Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Though there’s a short street in London named after him, the actual spot where Samuel Pepys lived and worked on Seething Lane has been converted into a garden—or had been. It’s now part of a massive construction site. The above poster appears on the hoarding. Continue reading “On the trail of Samuel Pepys”
Lay long talking in bed with my wife. Up, and Mr. Battersby, the apothecary, coming to see me, I called for the cold chine of beef and made him eat, and drink wine, and talked, there being with us Captain Brewer, the paynter, who tells me how highly the Presbyters do talk in the coffeehouses still, which I wonder at. They being gone I walked two or three hours with my brother Tom, telling him my mind how it is troubled about my father’s concernments, and how things would be with them all if it should please God that I should die, and therefore desire him to be a good husband and follow his business, which I hope he do. At noon to dinner, and after dinner my wife began to talk of a woman again, which I have a mind to have, and would be glad Pall might please us, but she is quite against having her, nor have I any great mind to it, but only for her good and to save money flung away upon a stranger. So to my office till 9 o’clock about my navy manuscripts, and there troubled in my mind more and more about my uncle’s business from a letter come this day from my father that tells me that all his tenants are sued by my uncle, which will cost me some new trouble, I went home to supper and so to bed.
cold coffee
I wonder how things would be
if I should die
Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 16 January 1662/63.
Up and to my office preparing things, by and by we met and sat Mr. Coventry and I till noon, and then I took him to dine with me, I having a wild goose roasted, and a cold chine of beef and a barrel of oysters. We dined alone in my chamber, and then he and I to fit ourselves for horseback, he having brought me a horse; and so to Deptford, the ways being very dirty. There we walked up and down the Yard and Wett Dock, and did our main business, which was to examine the proof of our new way of the call-books, which we think will be of great use. And so to horse again, and I home with his horse, leaving him to go over the fields to Lambeth, his boy at my house taking home his horse.
I vexed, having left my keys in my other pocket in my chamber, and my door is shut, so that I was forced to set my boy in at the window, which done I shifted myself, and so to my office till late, and then home to supper, my mind being troubled about Field’s business and my uncle’s, which the term coming on I must think to follow again. So to prayers and to bed, and much troubled in mind this night in my dreams about my uncle Thomas and his son going to law with us.
we fit ourselves to the dirt
walk down the mine
having left my keys to the field
in a dream
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 15 January 1662/63.
Visiting my hometown for 3 weeks this past summer, I stayed
with my youngest daughter in a hotel whose name made me think
of a famous poet from Santiago de Chuco. Built in 1909,
much of the architecture was still the same—
slate-colored shingles angled as if on purpose against weeks
of pouring rain; dark wooden interiors, thin, uninsulated walls
that barely kept out the cold. I had to ask for an extra blanket
at the front desk, and the girl on duty said shyly, Extra
30, Ma’am. I asked Dollars? per day? At which
she shook her head— No, pesos, 30 only one time, Ma’am.
Then later, knocked softly to bring a thin blanket that felt
like Military wool. I thought mostly of my grandfather Lorenzo,
who mother says came to work here as a cook when he was only 19,
and stayed 5 years. This was during Peacetime, before WWII.
I don’t know how old Lorenzo was when my mother was born
in the city, but I do know they lived for a time
in Jungletown, parts of which I could glimpse from the windows
of the hotel dining room. Each morning, when we made our way
to breakfast down the graceful curving staircase, I saw
the wait staff quietly going about their business—
buffing the floors, pouring coffee, bringing trays
of bread or mountain rice, platters of eggs and venison
or eggs and local sausages or dried fish. I sent back
the sugar and milk, I asked for bottled water; I asked
for local honey, for finger bowls of onions and fresh
tomatoes, for cup after cup of brewed Benguet coffee—
just to extend the time we could have for small
conversation. One of our regulars, so boyish
in face and slight in the loose grey colonial
porter styled uniform, told us the day before we left
that his name was Choco; he would not see us again,
because his baby was sick and he was taking the next
day off. You have a baby? I would never have guessed,
I said. He smiled and said he was a Communication graduate,
but could not yet find a better job; and had a wife
and child to support. I settled our bill and left
what I hoped was a generous tip. The rain never once
let up during our visit; and I never saw the ghost
of Lorenzo in the musty hallways, never saw hint of the one
white suit he liked to wear, his very own signature.
Lay very long in bed, till with shame forced to rise, being called up by Mr. Bland about business. He being gone I went and staid upon business at the office and then home to dinner, and after dinner staid a little talking pleasant with my wife, who tells me of another woman offered by her brother that is pretty and can sing, to which I do listen but will not appear over forward, but I see I must keep somebody for company sake to my wife, for I am ashamed she should live as she do. So to the office till 10 at night upon business, and numbering and examining part of my sea-manuscript with great pleasure, my wife sitting working by me. So home to supper and to bed.
dinner in a can
I listen for company’s sake
to the night sea
Erasure haiku derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 14 January 1662/63.
Murmur receding and approaching,
wanting to touch, encircle
your calves.
Can water ever be sure
of its direction?
Imagine
the sea inside, wanting
to get out: one thirst
seeking another.
I crack
the hull of a fortune
cookie open to ponder
what of the future
settles at the bottom
of the cup.
In response to Via Negativa: Celestial Directions.
