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Posted on by Dave Bonta

Mr. Thin

A very furious blowing night all the night; and my mind still mightily perplexed with dreams, and burning the rest of the town, and waking in much pain for the fleete. Up, and with my wife by coach as far as the Temple, and there she to the mercer’s again, and I to look out Penny, my tailor, to speak for a cloak and cassock for my brother, who is coming to town; and I will have him in a canonical dress, that he may be the fitter to go abroad with me. I then to the Exchequer, and there, among other things, spoke to Mr. Falconbridge about his girle I heard sing at Nonsuch, and took him and some other ‘Chequer men to the Sun Taverne, and there spent 2s. 6d. upon them, and he sent for the girle, and she hath a pretty way of singing, but hath almost forgot for want of practice. She is poor in clothes, and not bred to any carriage, but will be soon taught all, and if Mercer do not come again, I think we may have her upon better terms, and breed her to what we please. Thence to Sir W. Coventry’s, and there dined with him and Sir W. Batten, the Lieutenant of the Tower, and Mr. Thin, a pretty gentleman, going to Gottenburgh. Having dined, Sir W. Coventry, Sir W. Batten, and I walked into his closet to consider of some things more to be done in a list to be given to the Parliament of all our ships, and time of entry and discharge. Sir W. Coventry seems to think they will soon be weary of the business, and fall quietly into the giving the King what is fit. This he hopes. Thence I by coach home to the office, and there intending a meeting, but nobody being there but myself and Sir J. Minnes, who is worse than nothing, I did not answer any body, but kept to my business in the office till night, and then Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to me, and thence to Sir W. Batten’s, and eat a barrel of oysters I did give them, and so home, and to bed. I have this evening discoursed with W. Hewer about Mercer, I having a mind to have her again; and I am vexed to hear him say that she hath no mind to come again, though her mother hath. No newes of the fleete yet, but that they went by Dover on the 25th towards the Gunfleete, but whether the Dutch be yet abroad, or no, we hear not. De Ruyter is not dead, but like to do well. Most think that the gross of the French fleete are gone home again.

my tailor will have a dress on
I heard him singing

Mr. Thin
a pretty man in his closet

weary of meeting nobody there
but a moth


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 27 September 1666.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

The coming storm

Up, and with Sir J. Minnes to St. James’s, where every body going to the House, I away by coach to White Hall, and after a few turns, and hearing that our accounts come into the House but to-day, being hindered yesterday by other business, I away by coach home, taking up my wife and calling at Bennet’s, our late mercer, who is come into Covent Garden to a fine house looking down upon the Exchange; and I perceive many Londoners every day come; and Mr. Pierce hath let his wife’s closett, and the little blind bed chamber, and a garret to a silke man for 50l. fine, and 30l. per annum, and 40l. per annum more for dieting the master and two prentices. So home, not agreeing for silk for a petticoat for her which she desired, but home to dinner and then back to White Hall, leaving my wife by the way to buy her petticoat of Bennet, and I to White Hall waiting all day on the Duke of Yorke to move the King for getting Lanyon some money at Plymouth out of some oyle prizes brought in thither, but could get nothing done, but here Mr. Dugdale I hear the great loss of books in St. Paul’s Church-yarde, and at their Hall also, which they value about 150,000l.; some booksellers being wholly undone, among others, they say, my poor Kirton. And Mr. Crumlu all his books and household stuff burned; they trusting St. Fayth’s, and the roof of the church falling, broke the arch down into the lower church, and so all the goods burned. A very great loss. His father hath lost above 1000l. in books; one book newly printed, a Discourse, it seems, of Courts. Here I had the hap to see my Lady Denham: and at night went into the dining-room and saw several fine ladies; among others, Castlemayne, but chiefly Denham again; and the Duke of Yorke taking her aside and talking to her in the sight of all the world, all alone; which was strange, and what also I did not like. Here I met with good Mr. Evelyn, who cries out against it, and calls it bitchering, for the Duke of Yorke talks a little to her, and then she goes away, and then he follows her again like a dog. He observes that none of the nobility come out of the country at all to help the King, or comfort him, or prevent commotions at this fire; but do as if the King were nobody; nor ne’er a priest comes to give the King and Court good council, or to comfort the poor people that suffer; but all is dead, nothing of good in any of their minds: he bemoans it, and says he fears more ruin hangs over our heads. Thence away by coach, and called away my wife at Unthanke’s, where she tells me she hath bought a gowne of 15s. per yard; the same, before her face, my Lady Castlemayne this day bought also, which I seemed vexed for, though I do not grudge it her, but to incline her to have Mercer again, which I believe I shall do, but the girle, I hear, has no mind to come to us again, which vexes me. Being come home, I to Sir W. Batten, and there hear our business was tendered to the House to-day, and a Committee of the whole House chosen to examine our accounts, and a great many Hotspurs enquiring into it, and likely to give us much trouble and blame, and perhaps (which I am afeard of) will find faults enow to demand better officers. This I truly fear. Away with Sir W. Pen, who was there, and he and I walked in the garden by moonlight, and he proposes his and my looking out into Scotland about timber, and to use Pett there; for timber will be a good commodity this time of building the City; and I like the motion, and doubt not that we may do good in it. We did also discourse about our Privateer, and hope well of that also, without much hazard, as, if God blesses us, I hope we shall do pretty well toward getting a penny. I was mightily pleased with our discourse, and so parted, and to the office to finish my journall for three or four days, and so home to supper, and to bed. Our fleete abroad, and the Dutch too, for all we know; the weather very bad; and under the command of an unlucky man, I fear. God bless him, and the fleete under him!

