Posts

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Pimp

Up before 4 o’clock, which is the hour I intend now to rise at, and to my office a while, and with great pleasure I fell to my business again. Anon went with money to my tar merchant to pay for the tar, which he refuses to sell me; but now the master is come home, and so he speaks very civilly, and I believe we shall have it with peace. I brought back my money to my office, and thence to White Hall, and in the garden spoke to my Lord Sandwich, who is in his gold-buttoned suit, as the mode is, and looks nobly. Captain Ferrers, I see, is come home from France. I only spoke one word to him, my Lord being there. He tells me the young gentlemen are well there; so my Lord went to my Lord Albemarle’s to dinner, and I by water home and dined alone, and at the office (after half an hour’s viallin practice after dinner) till late at night, and so home and to bed.
This day I sent my cozen Edward Pepys his Lady, at my cozen Turner’s, a piece of venison given me yesterday, and Madam Turner I sent for a dozen bottles of her’s, to fill with wine for her.
This day I met with Pierce the surgeon, who tells me that the King has made peace between Mr. Edward Montagu and his father Lord Montagu, and that all is well again; at which; for the family’s sake, I am very glad, but do not think it will hold long.

the pleasure merchant
in his gold-buttoned suit

is only gentle alone late at night
a bottle to fill with wine


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 17 June 1663.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Vicarious

Up, but not so early as I intend now, and to my office, where doing business all the morning. At noon by desire I dined with Sir W. Batten, who tells me that the House have voted the supply, intended for the King, shall be by subsidy. After dinner with Sir J. Minnes to see some pictures at Brewer’s, said to be of good hands, but I do not like them. So I to the office and thence to Stacy’s, his Tar merchant, whose servant with whom I agreed yesterday for some tar do by combination with Bowyer and Hill fall from our agreement, which vexes us all at the office, even Sir W. Batten, who was so earnest for it. So to the office, where we sat all the afternoon till night, and then to Sir W. Pen, who continues ill, and so to bed about 10 o’clock.

I tend to my desire
with pictures of hands

like a tar merchant
greedy for the night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 16 June 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

Discussion

“When I say you are dreaming, so am I.” ~ Chuang Tzu

Why don’t you ever come along
to the parties? They’re a lot of fun

you know. That’s how you meet people.
Maybe someone that even matters. And why

must you wear long sleeves all the time?
It’s not a crime to show some skin.

I had a roommate who felt coming here
after Tienanmen was an accomplishment;

and she said she wasn’t even political.
I heard she changed her name and got

married. Why must you be so serious
all the time? Skip the rest

of the book that no one intends
to read. Look around you at all

the listless shoulders, the way
bodies fold like cold bacon

in their seats. The glazed eyes
show you they’re already gone,

somewhere under a parasol,
cultivating a beach tan.

 

In response to Via Negativa: In lieu of flowers.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Healths

Up betimes, and anon my wife rose and did give me her keys, and put other things in order and herself against going this morning into the country. I was forced to go to Thames Street and strike up a bargain for some tarr, to prevent being abused therein by Hill, who was with me this morning, and is mightily surprised that I should tell him what I can have the same tarr with his for. Thence home, but finding my wife gone, I took coach and after her to her inn, where I am troubled to see her forced to sit in the back of the coach, though pleased to see her company none but women and one parson; she I find is not troubled at all, and I seemed to make a promise to get a horse and ride after them; and so, kissing her often, and Ashwell once, I bid them adieu. So home by coach, and thence by water to Deptford to the Trinity House, where I came a little late; but I found them reading their charter, which they did like fools, only reading here and there a bit, whereas they ought to do it all, every word, and then proceeded to the election of a maister, which was Sir W. Batten, without any control, who made a heavy, short speech to them, moving them to give thanks to the late Maister for his pains, which he said was very great, and giving them thanks for their choice of him, wherein he would serve them to the best of his power. Then to the choice of their assistants and wardens, and so rose. I might have received 2s. 6d. as a younger Brother, but I directed one of the servants of the House to receive it and keep it.
Thence to church, where Dr. Britton preached a sermon full of words against the Nonconformists, but no great matter in it, nor proper for the day at all. His text was, “With one mind and one mouth give glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
That done, by water, I in the barge with the Maister, to the Trinity House at London; where, among others, I found my Lords Sandwich and Craven, and my cousin Roger Pepys, and Sir Wm. Wheeler. Anon we sat down to dinner, which was very great, as they always have. Great variety of talk. Mr. Prin, among many, had a pretty tale of one that brought in a bill in parliament for the empowering him to dispose his land to such children as he should have that should bear the name of his wife. It was in Queen Elizabeth’s time. One replied that there are many species of creatures where the male gives the denomination to both sexes, as swan and woodcock, but not above one where the female do, and that is a goose.
Both at and after dinner we had great discourses of the nature and power of spirits, and whether they can animate dead bodies; in all which, as of the general appearance of spirits, my Lord Sandwich is very scepticall. He says the greatest warrants that ever he had to believe any, is the present appearing of the Devil in Wiltshire, much of late talked of, who beats a drum up and down. There are books of it, and, they say, very true; but my Lord observes, that though he do answer to any tune that you will play to him upon another drum, yet one tune he tried to play and could not; which makes him suspect the whole; and I think it is a good argument.
Sometimes they talked of handsome women, and Sir J. Minnes saying that there was no beauty like what he sees in the country-markets, and specially at Bury, in which I will agree with him that there is a prettiest women I ever saw. My Lord replied thus: “Sir John, what do you think of your neighbour’s wife?” looking upon me. “Do you not think that he hath a great beauty to his wife? Upon my word he hath.” Which I was not a little proud of.
Thence by barge with my Lord to Blackfriars, where we landed and I thence walked home, where vexed to find my boy (whom I boxed at his coming for it) and Will abroad, though he was but upon Tower Hill a very little while.
My head akeing with the healths I was forced to drink to-day I sent for the barber, and he having done, I up to my wife’s closett, and there played on my viallin a good while, and without supper anon to bed, sad for want of my wife, whom I love with all my heart, though of late she has given me some troubled thoughts.

