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Posted on by Dave Bonta

Interrogation

Up and to my office a little, and then to Brown’s for my measuring rule, which is made, and is certainly the best and the most commodious for carrying in one’s pocket, and most useful that ever was made, and myself have the honour of being as it were the inventor of this form of it. Here I staid discoursing an hour with him and then home, and thither came Dr Fairbrother to me, and we walked a while together in the garden and then abroad into the cittie, and then we parted for a while and I to my Viall, which I find done and once varnished, and it will please me very well when it is quite varnished.
Thence home and to study my new rule till my head aked cruelly. So by and by to dinner and the Doctor and Mr. Creed came to me.
The Doctor’s discourse, which (though he be a very good-natured man) is but simple, was some sport to me and Creed, though my head akeing I took no great pleasure in it.
We parted after dinner, and I walked to Deptford and there found Sir W. Pen, and I fell to measuring of some planks that was serving into the yard, which the people took notice of, and the measurer himself was amused at, for I did it much more ready than he, and I believe Sir W. Pen would be glad I could have done less or he more.
By and by he went away and I staid walking up and down, discoursing with the officers of the yard of several things, and so walked back again, and on my way young Bagwell and his wife waylayd me to desire my favour about getting him a better ship, which I shall pretend to be willing to do for them, but my mind is to know his wife a little better.
They being parted I went with Cadbury the mast maker to view a parcel of good masts which I think it were good to buy, and resolve to speak to the board about it.
So home, and my brother John and I up and I to my musique, and then to discourse with him, and I find him not so thorough a philosopher, at least in Aristotle, as I took him for, he not being able to tell me the definition of final nor which of the 4 Qualitys belonged to each of the 4 Elements.
So to prayers, and to bed, among other things being much satisfied with my new rule.

the best and most
commodious pocket
is a simple head

I took to measuring the measurer
discoursing with the mind
about discourse

and I find him
not so thorough a philosopher
not being satisfied with my rule


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 August 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Viewing

“…So make each grain a universe,
each universe an origin that billows into next and next” ~ Daniel Tobin

The living take
pictures of the dead
lying in state— the form

they’ve left behind,
the body’s wrappers held
in place a few more days

before the crematorium’s heat
or fertile soil usher the cells
into the mystery of their afterlife.

Stiff and posed in pleats
of satin, flower-framed within
the box of metal or of pine:

as if they know to suffer this
one more nicety before taking
to the open road.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Remains

There’s the piano bought for the child
more than four decades ago, upright

though warped and long untuned.
I can still smell the resin

in the wood, but where’s the pleasure
of the song once pressed to the keys,

which the mother rehearsed
each evening? Fingers released

their energy to the string— and out
rolled a note, out through the levers

and dampers and bushing, into the billow
of the ear. Too many seasons of rain,

too much counting, worrying, accounting.
The living have joined the dead,

the dead no longer need to believe in dreams.
Words don’t die, do they? And who needs to use up

happiness? Ashes go back into the earth to become
trees, become feathered horn-beetle’s eyelashes.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Planetoid.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Schematic

Beneath the downspout,
a hollow gouged by the rain.

I hear the drips that begin
on the roof, that slide

down the windowpanes.
The gutter spills

what it can’t carry all
by itself down copper

chimes; and it’s true,
what washes one part

of the world could cover
the world. The river floods

its banks, and in a day
or so we hope it recedes.

Why not love again
like each moment

is astonishment? Why not lie
in each other’s arms in the soft

blue room formed by rain,
in the echo of its copious sounds?

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Letters from the time to come

In the night, the wind soughs;
and the mournful note of a foghorn
cuts through flannels of sleep.

Or is it the sound made by the sea?
Is it my imagination, or have the trees
already lightened, their burden of leaves

this early begun to sift earthward?
Waking after rain to sidewalks stippled
with torn sheets of crepe myrtle

and their nearly illegible writing: one
signature overlaps another, so it is
impossible to tell rune from ruin.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Needle at the bottom of the sea

“When you pluck the needle from the bottom of the sea, it means a transformation of human destiny.” ~ Tai Chi Ch’uan

The women in the park gather
to braid whips out of air: together

they windmill the idea of clouds
as though they were portals

to another world not made
out of weapons and tears.

Who holds the keys to kingdoms
and countries with no names,

where no despots or madmen reign?
In the mail, once, I received

a twist of silk, a scarf the color
of flame. Unseamed, it weighed next

to nothing in my hands, not even
when circled around my neck.

