Night music

Up betimes and to my office, where setting down my journall while I was in the country to this day, and at noon by water to my Lord Crew’s, and there dined with him and Sir Thomas, thinking to have them inquire something about my Lord’s lodgings at Chelsey, or any thing of that sort, but they did not, nor seem to take the least notice of it, which is their discretion, though it might be better for my Lord and them too if they did, that so we might advise together for the best, which cannot be while we seem ignorant one to another, and it is not fit for me to begin the discourse. Thence walked to several places about business and to Westminster Hall, thinking to meet Mrs. Lane, which is my great vanity upon me at present, but I must correct it. She was not in the way.
So by water home and to my office, whither by and by came my brother John, who is to go to Cambridge to-morrow, and I did give him a most severe reprimand for his bad account he gives me of his studies. This I did with great passion and sharp words, which I was sorry to be forced to say, but that I think it for his good, forswearing doing anything for him, and that which I have yet, and now do give him, is against my heart, and will also be hereafter, till I do see him give me a better account of his studies. I was sorry to see him give me no answer, but, for aught I see, to hear me without great resentment, and such as I should have had: in his condition. But I have done my duty, let him do his, for I am resolved to be as good as my word. After two hours walking in the garden, till after it was dark, I ended with him and to my office, and there set some papers in order, and so to supper, and my poor wife, who is mighty busy at home; fitting her closet. So to bed.

they did not seem to take
the least notice of it

did not seem fit for it
the great harp

that I hear in the garden
after dark


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 23 September 1663.

Writ: Habeas corpus

A whisper carries a long way.
That’s why we are taught
to confide only in what
cannot make reflections.
There is no such thing
as an empty field—
The wind tests its blades
when you least expect it.
Do you love your country?
When did you last see
your little boy?
The blindfold fills
your head with cricket
sounds. Somewhere close
to your cheek, you know
a cigarette smolders.
Someone asks if it’s true
about the size of a water-
melon and a human head.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Killing field.

Quixote at home

I up, well refreshed after my journey, and to my office and there set some things in order, and then Sir W. Pen and I met and held an office, and at noon to dinner, and so by water with my wife to Westminster, she to see her father and mother, and we met again at my Lord’s lodgings, and thence by water home again, where at the door we met Sir W. Pen and his daughter coming to visit us, and after their visit I to my office, and after some discourse to my great satisfaction with Sir W. Warren about our bargain of masts, I wrote my letters by the post, and so home to supper and to bed.
This day my wife showed me bills printed, wherein her father, with Sir John Collidon and Sir Edward Ford, have got a patent for curing of smoky chimneys. I wish they may do good thereof, but fear it will prove but a poor project.
This day the King and Queen are to come to Oxford. I hear my Lady Castlemaine is for certain gone to Oxford to meet him, having lain within here at home this week or two, supposed to have miscarried; but for certain is as great in favour as heretofore; at least Mrs. Sarah at my Lord’s, who hears all from their own family, do say so.
Every day brings newes of the Turke’s advance into Germany, to the awakeing of all the Christian Princes thereabouts, and possessing himself of Hungary. My present care is fitting my wife’s closett and my house, and making her a velvet coate, and me a new black cloth suit, and coate and cloake, and evening my reckoning as well as I can against Michaelmas Day, hoping for all that to have my balance as great or greater than ever I had yet.

after my journey
the door is great as a wish

but poor as the prince of a closet
and a new black cloak


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 22 September 1663.

Killing field

Up very betimes by break of day, and got my wife up, whom the thought of this day’s long journey do discourage; and after eating something, and changing of a piece of gold to pay the reckoning, we mounted, and through Baldwicke, where a fayre is kept to-day, and a great one for cheese and other such commodities, and so to Hatfield, it being most curious weather from the time we set out to our getting home, and here we dined, and my wife being very weary, and believing that it would be hard to get her home to-night, and a great charge to keep her longer abroad, I took the opportunity of an empty coach that was to go to London, and left her to come in it to London, for half-a-crown, and so I and the boy home as fast as we could drive, and it was even night before we got home. So that I account it very good fortune that we took this course, being myself very weary, much more would my wife have been. At home found all very well and my house in good order. To see Sir W. Pen, who is pretty well, and Sir J. Minnes, who is a little lame on one foot, and the rest gone to Chatham, viz.: Sir G. Carteret and Sir W. Batten, who has in my absence inveighed against my contract the other day for Warren’s masts, in which he is a knave, and I shall find matter of tryumph, but it vexes me a little. So home, and by and by comes my wife by coach well home, and having got a good fowl ready for supper against her coming, we eat heartily, and so with great content and ease to our own bed, there nothing appearing so to our content as to be at our own home, after being abroad awhile.

