cover, two preppy-looking guys check out a pretty 
brunette as she walks through a park. I mean,

anyone can tell it's a park because the cover design
wraps around the spine to the back, where a mother

and her young son are pictured bending toward hungry 
pigeons, and in the distance a couple strolls past

a statue. The front endpapers depict a tableau—
bride in her veil and poufy skirt attended 

by bridesmaids, while mother and flower girl 
look on adoringly. I couldn't read what she was

thinking—my mother, I mean. She acted 
nonchalant, even as she warned boys would try 

sometime to kiss me, but kissing itself was 
overrated. A kiss, she said, feels like what we do 

as we suck garlicky steamed snails into our mouths. 
When that doesn't work, a safety pin might help.

May 7, 2024May 8, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Protocol

Black tie, no shorts or T's, no flip-flops. My husband 
reminds me it also means a set of rules enabling 

computers to communicate with each other, despite 
differences in their processors or design— 

I imagine rows of computers humming and 
chattering in a darkened writing lab, then falling 

silent when someone comes in and turns on the lights. 
Sometimes protocol can seem like the scar that's there 

as reminder of some kind of trauma—how in many 
Asian families, including our own, the pantry is never 

organized just for neatness or regularity in shape, 
size, and gradation of containers. The 25-lb. bag of rice 

will only fit in one corner of the guest room. Nothing 
is either just too much, or too little. Nothing is out 

of place or thrown away. There are little tins of sardines 
in tomato sauce stacked next to a bag filled with every 

soy sauce packet from every takeout meal we've ordered 
since the pandemic, next to 3 large containers of Norton 

salt, with the spout. A sniff test usually convinces  
we can eat packaged food items a little past their sell-by 

or expiry dates. How many times have we heard  
uncles' and grandparents' stories of eating only a palm-

ful of rice flavored with salt for months during the war?
A chapter title in a book—Readers Like Pleasure

but They Adore Pain—makes me stop and wonder
if this is true, and how. A woman sizzled a wet rag

in a hot pan  just so neighbors passing her kitchen window
would hear the sound and not think they had nothing to eat.

May 7, 2024 by Dave Bonta

All-consuming

In the morning to Mr. Coventry, Sir G. Carteret, and my Lord’s to give them an account of my return. My Lady, I find, is, since my going, gone to the Wardrobe. Then with Mr. Creed into London, to several places about his and my business, being much stopped in our way by the City traynebands, who go in much solemnity and pomp this day to muster before the King and the Duke, and shops in the City are shut up every where all this day.
He carried me to an ordinary by the Old Exchange, where we come a little too late, but we had very good cheer for our 18d. a-piece, and an excellent droll too, my host, and his wife so fine a woman; and sung and played so well that I staid a great while and drunk a great deal of wine.
Then home and staid among my workmen all day, and took order for things for the finishing of their work.
And so at night to Sir W. Batten’s, and there supped and so home and to bed, having sent my Lord a letter to-night to excuse myself for not going with him to-morrow to the Hope, whither he is to go to see in what condition the fleet is in.

the war is in our way
who must shop everywhere
in exchange for work

I finish up a letter
to excuse myself
for not going with hope

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 7 May 1661.

May 7, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Worker

Up by four o’clock and took coach. Mr. Creed rode, and left us that we know not whither he went. We went on, thinking to be at home before the officers rose, but finding we could not we staid by the way and eat some cakes, and so home.
Where I was much troubled to see no more work done in my absence than there was, but it could not be helped.
I sent my wife to my father’s, and I went and sat till late with my Lady Batten, both the Sir Williams being gone this day to pay off some ships at Deptford.
So home and to bed without seeing of them.
I hear to-night that the Duke of York’s son is this day dead, which I believe will please every body; and I hear that the Duke and his Lady themselves are not much troubled at it.

four o’clock finding me
where I work

in my absence
I could be a bat

seeing the night
as an ear

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 6 May 1661.

May 6, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Synchronicities

When the pain that shoots down
from her right hip to her leg returns,
she wonders if it has something to do
with air pressure, or the rain, or
the humidity and all the recent swings
in weather. Where did she read 
that the body is its own barometer,
also its most faithful timekeeper? 
Coming from the store, she hefts
the grocery bags like they are 
weights at the gym; she pins
her shoulders back, as she is always
reminded to do. She tries to walk
more, move more, push and lift
while trying to find that center.
The dark fades later every day,
but she knows it is only being true
to its own season. She likes 
the quiet more and more. How 
much time is there for feeding 
the senses with remaining pleasure,
for soothing the heart's agitations?
The rain starts up again. She hears
a newly clear pinging just because 
the gutters were cleaned that weekend.

May 6, 2024May 6, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 18

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).

A shorter digest than usual this week, reflecting I suppose a general exhaustion among poetry bloggers after NaPoWriMo and the winding down of the academic year. Those who did blog were in a reflective mood, writing about self-acceptance for poets, points of connection, finding balance, considering the reader, and more. Enjoy.