So my poor wife rose by five o’clock in the morning, before day, and went to market and bought fowls and many other things for dinner, with which I was highly pleased, and the chine of beef was down also before six o’clock, and my own jack, of which I was doubtfull, do carry it very well. Things being put in order, and the cook come, I went to the office, where we sat till noon and then broke up, and I home, whither by and by comes Dr. Clerke and his lady, his sister, and a she-cozen, and Mr. Pierce and his wife, which was all my guests.
I had for them, after oysters, at first course, a hash of rabbits, a lamb, and a rare chine of beef. Next a great dish of roasted fowl, cost me about 30s., and a tart, and then fruit and cheese. My dinner was noble and enough. I had my house mighty clean and neat; my room below with a good fire in it; my dining-room above, and my chamber being made a withdrawing-chamber; and my wife’s a good fire also. I find my new table very proper, and will hold nine or ten people well, but eight with great room. After dinner the women to cards in my wife’s chamber, and the Dr. and Mr. Pierce in mine, because the dining-room smokes unless I keep a good charcoal fire, which I was not then provided with. At night to supper, had a good sack posset and cold meat, and sent my guests away about ten o’clock at night, both them and myself highly pleased with our management of this day; and indeed their company was very fine, and Mrs. Clerke a very witty, fine lady, though a little conceited and proud. So weary, so to bed. I believe this day’s feast will cost me near 5l..
owls of six o’clock doubt
carry me home
whither come my rabbits
good fire good charcoal good night
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 13 January 1662/63.
Salty chips, the vinegar and black
pepper kind. A plate of rice
topped with curled leaves of dried
fish flash-fried in the pan.
(Who cares how long the smell
clings to the furniture and drapes?)
Steamed kai-lan drizzled with chili
oil, pucker of a pickled plum;
the odd marriage of the green
and bitter gourd with sugar
to set the teeth on edge—
My tongue tumbles from one
small station of desire
to the next. Piquant, bitter,
savory, hot: wanting all, taking
all in to feed the gut
that’s always looking to find
the ferment, ever since the first
time it learned about the sweet.
Once again, we ride the Apocalyptic
Highway, angel voices ringing
in our ears, Johnny Cash on the car
stereo. Unsure of our destination,
we leave the desolate city behind.
Others rely on maps or GPS devices,
but we travel with a different
sort of celestial directions.
We dream each night
and see the markers by day.
We eat the way our grandparents
ate on the road: a loaf
of cinnamon bread, a hunk
of cheese, and a bag of apples.
This food will take us far.
Only when we rest by a stream
do we let ourselves ponder
the future. We soak our feet
and then bandage them. We hurry
on towards what awaits us.
Inspired by Luisa A. Igloria’s “Zip,” Dave Bonta’s “Slumming It” and the Epiphany/flight to Egypt story in the second chapter of the Gospel of Matthew.
Up, and to Sir W. Batten’s to bid him and Sir J. Minnes adieu, they going this day towards Portsmouth, and then to Sir W. Pen’s to see Sir J. Lawson, who I heard was there, where I found him the same plain man that he was, after all his success in the Straights, with which he is come loaded home. Thence to Sir G. Carteret, and with him in his coach to White Hall, and first I to see my Lord Sandwich (being come now from Hinchingbrooke), and after talking a little with him, he and I to the Duke’s chamber, where Mr. Coventry and he and I into the Duke’s closett and Sir J. Lawson discoursing upon business of the Navy, and particularly got his consent to the ending some difficulties in Mr. Creed’s accounts.
Thence to my Lord’s lodgings, and with Mr. Creed to the King’s Head ordinary, but people being set down, we went to two or three places; at last found some meat at a Welch cook’s at Charing Cross, and here dined and our boys.
After dinner to the ‘Change to buy some linen for my wife, and going back met our two boys. Mine had struck down Creed’s boy in the dirt, with his new suit on, and the boy taken by a gentlewoman into a house to make clean, but the poor boy was in a pitifull taking and pickle; but I basted my rogue soundly. Thence to my Lord’s lodging, and Creed to his, for his papers against the Committee. I found my Lord within, and he and I went out through the garden towards the Duke’s chamber, to sit upon the Tangier matters; but a lady called to my Lord out of my Lady Castlemaine’s lodging, telling him that the King was there and would speak with him. My Lord could not tell what to bid me say at the Committee to excuse his absence, but that he was with the King; nor would suffer me to go into the Privy Garden (which is now a through-passage, and common), but bid me to go through some other way, which I did; so that I see he is a servant of the King’s pleasures too, as well as business. So I went to the Committee, where we spent all this night attending to Sir J. Lawson’s description of Tangier and the place for the Mole, of which he brought a very pretty draught. Concerning the making of the Mole, Mr. Cholmely did also discourse very well, having had some experience in it.
Being broke up, I home by coach to Mr. Bland’s, and there discoursed about sending away of the merchant ship which hangs so long on hand for Tangier.
So to my Lady Batten’s, and sat with her awhile, Sir W. Batten being gone out of town; but I did it out of design to get some oranges for my feast to-morrow of her, which I did.
So home, and found my wife’s new gown come home, and she mightily pleased with it. But I appeared very angry that there were no more things got ready against to-morrow’s feast, and in that passion sat up long, and went discontented to bed.
I was the same plain man
with a king’s head
ordinary as meat
at a cook’s house
but my lady would not suffer me to go
into the garden
in her hand one orange
for my feast
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 12 January 1662/63.