the field at night
empty as good fortune

who is a little lame
on one foot

who has an owl ready for supper
in her heart


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 21 September 1663.

Flood City

This is the street
that yesterday had a four-

way intersection. The side
roads ferry a flotilla

of migrant ducks.
The students are happy

that classes have been canceled;
they get to wear their cute

raincoats and wellies
in jellybean colors;

and the coffee shop
is still open, serving cups

of coffee and soup.
Meanwhile if you parked

in a lot that historically
swells with more than six

inches of water, don’t be
surprised to find your car

either submerged or carried
away. I stay indoors

in my house on this island,
and you stay in yours. Meanwhile

the mailman wades with his bag
of letters, his parcels

that he wraps in plastic
before leaving them at the door.

Meanwhile, we listen to the news.
We know it must be really bad

if the Navy moves its fleet
out to the open sea.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Rainy season.

Rainy season

(Lord’s day). Up, and finding my father somewhat better, walked to Huntingdon church, where in my Lord’s pew, with the young ladies, by my Lord’s own showing me the place, I stayed the sermon, and so to Hinchingbroke, walking with Mr. Shepley and Dr. King, whom they account a witty man here, as well as a good physician, and there my Lord took me with the rest of the company, and singly demanded my opinion in the walks in his garden, about the bringing of the crooked wall on the mount to a shape; and so to dinner, there being Collonel Williams and much other company, and a noble dinner. But having before got my Lord’s warrant for travelling to-day, there being a proclamation read yesterday against it at Huntingdon, at which I am very glad, I took leave, leaving them at dinner, and walked alone to my father’s, and there, after a word or two to my father and mother, my wife and I mounted, and, with my father’s boy, upon a horse I borrowed of Captain Ferrers, we rode to Bigglesworth by the help of a couple of countrymen, that led us through the very long and dangerous waters, because of the ditches on each side, though it begun to be very dark, and there we had a good breast of mutton roasted for us, and supped, and to bed.

what wing broke a pinion in the garden

I am hunting a word to help us
through the long waters
on each side the east


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 20 September 1663.

Word Search

Do you know those squares crammed
with letters where you have to find

hidden words— across, up, down, diagonally,
in reverse? The first one your eye lights on

supposedly tells of your most scintillating
trait. But I doubt you’ll find (1) second

language speaker (2) foreign born (3) rice-
eater (4) linked to endemic infections

(5) I thought you were the maid or (6)
I hope your family isn’t in the path

of the latest hurricane. In fact,
there are no words over five

letters. You won’t be able to talk
about catastrophe, the feudal

agrarian economy, or who owns
the Spratly Islands. But there are

other words, words waiting
like mines in a field for you

to touch them, and then they implode:
Hinge. Home. Ginger flower. Monsoon.

