How to resist

Up, and having paid some money in the morning to my uncle Thomas on his yearly annuity, to the office, where we sat all the morning. At noon I to the ‘Change about some pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson. There I hear that Collonell Turner is found guilty of felony at the Sessions in Mr. Tryan’s business, which will save his life. So home and met there J. Harper come to see his kinswoman our Jane. I made much of him and made him dine with us, he talking after the old simple manner that he used to do. He being gone, I by water to Westminster Hall, and there did see Mrs. Lane, and de là, elle and I to the caberet at the Cloche in the street du roy; and there, after some caresses, je l’ay foutée sous de la chaise deux times, and the last to my great pleasure; mais j’ai grand peur que je l’ay fait faire aussi elle même. Mais after I had done, elle commencait parler as before and I did perceive that je n’avais fait rien de danger à elle. Et avec ça, I came away; and though I did make grand promises à la contraire, nonobstant je ne la verrai pas long time. So by coach home and to my office, where Browne of the Minerys brought me an Instrument made of a Spyral line very pretty for all questions in Arithmetique almost, but it must be some use that must make me perfect in it.
So home to supper and to bed, with my mind ‘un peu troubled pour ce que fait’ to-day, but I hope it will be ‘la dernier de toute ma vie.’

no laws will save us

the old simple manner that used to do
being gone

danger is an instrument
made of questions

I must be at home with hope


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 16 January 1663/64.

What I learned from the Thrilla in Manila

“...the future is unknowable — and that’s a good thing.

I was a gangly, scab-kneed girl of thirteen
when the great “Floats like a Butterfly, Stings
like a Bee” Muhammad Ali met Smokin’ Joe Frazier
for their rematch in January ’74. Rumors had it
that Ferdinand “McCoy” Marcos went over budget
to have the match held in Manila, hoping
all the media hoopla would deflect attention
from stories of torture and the disappeared,
and the fact he’d declared Martial Law in ’71.
It seems to have worked, because even my over-
cautious father, who not too long before made
any excuse not to have to travel to the capital,
was now shaking every connection he had to see
if he could score tickets to the fight. Ali
himself knew the value of a little pre-game
psych war, telling reporters: “I like to get a man
mad, because when a man’s mad, he wants ya so bad,
he can’t think, so I like to get a man mad.”
Which was how his taunt— “It will be a killa
and a thrilla and a chilla when I get the Gorilla
in Manila”— led to the fight being billed
as the Thrilla in Manila. It was true, and all
the bet-taking men craning their necks at department
store TVs couldn’t be more thrilled at this
spectacle of two gorillas insulting each other—
Which when you think of it, considering how gorilla
and monkey have been used pejoratively, as code
for any immigrant or person of color in America, therefore
isn’t it more than just a little moment of unthinkingness embedded
there, showing the internalization of racist categories
by the very people that have been its victims?
And it may be this poem has traveled a long way
from that year in Manila. But remembering the once
great Ali— in Atlanta in ’96, willing his tremor-
filled hand to lower the torch that ignites the rocket
that sets off the Olympic flame— and how he died
last summer from infection and sepsis, all I can think
is: Anything can happen. Though his shoe-loving wife
and ambitious progeny are still alive, the infamous dictator
who named the Philippines’ first commercial shopping mall
after Muhammad Ali is dead and rotted through on the inside
of his carefully formaldehyde-treated shell. Anything
can happen, anything can happen
. The strong and powerful,
the hideous and hateful alongside the beautiful— all
reap in time the reassurance of the uncertain future.

Theotokos

Up and to my office, where all the morning, and among other things Mr. Turner with me, and I did tell him my mind about the Controller his master and all the office, and my mind touching himself too, as he did carry himself either well or ill to me and my clerks, which I doubt not but it will operate well.
Thence to the ‘Change, and there met my uncle Wight, who was very kind to me, and would have had me home with him, and so kind that I begin to wonder and think something of it of good to me.
Thence home to dinner, and after dinner with Mr. Hater by water, and walked thither and back again from Deptford, where I did do something checking the iron business, but my chief business was my discourse with Mr. Hater about what had passed last night and to-day about the office business, and my resolution to do him all the good I can therein.
So home, and my wife tells me that my uncle Wight hath been with her, and played at cards with her, and is mighty inquisitive to know whether she is with child or no, which makes me wonder what his meaning is, and after all my thoughts, I cannot think, unless it be in order to the making his will, that he might know how to do by me, and I would to God my wife had told him that she was.

things turn in my mind
doubt will operate as water
for something iron

but what passed last night
can I be with child

what can I be making
that might know me


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 15 January 1663/64.