in order to prevent surprise
we read like fools
only here and there a bit

and without moving
to give thanks for pain
or the power of a rose

preach a sermon full of rope
text with one mind
and one mouth

give glory
to the great variety of creatures
that animate dead bodies

ants like little friars
where I walk head aching
with the healths I was forced to drink


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 15 June 1663.

Posted on by Jean Morris

Louise Labé – Sonnet XIV

This entry is part 1 of 7 in the series Louise Labé
Vermeer – Woman with a Lute
Vermeer – Woman with a Lute

As long as these old eyes can fill with tears,
reliving some sweet hour I spent with you,
and this old voice can hold a tune through all
my sighs and sobs and still be faintly heard,

as long as this old hand can pluck the strings
of my beloved lute, pick out your song,
as long as this old spirit can still yearn
for that complicity we used to share,

I’m far from feeling that I want to die.
But come the time I find myself dry-eyed,
with broken voice and hand too weak to play

a note, my spirit shrinking in its mortal frame,
no longer capable of any sign of love,
I’ll beckon Death to dim my brightest day.


Tant que mes yeus pourront larmes espandre,
A l’heur passé avec toy regretter:
Et qu’aus sanglots & soupirs resister
Pourra ma voix, & un peu faire entendre:

Tant que ma main pourra les cordes tendre
Du mignart Lut, pour tes graces chanter:
Tant que l’esprit se voudra contenter
De ne vouloir rien fors que toy comprendre:

Je ne souhaitte encore point mourir.
Mais quand mes yeus je sentiray tarir,
Ma voix cassée, & ma main impuissante,

Et mon esprit en ce mortel séjour
Ne pouvant plus montrer signe d’amante:
Prirey la Mort noircir mon plus cler jour.

 

With thanks to Dave and Via Negativa for encouragement and inspiration over the past year.

Written in the mid-16th century, this well expresses how I feel about starting, and continuing, latish in life, to write and translate poetry.

Louise Labé in Wikipedia

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

What can you do with day old bread?

Cut leftover loaves
into cubes like dice and toast them.

Tear the bread apart with your hands
and put the debris in a brown paper bag.

Take it out to the park
or the square and find a bench.

Take it to the edge of the beach
and walk away from the summer crowds.

Offer handfuls to the pigeons,
the gulls, an indifferent wind.

Reconstitute the dry crust and heel—
Sifted with fine volcanic ash,

render an ink that smells of ovens.
Powdered and mixed with gold dust,

think of the many discarded saints
whose haloes might be refurbished.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Inner city.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