Forest moth

Up pretty betimes, and after eating something, we set out and I (being willing thereto) went by a mistake with them to St. Ives, and there, it being known that it was their nearer way to London, I took leave of them there, they going straight to London and I to Brampton, where I find my father ill in bed still, and Madam Norbery (whom and her fair daughter and sister I was ashamed to kiss, but did, my lip being sore with riding in the wind and bit with the gnatts), lately come to town, come to see my father and mother, and they after a little stay being gone, I told my father my success. And after dinner my wife and I took horse, and rode with marvellous, and the first and only hour of, pleasure, that ever I had in this estate since I had to do with it, to Brampton woods; and through the wood rode, and gathered nuts in my way, and then at Graffam to an old woman’s house to drink, where my wife used to go; and being in all circumstances highly pleased, and in my wife’s riding and good company at this time, I rode, and she showed me the river behind my father’s house, which is very pleasant, and so saw her home, and I straight to Huntingdon, and there met Mr. Shepley and to the Crown (having sent home my horse by Stankes), and there a barber came and trimmed me, and thence walked to Hinchingbroke, where my Lord and ladies all are just alighted. And so I in among them, and my Lord glad to see me, and the whole company. Here I staid and supped with them, and after a good stay talking, but yet observing my Lord not to be so mightily ingulphed in his pleasure in the country as I expected and hoped, I took leave of them, and after a walk in the courtyard in the dark with Mr. Howe, who tells me that my Lord do not enjoy himself and please himself as he used to do, but will hasten up to London, and that he is resolved to go to Chelsey again, which we are heartily grieved for and studious how to prevent if it be possible, I took horse, there being one appointed for me, and a groom to attend me, and so home, where my wife staid up and sister for me, and so to bed, troubled for what I hear of my Lord.

a moth in the woods is her own light

serving not the expected dark joy

but haste and a heart studious to be a room


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 19 September 1663.

Rehearsing

In the car, driving
between errands, I practice
talking to the air. I pretend
the stop light is a sentinel
requiring a password.
It changes frequently, sometimes
from block to block in the same
day. It does not care
whether I cleaned the toilet
or if, at my age, I have read
all of Swann’s Way
or Ulysses or the great
classics of western philosophy.
It does not want to know
if I went to church on Sunday;
or if I handed fruit or a dollar bill
to the man holding up a Please help,
anything will do
sign
at the intersection of City Hall
and Granby. It does not say
whether what I throw with my voice
is caught in a basket on the other end;
who I’m speaking with, or whether
I am a fool driving around in circles,
driving across the bridge,
driving farther into the country
where every hour is a gradual
purpling that shades into winter.
Should I worry about the messes
left behind, about who will pick up
after? I peer through the dusty,
bird-poop spattered windshield.
Should I write down instructions
in a notebook, should I leave
these somewhere they will be
impossible to miss? In the old
stories, the gods or saints decide
one day to go on a meander that lasts
decades. They never ask anyone’s
permission, they never think
of details like rent or taxes
or child support. They come back
when they’re finally tired
or bored or have run out
of places to conquer.
Unlike them, I’m no one
important: so I practice talking
my way through passage,
every opportunity I can.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Homeless.

Homeless

Up, and got our people together as soon as we could; and after eating a dish of cold cream, which was my supper last night too, we took leave of our beggarly company, though they seem good people, too; and over most sad Fenns, all the way observing the sad life which the people of the place which if they be born there, they do call the Breedlings’ of the place, do live, sometimes rowing from one spot to another, and then wadeing, to Wisbeach, a pretty town, and a fine church and library, where sundry very old abbey manuscripts; and a fine house, built on the church ground by Secretary Thurlow, and a fine gallery built for him in the church, but now all in the Bishop of Ely’s hands. After visiting the church, &c., we went out of the towne, by the help of a stranger, to find out one Blinkhorne, a miller, of whom we might inquire something of old Day’s disposal of his estate, and in whose hands it now is; and by great chance we met him, and brought him to our inn to dinner; and instead of being informed in his estate by this fellow, we find that he is the next heir to the estate, which was matter, of great sport to my cozen Thomas and me, to see such a fellow prevent us in our hopes, he being Day’s brother’s, daughter’s son, whereas we are but his sister’s sons and grandsons; so that, after all, we were fain to propose our matter to him, and to get him to give us leave to look after the business, and so he to have one-third part, and we two to have the other two-third parts, of what should be recovered of the estate, which he consented to; and after some discourse and paying the reckoning, we mounted again, and rode, being very merry at our defeat, to Chatteris, my uncle very weary, and after supper, and my telling of three stories, to their good liking, of spirits, we all three in a chamber went to bed.

a beggar in the library
dry old manuscripts of hands

in the church of no chance
we find him telling stories to the spirits


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 18 September 1663.