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Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Injury

1. Too many mornings are all wound, stringent light.

2. I look at the crepe myrtle, its peeling bark;

3. and the square of paper I nailed to the trunk, asking

4. that the person/s walking their dog/s pick up their crap.

5. I was starting to talk about that wound, the one that opens

6. like a remembrance in the side, like a flare or crossing

7. we all gape at, looking at the sky with dark-

8. shaded glasses one hot afternoon in August.

9. And yes, sometimes the slightest dropping

10. on a fringe of grass acquires the cast

11. of an injury. What to do with the unasked for?

12. I have no need to be reminded that some people

13. have absolutely no regard for others, that somehow

14. it’s easier for them to maintain some pure internal

15. plumbing, by dumping their trash elsewhere. Who

16. turns on the switch, what welds the foot to the pedal

17. as the car rams into soft bodies gathered on the road?

18. Who pulls the trigger without trembling, until empty?

19. If they could, they would have the grass arrested. They talk

19. and talk boundaries, undoing and erasing to suit their whims.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Presence.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Presence

Up and abroad, doing very many errands to my great content which lay as burdens upon my mind and memory. Home to dinner, and so to White Hall, setting down my wife at her father’s, and I to the Tangier Committee, where several businesses I did to my mind, and with hopes thereby to get something. So to Westminster Hall, where by appointment I had made I met with Dr. Tom Pepys, but avoided all discourse of difference with him, though much against my will, and he like a doating coxcomb as he is, said he could not but demand his money, and that he would have his right, and that let all anger be forgot, and such sorry stuff, nothing to my mind, but only I obtained this satisfaction, that he told me about Sturbridge last was 12 months or 2 years he was at Brampton, and there my father did tell him that what he had done for my brother in giving him his goods and setting him up as he had done was upon condition that he should give my brother John 20l. per ann., which he charged upon my father, he tells me in answer, as a great deal of hard measure that he should expect that with him that had a brother so able as I am to do that for him. This is all that he says he can say as to my father’s acknowledging that he had given Tom his goods. He says his brother Roger will take his oath that my father hath given him thanks for his counsel for his giving of Tom his goods and setting him up in the manner that he hath done, but the former part of this he did not speak fully so bad nor as certain what he could say.
So we walked together to my cozen Joyce’s, where my wife staid for me, and then I home and her by coach, and so to my office, then to supper and to bed.

errands on my mind
like a doting comb

let all be forgot but this ridge
this former peak


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 22 August 1664.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Passing Through

What’s left here that nostalgia would find
satisfying? The haunts of your youth, carved

over with graffiti or the tracks of skateboards.
At every turn, billboards advertising Hotel

Sofitel, Eat All You Can, City Lunch, Go-Go
Dance, Dim Sum Palace. Where in this wilderness

of palimpsests is the door to the dreaded
dentist’s office, the neon sign in the shape

of a noodle bowl; the all-night diner where,
out of pity, the wife of the balding owner

once slipped you a cup of fries and a Coke
while your parents bickered and fought, fought

and bickered and made up, oblivious to whoever
might hear? What happened to the row of small shops:

the baker, butcher, haberdasher; the apothecary
and its shelves filled with vials smelling of mint

and camphor and lavender? That parking lot used to be
the movie theatre where you got your first job;

after cleaning the aisles, the toilets, and all
around the popcorn and drink machine, you sat

with the other temps on the steps out back. Everyone
talked about how they couldn’t wait to get away to their

real lives, away from this place where nothing ever happened.
And that girl who offered you your first smoke, saying, Here,

there’s nothing to it, it’s just a little bit of burning paper.
You weren’t sure what you wanted, but took it anyway. Because

isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? She wanted to sing
and act; but she only got as far as Tarlac; you married

too young. Her eldest son now runs Ace Laundromat,
where clothes spin in chrome baskets in the shadow

of a church famous for the seam in its center aisle,
dating back to the war. The owners of the Boulevard

Bistro are gone, as are your parents. So many hopes,
once crammed with their own ammunition, ready to go.