Lining up for trees

All morning in the cold,
bundled up and in line;

clear silhouettes of trees cut a rim
dark as viridian around the park.

Each of us is given a short
form: name, number, neighborhood.

Gulls give us the side-eye,
huddled near the trash bins.

I know what I want, among the list
jotted down in chalk by the volunteer

kneeling on the asphalt: Fuyu Persimmon,
lush as a peach at peak ripeness;

more delicious, I think, than plum or
nectarine. Virtue and longevity,

oxheart shine, twig after twig
prospering into bending abundance.

Quince or chinquapin? Keiffer Pear?
Rumor of a nut or a stone inside the burr.

Some ladies from a local club have brought
tasting samples of fruit jams and preserves.

Under a sign, another volunteer extols
virtues of the rain barrel. I sign up too,

walk finally to the table where I claim
exactly one sapling, ready to go in the ground.

Young tree, both tough and willowy, I’ll dream
zygotes and little orange planets in the tree one spring.

King of the trolls

Up and to the office, where all the morning, and at noon all of us, viz., Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten at one end, and Mr. Coventry, Sir J. Minnes and I (in the middle at the other end, being taught how to sit there all three by my sitting so much the backwarder) at the other end, to Sir G. Carteret’s, and there dined well. Here I saw Mr. Scott, the bastard that married his youngest daughter. Much pleasant talk at table, and then up and to the office, where we sat long upon our design of dividing the Controller’s work into some of the rest of our hands for the better doing of it, but he would not yield to it, though the simple man knows in his heart that he do not do one part of it. So he taking upon him to do it all we rose, I vexed at the heart to see the King’s service run after this manner, but it cannot be helped.
Thence to the Old James to the reference about Mr. Bland’s business. Sir W. Rider being now added to us, and I believe we shall soon come to some determination in it. So home and to my office, did business, and then up to Sir W. Pen and did express my trouble about this day’s business, he not being there, and plainly told him what I thought of it, and though I know him a false fellow yet I adventured, as I have done often, to tell him clearly my opinion of Sir W. Batten and his design in this business, which is very bad.
Hence home, and after a lecture to my wife in her globes, to prayers and to bed.

the backward bastard
that married his troll hands

in his heart no part
of a rose

but business business business
low as a glob


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 14 January 1663/64.

Natural Selection

“… let the strongest live and the weakest die.”
~ Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species

~ Hylaeus anthracinus

Who has seen the bees with gold-
smudged faces, the only ones

who can make sure the flower
of the naupaka continues to push

its torn half-crown of petals
into the world? Their number

dwindles, and soon the rest of us
in their wake— Who has seen

bees lolling in the waters
of the factory, their hives

hung in tapestries of Blue #1,
Green #3, Yellow #6, and Red #40,

their amber derived from petroleum
streams? The woodland bison closes

its eyes, and the graceful giraffe.
Soon both the banyan and the roses

shrivel, the crops in the field.
Whales and turtles crawl

into a silence of coves.
When this happens,

not even the birds may have
enough strength to fly away.

Commute

Up and to my office a little, and then abroad to many several places about business, among others to the geometrical instrument makers, and through Bedlam (calling by the way at an old bookseller’s and there fell into looking over Spanish books and pitched upon some, till I thought of my oathe when I was going to agree for them, and so with much ado got myself out of the shop glad at my heart and so away) to the African House to look upon their book of contracts for several commodities for my information in the prices we give in the Navy.
So to the Coffee [house] where extraordinary good discourse of Dr. Whistler’s upon my question concerning the keeping of masts, he arguing against keeping them dry, by showing the nature of corruption in bodies and the several ways thereof. So to the ‘Change, and thence with Sir W. Rider to the Trinity House to dinner, and then home and to my office till night, and then with Mr. Bland to Sir T. Viner’s about pieces of eight for Sir J. Lawson, and so back to my office, and there late upon business, and so home to supper and to bed.

the road places us in a bedlam
of oath and whistle
arguing bodies
and the several ways to ride
to home and to office

and the land
in back of us


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 13 January 1663/64.

Infinity is not a number

I’ve never been any good
at mathematics

but I imagine a field
whose purpose is to define

what lies in the field—
or sets off the grass

that grows there
from the grass elsewhere.

And the clover, a slurry
of stones; the goats

and their hard raisin trail
of poop. The long-legged horses,

cows flicking their tails
at gnats. Number them

if you wish: the gnats,
the cows, their rank catalogue

of irregular black and white spots.
Infinity, I’ve been told,

isn’t any of these countable facts
but more like some unseen wind

or a hum that surges through
the electric fence. Add

to it or take away from it:
its quantity remains the same.