I hear all the great books
being burned

and the roof falling
in on the world

the poor will demand
better fear

moonlight will be a commodity
like a private god


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 26 September 1666.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

20/20

In the viewfinder the road with a stripe
down the middle leads to a red barn

against a very blue sky in the distance. 
The eye doctor clicks one lens after another

into place, and asks which combination
gives the clearest view of the scene.

While picking new lenses out of a tray,
she starts talking about her morning,

how in the middle of driving her two
daughters to school, one of them discovers

she's left her homework and binder at home
and pleads for her to turn around. Would

you do that, she asks me. Would you give 
in even after you've told them time

and again it's their responsibility
to make sure they have everything 

they need before we leave the house? 
I'm not sure how to reply. What if 

the kid gets points taken off and 
can't make it up with extra credit?

Instead I think of how I have gone back 
to bring my daughters what they've called

about, frantic or in panic in their need.
Have I been too soft, too sacrificing?  

The barn on the screen isn't really
red, but closer to brown. There aren't

any turns or four-way stops on the road,
no traffic lights, no geese or crossing 

deer to make the landscape even mildly 
interesting. Again, I read lines 

of letters diminishing in size, until 
I come to a row that looks like a trail
 
of evenly spaced ants. I want to say 
I've seen skies crosshatched with 

wheeling birds—a murmuration. Unlike 
the ancient Romans who thought the shapes 

they made were augurs from the gods, 
I can't predict what comes next  

or say with certainty how a moment 
connects to something that came before.
Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Bandera Española

Tell a story, says the writer giving
a lecture, about the first time you think

you might be falling in love. Remember 
the smallest details: the waft of tobacco 

from the neighbor's porch where he sits 
and reads all afternoon through evening, 

hidden behind a waterfall of pothos 
spilling from a hanging pot. Ceylon 

creeper, silver vine, also called 
devil's ivy because it is almost 

impossible to kill and it stays green 
even when kept in the dark. Remember

this and the rusted green of the garden
gate, the way your hand hesitated

before you rang the doorbell, waiting
to see if the boy that walked you home

would do something: push a strand
of hair away from your cheek, move

closer to brush his lips against it...
But nothing will happen here because you 

already know this is a town where 
everything gets broadcast to the four 

winds before it has even happened, 
a town where behind every window drape 

there is at least one pair of eyes
surveilling the immediate landscape.

Perhaps it is the way imminent action
gets suspended; perhaps it is because all

stories of beginning are full of awkward
silences and hesitation. More than the color 

of his eyes or hair or the texture of his 
smile, you'll recall more clearly the dark 

red spears of bandera española by the gate, 
its flowers thrust open in fulfillment.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Humpty Dumpster

…up betimes, with all my people to get the letter writ over, and other things done, which I did, and by coach to Lord Bruncker’s, and got his hand to it; and then to the Parliament House and got it signed by the rest, and then delivered it at the House-door to Sir Philip Warwicke; Sir G. Carteret being gone into the House with his book of accounts under his arme, to present to the House. I had brought my wife to White Hall, and leaving her with Mrs. Michell, where she sat in her shop and had burnt wine sent for her, I walked in the Hall, and among others with Ned Pickering, who continues still a lying, bragging coxcombe, telling me that my Lord Sandwich may thank himself for all his misfortune; for not suffering him and two or three good honest fellows more to take them by the throats that spoke ill of him, and told me how basely Lionell Walden hath carried himself towards my Lord; by speaking slightly of him, which I shall remember. Thence took my wife home to dinner, and then to the office, where Mr. Hater all the day putting in order and entering in a book all the measures that this account of the Navy hath been made up by, and late at night to Mrs. Turner’s, where she had got my wife and Lady Pen and Pegg, and supped, and after, supper and the rest of the company by design gone, Mrs. Turner and her husband did lay their case to me about their lodgings, Sir J. Minnes being now gone wholly to his owne, and now, they being empty, they doubt Sir T. Harvy or Lord Bruncker may look after the lodgings. I did give them the best advice, poor people, that I could, and would do them any kindnesse, though it is strange that now they should have ne’er a friend of Sir W. Batten or Sir W. Pen to trust to but me, that they have disobliged. So home to bed, and all night still mightily troubled in my sleepe, with fire and houses pulling down.

a lying bragging fellow
speaking lightly of hate

anyone who is empty
may sleep with fire


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 25 September 1666.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Traveler’s Song

Find me between
and underneath the syntax

of words I say in my head,
in consonants that move

like first-time skaters 
on unfamiliar ice but grit

their teeth and never
fall down— Find me

in the starch that stiffens
the clothes and the bleach

that blues the whites
we wear closest to our skin

then peel off before going
to bed at night. Find me

in a nest of mosquito 
netting, in the dark  

where my body is perfect 
as it is and my tongue 

clicks to the tune of geckos 
fastened to the ceiling. 