And you, passing through— you pry yourself loose,
as you have some kind of life elsewhere to get back to.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Hypersomnia

(Lord’s day). Waked about 4 o’clock with my wife, having a looseness, and peoples coming in the yard to the pump to draw water several times, so that fear of this day’s fire made me fearful, and called Besse and sent her down to see, and it was Griffin’s maid for water to wash her house. So to sleep again, and then lay talking till 9 o’clock. So up and drunk three bottles of Epsum water, which wrought well with me. I all the morning and most of the afternoon after dinner putting papers to rights in my chamber, and the like in the evening till night at my office, and renewing and writing fair over my vowes. So home to supper, prayers, and to bed.
Mr. Coventry told us the Duke was gone ill of a fit of an ague to bed; so we sent this morning to see how he do.

clock with a looseness
at several times

so fear of day’s fire
made me call for ash

so sleep papers over
my morning


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 21 August 1664.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

A Short Disquisition on the Use of Bullets Dipped in Pigs’ Blood

“Trump said, “[Pershing] took 50 bullets, and he dipped them in pigs’ blood. And he had his men load his rifles, and he lined up the 50 people, and they shot 49 of those people. And the 50th person, he said, ‘You go back to your people, and you tell them what happened.’ And for 25 years, there wasn’t a problem.” ~ CNN News, August 17, 2017

“… this is not the country of the Americans, but is the country of you Moros…” ~ Gen. John J. Pershing, transcript of May 29 and 20, 1911 meeting with leaders in Marawi (papers in the Library of Congress)

How easy to lie, to take from history
in order to serve one’s dirty purpose—

How typical. To look at old wars
and think their details all but forgotten;

then take liberties. To cast the figures of the long
dead on either side as puppets in roles

they would themselves not recognize,
having spoken differently. For instance,

in General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing’s
documents: a transcript of his meeting

with leading sultans, datus, and headmen
in Lanao, Marawi, in May 1911 (the same area

over which President Rodrigo “P-Duts” Duterte declared
Martial Law in May 2017, and which has since become

a wilderness of bombed-out homes, its people turned
into refugees overnight). In the transcript, he calls them

“friends.” In the transcript, Datu Noscalem tells of how
the general gifted him with a copy of the Quran.

Pershing responds that The Moros should live
     according to the teachings of the Quran, because… it is

the best book that they can follow. There would not
have been any pork served at the meal, if they shared any.

No scrunchions or chicharones, no salt-cured ham,
no cochinilla roasted in an open pit while the men

conversed. In the throes of that war at the turn of the previous
century, some attempt at decorum, if not recognition. No fables

yet of bullets dipped in pigs’ blood, no enemy heads sewn into pig
carcasses as warnings for “the infidels.” How interesting that pork

barrel means the use of government funds for projects designed
     to please voters or legislators and win votes. General Black

Jack’s wife and children, save for one son, perished in a fire
in California. That son, Francis Warren Pershing, served in WWII

then went on to found the brokerage firm Pershing
& Company, which was bought in 2003 by Bank of New York/

Mellon. It’s probably located on Wall Street—but did you know
that the financial district in lower Manhattan, revered by all

the priests of high profit today, was named after a long
wall erected to keep out hordes of rampaging pigs

rapidly reproducing through the colonies after their introduction
in Jamestown in 1607? Everyone in the south loves their ham

and biscuits. The Chinese bought up the Smithfield ham company
three years ago, but local residents and employees grudgingly

admit the quality hasn’t gone down, and more jobs were created.
Around these parts, a favorite side is some red or green

pepper jelly—a little sweet heat to offset the metallic tang
of the meat from brining. During the Civil War, the typical

American soldier’s rations included peas or beans, hardtack, and salt
pork— described as a stinky kind of blue extra salty meat, with hair,

skin, dirt, and other junk left on it. Of course they ate it. It was
probably one of their only sources of protein. It isn’t just

Muslims who don’t eat pork for religious reasons. Jewish religious law
has also historically banned the eating of pork, perhaps in part

from fear of disease. There are Muslim and Jewish bankers, farmers,
soldiers. Not far from Charlottesville, where white supremacists

chanted “Jews will not replace us,” is Jefferson’s Monticello. Culinary
historian Michael W. Twitty will speak there about how slaves built

a cuisine, a region, and a country. Since he’s African American,
gay, and Jewish, he can say “I am the target, the bogeyman,

the enemy.” Some pig farmers think the tastiest pork comes
from smaller varieties of dark-colored pigs. How even

do pigs get such names? As in immigrant swine and capitalist
pig. And also that spiel about it being The Other White Meat.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Aflame