Player

Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at noon to the ‘Change awhile, and so home, getting things against dinner ready, and anon comes my uncle Wight and my aunt, with their cozens Mary and Robert, and by chance my uncle Thomas Pepys. We had a good dinner, the chief dish a swan roasted, and that excellent meate. At dinner and all day very merry. After dinner to cards, where till evening, then to the office a little, and to cards again with them, and lost half-a-crowne. They being gone, my wife did tell me how my uncle did this day accost her alone, and spoke of his hoping she was with child, and kissing her earnestly told her he should be very glad of it, and from all circumstances methinks he do seem to have some intention of good to us, which I shall endeavour to continue more than ever I did yet. So to my office till late, and then home to bed, after being at prayers, which is the first time after my late vowe to say prayers in my family twice in every week.

chance is a wan meat

after cards
to cards again
lost as a kiss at prayers


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 12 January 1663/64.

Wanderlust

Waked this morning by 4 o’clock by my wife to call the mayds to their wash, and what through my sleeping so long last night and vexation for the lazy sluts lying so long again and their great wash, neither my wife nor I could sleep one winke after that time till day, and then I rose and by coach (taking Captain Grove with me and three bottles of Tent, which I sent to Mrs. Lane by my promise on Saturday night last) to White Hall, and there with the rest of our company to the Duke and did our business, and thence to the Tennis Court till noon, and there saw several great matches played, and so by invitation to St. James’s; where, at Mr. Coventry’s chamber, I dined with my Lord Barkeley, Sir G. Carteret, Sir Edward Turner, Sir Ellis Layton, and one Mr. Seymour, a fine gentleman; were admirable good discourse of all sorts, pleasant and serious.
Thence after dinner to White Hall, where the Duke being busy at the Guinny business, the Duke of Albemarle, Sir W. Rider, Povy, Sir J. Lawson and I to the Duke of Albemarle’s lodgings, and there did some business, and so to the Court again, and I to the Duke of York’s lodgings, where the Guinny company are choosing their assistants for the next year by ballotting. Thence by coach with Sir J. Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, he set me down at Cornhill, but, Lord! the simple discourse that all the way we had, he magnifying his great undertakings and cares that have been upon him for these last two years, and how he commanded the city to the content of all parties, when the loggerhead knows nothing almost that is sense.
Thence to the Coffee-house, whither comes Sir W. Petty and Captain Grant, and we fell in talke (besides a young gentleman, I suppose a merchant, his name Mr. Hill, that has travelled and I perceive is a master in most sorts of musique and other things) of musique; the universal character; art of memory; Granger’s counterfeiting of hands and other most excellent discourses to my great content, having not been in so good company a great while, and had I time I should covet the acquaintance of that Mr. Hill.
This morning I stood by the King arguing with a pretty Quaker woman, that delivered to him a desire of hers in writing. The King showed her Sir J. Minnes, as a man the fittest for her quaking religion, saying that his beard was the stiffest thing about him, and again merrily said, looking upon the length of her paper, that if all she desired was of that length she might lose her desires; she modestly saying nothing till he begun seriously to discourse with her, arguing the truth of his spirit against hers; she replying still with these words, “O King!” and thou’d him all along.
The general talke of the towne still is of Collonell Turner, about the robbery; who, it is thought, will be hanged.
I heard the Duke of York tell to-night, how letters are come that fifteen are condemned for the late plot by the judges at York; and, among others, Captain Oates, against whom it was proved that he drew his sword at his going out, and flinging away the scabbard, said that he would either return victor or be hanged.
So home, where I found the house full of the washing and my wife mighty angry about Will’s being here to-day talking with her mayds, which she overheard, idling of their time, and he telling what a good mayd my old Jane was, and that she would never have her like again. At which I was angry, and after directing her to beat at least the little girl, I went to the office and there reproved Will, who told me that he went thither by my wife’s order, she having commanded him to come thither on Monday morning. Now God forgive me! how apt I am to be jealous of her as to this fellow, and that she must needs take this time, when she knows I must be gone out to the Duke, though methinks had she that mind she would never think it discretion to tell me this story of him, to let me know that he was there, much less to make me offended with him, to forbid him coming again. But this cursed humour I cannot cool in myself by all the reason I have, which God forgive me for, and convince me of the folly of it, and the disquiet it brings me.
So home, where, God be thanked, when I came to speak to my wife my trouble of mind soon vanished, and to bed. The house foul with the washing and quite out of order against to-morrow’s dinner.

the tower knows nothing of the hill

travel is a sort of music
counterfeiting hands and discourses

not fit for paper that still word away

like a man gone out
of his quiet mind


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 11 January 1663/64.