And I understand perfectly
how we weigh next to nothing too

in the grand scheme of things—
Yet we look for the slightest

tremble in the bones of the fallen
bird, for the dead to be returned

their souls; for the fist of a bud
to crack through a sea of stone.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

whither the body, which I am now

“…Since [Duterte] took office just over a month ago, more than 420 people have been killed, 154 by vigilantes, the rest by the military and the police. …All were murdered in cold blood.” ~ The New York Times, 5 August 2016

and whither the soul
which I become uncertain of

is it the watery star
of the squid’s tentacles

that elusive bouquet
trawling and luring

in time with the tide
is it the star

that seals its mouth
upon the dust of every

bloodstained road
or the prayer breathed

through yellowed curtains
and widows’ veils

whither the soul’s shanty
in these dark times,

in those dark streets
where bodies perish

where their splayed limbs
form dark pointed stars

whither the good breath
the body used to make

snuffed out gone under lips
stitched shut— what mute

star could witness now
without recourse to law

 

In response to Via Negativa: Vessel.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Cheer

Up and was angry with my maid Hannah for keeping the house no better, it being more dirty now-a-days than ever it was while my whole family was together.
So to my office, whither Mr. Coventry came and Sir William Pen, and we sat all the morning. This day Mr. Coventry borrowed of me my manuscript of the Navy.
At noon I to the ‘Change, and meeting with Sir W. Warren, to a coffee-house, and there finished a contract with him for the office, and so parted, and I to my cozen Mary Joyce’s at a gossiping, where much company and good cheer. There was the King’s Falconer, that lives by Paul’s, and his wife, an ugly pusse, but brought him money. He speaking of the strength of hawkes, which will strike a fowle to the ground with that force that shall make the fowle rebound a great way from ground, which no force of man or art can do, but it was very pleasant to hear what reasons he and another, one Ballard, a rich man of the same Company of Leathersellers of which the Joyces are, did give for this. Ballard’s wife, a pretty and a very well-bred woman, I took occasion to kiss several times, and she to carve, drink, and show me great respect. After dinner to talk and laugh. I drank no wine, but sent for some water; the beer not being good. A fiddler was sent for, and there one Mrs. Lurkin, a neighbour, a good, and merry poor woman, but a very tall woman, did dance and show such tricks that made us all merry, but above all a daughter of Mr. Brumfield’s, black, but well-shaped and modest, did dance very well, which pleased me mightily. I begun the Duchess with her, but could not do it; but, however, I came off well enough, and made mighty much of her, kissing and leading her home, with her cozen Anthony and Kate Joyce (Kate being very handsome and well, that is, handsomely dressed to-day, and I grew mighty kind and familiar with her, and kissed her soundly, which she takes very well) to their house, and there I left them, having in our way, though nine o’clock at night, carried them into a puppet play in Lincolnes Inn Fields, where there was the story of Holofernes, and other clockwork, well done.
There was at this house today Mr. Lawrence, who did give the name, it seems, to my cozen Joyce’s child, Samuel, who is a very civil gentleman, and his wife a pretty woman, who, with Kate Joyce, were stewards of the feast to-day, and a double share cost for a man and a woman came to 16s., which I also would pay, though they would not by any means have had me do so. I walked home very well contented with this afternoon’s work, I thinking it convenient to keep in with the Joyces against a bad day, if I should have occasion to make use of them. So I walked home, and after a letter to my wife by the post and my father, I home to supper, and after a little talk with my brother to bed.

the cheer of hawks
a great way off

that familiar sound
in the east as I walk home


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 6 August 1663.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Vessel

All the morning at the office, whither Deane of Woolwich came to me and discoursed of the body of ships, which I am now going about to understand, and then I took him to the coffee-house, where he was very earnest against Mr. Grant’s report in favour of Sir W. Petty’s vessel, even to some passion on both sides almost.
So to the Exchange, and thence home to dinner with my brother, and in the afternoon to Westminster hall, and there found Mrs. Lane, and by and by by agreement we met at the Parliament stairs (in my way down to the boat who should meet us but my lady Jemimah, who saw me lead her but said nothing to me of her, though I ought to speak to her to see whether she would take notice of it or no) and off to Stangate and so to the King’s Head at Lambeth marsh, and had variety of meats and drinks, but I did so towse her and handled her, but could get nothing more from her though I was very near it; but as wanton and bucksome as she is she dares not adventure upon the business, in which I very much commend and like her.
Staid pretty late, and so over with her by water, and being in a great sweat with my towsing of her durst not go home by water, but took coach, and at home my brother and I fell upon Des Cartes, and I perceive he has studied him well, and I cannot find but he has minded his book, and do love it.
This evening came a letter about business from Mr. Coventry, and with it a silver pen he promised me to carry inke in, which is very necessary. So to prayers and to bed.

whither the body
which I am now

the coffee-house of passion
the stairs down to nothing

the head and meat
like a silver pen to carry ink in


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 5 August 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Ode to all forgotten countries

Scent of the beach swept clean, held
ready for arrivals or departures

Scent of the coast that greeted you
with arms of pine and needles of salt

Scent of the street where bread rose
in the early dark before the sun

Scent of the shrine where the Virgin
stood serene, lit by votive candles

Scent of the box of coins and the hands
that carried her from house to house

Scent of lightning in the hills, lingering
like a halo around each brown mushroom cap

Scent of the dead that sleep in the fields
and rise to trace ground tendrils’ wandering