Up and to the office a while, but this day the Parliament meeting only to be adjourned to November (which was done, accordingly), we did not meet, and so I forth to bespeak a case to be made to keep my stone in, which will cost me 25s. Thence I walked to Cheapside, there to see the effect of a fire there this morning, since four o’clock; which I find in the house of Mr. Bois, that married Dr. Fuller’s niece, who are both out of towne, leaving only a mayde and man in towne. It begun in their house, and hath burned much and many houses backward, though none forward; and that in the great uniform pile of buildings in the middle of Cheapside. I am very sorry for them, for the Doctor’s sake. Thence to the ‘Change, and so home to dinner. And thence to Sir W. Batten’s, whither Sir Richard Ford came, the Sheriffe, who hath been at this fire all the while; and he tells me, upon my question, that he and the Mayor were there, as it is their dutys to be, not only to keep the peace, but they have power of commanding the pulling down of any house or houses, to defend the whole City
By and by comes in the Common Cryer of the City to speak with him; and when he was gone, says he, “You may see by this man the constitution of the Magistracy of this City; that this fellow’s place, I dare give him (if he will be true to me) 1000l. for his profits every year, and expect to get 500l. more to myself thereby. When,” says he, “I in myself am forced to spend many times as much.”
By and by came Mr. Coventry, and so we met at the office, to hire ships for Guinny, and that done broke up. I to Sir W. Batten’s, there to discourse with Mrs. Falconer, who hath been with Sir W. Pen this evening, after Mr. Coventry had promised her half what W. Bodham had given him for his place, but Sir W. Pen, though he knows that, and that Mr. Bodham hath said that his place hath cost him 100l. and would 100l. more, yet is he so high against the poor woman that he will not hear to give her a farthing, but it seems do listen after a lease where he expects Mr. Falconer hath put in his daughter’s life, and he is afraid that that is not done, and did tell Mrs. Falconer that he would see it and know what is done therein in spite of her, when, poor wretch, she neither do nor can hinder him the knowing it. Mr. Coventry knows of this business of the lease, and I believe do think of it as well as I. But the poor woman is gone home without any hope, but only Mr. Coventry’s own nobleness.
So I to my office and wrote many letters, and so to supper and to bed.

fire is the backward
uniform of buildings

fire tells me my question
is only a common cry

when you came O falcon
to my bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 20 August 1664.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Following orders

Up and to the office, where Mr. Coventry and Sir W. Pen and I sat all the morning hiring of ships to go to Guinny, where we believe the warr with Holland will first break out. At noon dined at home, and after dinner my wife and I to Sir W. Pen’s, to see his Lady, the first time, who is a well-looked, fat, short, old Dutchwoman, but one that hath been heretofore pretty handsome, and is now very discreet, and, I believe, hath more wit than her husband. Here we staid talking a good while, and very well pleased I was with the old woman at first visit. So away home, and I to my office, my wife to go see my aunt Wight, newly come to town.
Creed came to me, and he and I out, among other things, to look out a man to make a case, for to keep my stone, that I was cut of, in, and he to buy Daniel’s history, which he did, but I missed of my end.
So parted upon Ludgate Hill, and I home and to the office, where busy till supper, and home to supper to a good dish of fritters, which I bespoke, and were done much to my mind. Then to the office a while again, and so home to bed.
The newes of the Emperour’s victory over the Turkes is by some doubted, but by most confessed to be very small (though great) of what was talked, which was 80,000 men to be killed and taken of the Turke’s side.

the pen sat hiring ships to go to war
in a pretty hand

and is now very discrete
more than me

I am among other things a man
that history missed

my victory over doubt
was killed and taken


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 19 August 1664.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Roundup

Summer’s on the wane; but weeds, knowing no season,
proliferate under the gum tree; they spread along
the sides of the ramshackle shed and the periphery

of our foundation. Joel, the guy who edges our front
lawn and trims the grass, volunteered to nuke ’em
next time they’re in the neighborhood. I know

Roundup is one of the chemical cocktails red-flagged
as carcinogenic. My husband won’t keep those chunky
plastic jugs anywhere near the house. I read

that a mixture of plain vinegar and water will do
the trick—I know after misting the leaves
of basil in a pot on the deck, the slugs

have generally left it alone. Whenever I’ve used
some foaming Chlorox on a rag to rub away some
deeply ingrained stain or mildewed spot on kitchen

sink or tile, my hands have itched and the skin
at the base of my fingers has blistered. Nuke,
he said; I keep coming back to that— how

after all the precautions we take to keep
the smallest square of our native soil free
of contaminants, our efforts won’t prevail.