The world is a ship I climbed 
into, once long ago. It called

me both child and orphan;
it pinned to my breast a star-

gazer lily adorned with gold 
dust and hawk bells.







Posted on by Dave Bonta

Second hand

Up, and with Sir W. Batten and Sir W. Pen to St. James’s, and there with Sir W. Coventry read and all approved of my letter, and then home, and after dinner, Mr. Hater and Gibson dining with me, to the office, and there very late new moulding my accounts and writing fair my letter, which I did against the evening, and then by coach left my wife at her brother’s, and I to St. James’s, and up and down to look [for] Sir W. Coventry; and at last found him and Sir G. Carteret with the Lord Treasurer at White Hall, consulting how to make up my Lord Treasurer’s general account, as well as that of the Navy particularly. Here brought the letter, but found that Sir G. Carteret had altered his account since he did give me the abstract of it: so all my letter must be writ over again, to put in his last abstract. So to Sir G. Carteret’s lodgings, to speak a little about the alteration; and there looking over the book that Sir G. Carteret intends to deliver to the Parliament of his payments since September 1st, 1664, and there I find my name the very second for flags, which I had bought for the Navy, of calico; once, about 500 and odd pounds, which vexed me mightily. At last, I concluded of scraping out my name and putting in Mr. Tooker’s, which eased me; though the price was such as I should have had glory by. Here I saw my Lady Carteret lately come to towne, who, good lady! is mighty kind, and I must make much of her, for she is a most excellent woman. So took up my wife and away home, and there to bed, and…

mould writing an abstract letter o
over the book

I am scraping out
such glory


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 24 September 1666.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Peace garden

Antony Gormley sculpture at the peace park

A videohaiku filmed at the Maygrove Peace Park, one of at least six gardens or parks in London dedicated to world peace – but the only one with an Antony Gormley sculpture, untitled (listening). Also featured in the video is Hamish Black’s Peace Crane. This park is just down the road from us in Kilburn, but few people outside the immediate neighborhood seem to be aware of it. For more on the park, see the friends group website.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

On Inventory

"Remember me, remember me, but ah!
Forget my fate..."
~ "Dido's Lament: When I Am Laid in Earth" 

I look around and there's still so much I need 
to put in garbage bags, sort for the thrift 
shop, fold for another season beyond 

this one. And at the tail end of summer, 
one length of fence began to sag, as things 
will do after many years, waterlogged.

I think about the times I feel like giving 
up, giving in: just like the shore's ragged hem 
to the sea's steady encroaching. But then I come 

for instance upon a book of tickets or an old 
silk dress, its print of ferns and split leaf 
philodendra now muted green and yellow— 

I think I wore it last walking around 
Philadelphia in the heat, going from museum
to museum, then sitting under the shade 

while someone snapped a picture. There
in the backdrop, a mural on a trattoria wall: 
its giant scale making small impressions 

of our figures. Years later, always 
years later— wonder of wonders, this 
register: the pulse that beats 

its undertone of regret, meaning 
there's something yet, apparently, 
that it desires. And so on, down 

the changing inventory of days: 
we count and carry, buy or trade, set 
aside what we imagine others might want 

after we've passed on, or just gone past 
the need for more possessions. Sometimes, 
too, they've not even once been used.
Posted on by Dave Bonta

Comfortable

(Lord’s day). Up, and after being trimmed, all the morning at the office with my people about me till about one o’clock, and then home, and my people with me, and Mr. Wayth and I eat a bit of victuals in my old closet, now my little dining-room, which makes a pretty room, and my house being so clean makes me mightily pleased, but only I do lacke Mercer or somebody in the house to sing with. Soon as eat a bit Mr. Wayth and I by water to White Hall, and there at Sir G. Carteret’s lodgings Sir W. Coventry met, and we did debate the whole business of our accounts to the Parliament; where it appears to us that the charge of the war from September 1st, 1664, to this Michaelmas, will have been but 3,200,000l., and we have paid in that time somewhat about 2,200,000l.; so that we owe above 900,000l.: but our method of accounting, though it cannot, I believe, be far wide from the mark, yet will not abide a strict examination if the Parliament should be troublesome. Here happened a pretty question of Sir W. Coventry, whether this account of ours will not put my Lord Treasurer to a difficulty to tell what is become of all the money the Parliament have ‘give’ in this time for the war, which hath amounted to about 4,000,000l., which nobody there could answer; but I perceive they did doubt what his answer could be. Having done, and taken from Sir W. Coventry the minutes of a letter to my Lord Treasurer, Wayth and I back again to the office, and thence back down to the water with my wife and landed him in Southwarke, and my wife and I for pleasure to Fox-hall, and there eat and drank, and so back home, and I to the office till midnight drawing the letter we are to send with our accounts to my Lord Treasurer, and that being done to my mind, I home to bed.

my people with me
and my house so clean

only I lack
somebody to sing with

and war cannot be
far off


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 23 September 1666.