In lieu of flowers

(Lord’s day). Lay long in bed. So up and to church. Then to dinner, and Tom dined with me, who I think grows a very thriving man, as he himself tells me.
He tells me that his man John has got a wife, and for that he intends to part with him, which I am sorry for, and then that Mr. Armiger comes to be a constant lodger at his house, and he says has money in his purse and will be a good paymaster, but I do much doubt it.
He being gone, I up and sending my people to church, my wife and I did even our reckonings, and had a great deal of serious talk, wherein I took occasion to give her hints of the necessity of our saving all we can. I do see great cause every day to curse the time that ever I did give way to the taking of a woman for her, though I could never have had a better, and also the letting of her learn to dance, by both which her mind is so devilishly taken off her business and minding her occasions, and besides has got such an opinion in her of my being jealous, that it is never to be removed, I fear, nor hardly my trouble that attends it; but I must have patience.
I did give her 40s. to carry into the country tomorrow with her, whereof 15s. is to go for the coach-hire for her and Ashwell, there being 20s. paid here already in earnest.
In the evening our discourse turned to great content and love, and I hope that after a little forgetting our late differences, and being a while absent one from another, we shall come to agree as well as ever.
So to Sir W. Pen’s to visit him, and finding him alone, sent for my wife, who is in her riding-suit, to see him, which she hath not done these many months I think. By and by in comes Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten, and so we sat talking. Among other things, Sir J. Minnes brought many fine expressions of Chaucer, which he doats on mightily, and without doubt he is a very fine poet.
Sir W. Pen continues lame of the gout, that he cannot rise from his chair. So after staying an hour with him, we went home and to supper, and so to prayers and bed.

as constant as doubt
the necessity of an everyday curse

though the devil must have patience
tomorrow is for ash and forgetting

and being a poet
he cannot stay an hour


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 14 June 1663.

Posted on by Dave Bonta

Inner city

screenshot of the erasure poem

Up and betimes to Thames Street among the tarr men, to look the price of tarr and so by water to Whitehall thinking to speak with Sir G. Carteret, but he lying in the city all night, and meeting with Mr. Cutler the merchant, I with him in his coach into the city to Sir G. Carteret, but missing him there, he and I walked to find him at Sir Tho. Allen’s in Bread Street, where not finding him he and I walked towards our office, he discoursing well of the business of the Navy, and particularly of the victualling, in which he was once I perceive concerned, and he and I parted and I to the office and there had a difference with Sir W. Batten about Mr. Bowyer’s tarr, which I am resolved to cross, though he sent me last night, as a bribe, a barrel of sturgeon, which, it may be, I shall send back, for I will not have the King abused so abominably in the price of what we buy, by Sir W. Batten’s corruption and underhand dealing. So from the office, Mr. Wayth with me, to the Parliament House, and there I spoke and told Sir G. Carteret all, with which he is well pleased, and do recall his willingness yesterday, it seems, to Sir W. Batten, that we should buy a great quantity of tarr, being abused by him.
Thence with Mr. Wayth after drinking a cupp of ale at the Swan, talking of the corruption of the Navy, by water. I landed him at Whitefriars, and I to the Exchange, and so home to dinner, where I found my wife’s brother, and thence after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre, where I resolved to bid farewell, as shall appear by my oaths tomorrow against all plays either at publique houses or Court till Christmas be over.
Here we saw “The Faithfull Sheepheardesse,” a most simple thing, and yet much thronged after, and often shown, but it is only for the scenes’ sake, which is very fine indeed and worth seeing; but I am quite out of opinion with any of their actings, but Lacy’s, compared with the other house.
Thence to see Mrs. Hunt, which we did and were much made of; and in our way saw my Lady Castlemaine, who, I fear, is not so handsome as I have taken her for, and now she begins to decay something. This is my wife’s opinion also, for which I am sorry. Thence by coach, with a mad coachman, that drove like mad, and down byeways, through Bucklersbury home, everybody through the street cursing him, being ready to run over them. So home, and after writing letters by the post, home to supper and bed.
Yesterday, upon conference with the King in the Banqueting House, the Parliament did agree with much ado, it being carried but by forty-two voices, that they would supply him with a sum of money; but what and how is not yet known, but expected to be done with great disputes the next week. But if done at all, it is well.

in the city is a city missing bread
for the swan on the water

but the other made of fear
begins to decay like mad

the street cursing in 42 voices
that money is not to eat


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 13 June 1663.

Posted on by Luisa A. Igloria

She remembers her father’s blue eyes

In a country of dark-eyed men
his eyes were anomaly—

Cloudy blue like stones dredged
from the river’s shallow depths,

myth of a town somewhere in Spain
that gave him his middle name.

He was stern as a citadel
or a fortress on a hill,

then disarming as the old-
world charm of a soft wax seal.

Childless forty years before she
came along, broken open he curated

every simple line drawing,
doted on her childish scrawl.

Her declamations and arpeggios
were dedicated to him, paragon

of perfection, industrious at
virtue. Even now, at the whiff

of Old Spice or English Leather,
she straightens her spine, checks

the angle of the ruler; lays
the curve of letters on paper

before carefully blotting
the fountain pen’s tip.