Only the roaches might know, with their
impenetrable bronze shells; the dragonflies
raising their netted flags in the air,

or spiders building and tearing down then
building again, what balance there could ever
be, between our imagined industry and futility.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Talismanic.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Talismanic

Lay too long in bed, till 8 o’clock, then up and Mr. Reeve came and brought an anchor and a very fair loadstone. He would have had me bought it, and a good stone it is, but when he saw that I would not buy it he said he leave it for me to sell for him. By and by he comes to tell me that he had present occasion for 6l. to make up a sum, and that he would pay me in a day or two, but I had the unusual wit to deny him, and so by and by we parted, and I to the office, where busy all the morning sitting.
Dined alone at home, my wife going to-day to dine with Mrs. Pierce, and thence with her and Mrs. Clerke to see a new play, “The Court Secret.”
I busy all the afternoon, toward evening to Westminster, and there in the Hall a while, and then to my barber, willing to have any opportunity to speak to Jane, but wanted it. So to Mrs. Pierces, who was come home, and she and Mrs. Clerke busy at cards, so my wife being gone home, I home, calling by the way at the Wardrobe and met Mr. Townsend, Mr. Moore and others at the Taverne thereby, and thither I to them and spoke with Mr. Townsend about my boy’s clothes, which he says shall be soon done, and then I hope I shall be settled when I have one in the house that is musicall.
So home and to supper, and then a little to my office, and then home to bed. My wife says the play she saw is the worst that ever she saw in her life.

stone and stone
sitting secret as cards

one calling me to ore
one the settled music of my life


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 18 August 1664.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Shit talker

Up, and going to Sir W. Batten to speak to him about business, he did give me three bottles of his Epsum water, which I drank and it wrought well with me, and did give me many good stools, and I found myself mightily cooled with them and refreshed.
Thence I to Mr. Honiwood and my father’s old house, but he was gone out, and there I staid talking with his man Herbert, who tells me how Langford and his wife are very foul–mouthed people, and will speak very ill of my father, calling him old rogue in reference to the hard penniworths he sold him of his goods when the rogue need not have bought any of them. So that I am resolved he shall get no more money by me, but it vexes me to think that my father should be said to go away in debt himself, but that I will cause to be remedied whatever comes of it.
Thence to my Lord Crew, and there with him a little while. Before dinner talked of the Dutch war, and find that he do much doubt that we shall fall into it without the money or consent of Parliament, that is expected or the reason of it that is fit to have for every warr.
Dined with him, and after dinner talked with Sir Thomas Crew, who told me how Mr. Edward Montagu is for ever blown up, and now quite out with his father again; to whom he pretended that his going down was, not that he was cast out of the Court, but that he had leave to be absent a month; but now he finds the truth.
Thence to my Lady Sandwich, where by agreement my wife dined, and after talking with her I carried my wife to Mr. Pierce’s and left her there, and so to Captain Cooke’s, but he was not at home, but I there spoke with my boy Tom Edwards, and directed him to go to Mr. Townsend (with whom I was in the morning) to have measure taken of his clothes to be made him there out of the Wardrobe, which will be so done, and then I think he will come to me.
Thence to White Hall, and after long staying there was no Committee of the Fishery as was expected. Here I walked long with Mr. Pierce, who tells me the King do still sup every night with my Lady Castlemayne, who he believes has lately slunk a great belly away, for from very big she is come to be down again.
Thence to Mrs. Pierce’s, and with her and my wife to see Mrs. Clarke, where with him and her very merry discoursing of the late play of Henry the 5th, which they conclude the best that ever was made, but confess with me that Tudor’s being dismissed in the manner he is is a great blemish to the play. I am mightily pleased with the Doctor, for he is the only man I know that I could learn to pronounce by, which he do the best that ever I heard any man.
Thence home and to the office late, and so to supper and to bed.
My Lady Pen came hither first to-night to Sir W. Pen’s lodgings.

how is a foul mouth to be remedied
fit for every war and after-
dinner blow-up

out with his absent truth
and his white fish-belly
big as a blemish on the night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 17 August 1664.