Rosebush

(Valentine’s day). Up early and to Sir W. Batten’s, but would not go in till I asked whether they that opened the door was a man or a woman, and Mingo, who was there, answered a woman, which, with his tone, made me laugh.
So up I went and took Mrs. Martha for my Valentine (which I do only for complacency), and Sir W. Batten he go in the same manner to my wife, and so we were very merry.
About 10 o’clock we, with a great deal of company, went down by our barge to Deptford, and there only went to see how forward Mr. Pett’s yacht is; and so all into the barge again, and so to Woolwich, on board the Rose-bush, Captain Brown’s ship, that is brother-in-law to Sir W. Batten, where we had a very fine dinner, dressed on shore, and great mirth and all things successfull; the first time I ever carried my wife a-ship-board, as also my boy Wayneman, who hath all this day been called young Pepys, as Sir W. Pen’s boy young Pen.
So home by barge again; good weather, but pretty cold. I to my study, and began to make up my accounts for my Lord, which I intend to end tomorrow.
To bed.
The talk of the town now is, who the King is like to have for his Queen: and whether Lent shall be kept with the strictness of the King’s proclamation; which it is thought cannot be, because of the poor, who cannot buy fish. And also the great preparation for the King’s crowning is now much thought upon and talked of.

Great company
is the rosebush,
hip to fine-dressed hip
like a queen, with
the strictness of the poor
who cannot buy a crown.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 14 February 1660/61.

Umami

Behind this mesh of rain,
this leaden sky, I know
tonight the moon is full.

After the story read
from pages of a book, the one
whispered in the ear, made up,

stumblingly, is the one
that you’ll remember.
Though it is also true:

what the mouth
will testify, the body
will not always do.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Snowfall.

Rabbit

A rabbit has squeezed
into a ring of fencing
to browse on dogwood sprouts

and can’t get out.
The snow crunches under
my boots as I loom up,

the small animal
beating against its cage
like a panicked heart.

February romance

At the office all the morning; dined at home, and poor Mr. Wood with me, who after dinner would have borrowed money of me, but I would lend none. Then to Whitehall by coach with Sir W. Pen, where we did very little business, and so back to Mr. Rawlinson’s, where I took him and gave him a cup of wine, he having formerly known Mr. Rawlinson, and here I met my uncle Wight, and he drank with us, and with him to Sir W. Batten’s, whither I sent for my wife, and we chose Valentines against to-morrow. My wife chose me, which did much please me; my Lady Batten Sir W. Pen, &c. Here we sat late, and so home to bed, having got my Lady Batten to give me a spoonful of honey for my cold.

Dine me, wine me,
know me and Valentine me,
please me, give me
a spoonful of honey
for my cold.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 13 February 1660/61.

Yield

There’s the man with the limp we see in church, walking with his old lady to the corner market. Why are people wandering about clutching red mylar balloons in their clumsy hands? The busboy is cleaning the menu boards on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop. College students are smoking on the steps, talking like philosophers, trying to impress their girlfriends. The cops are cruising in their cars with the windows cracked, their elbows jutting out in obtuse angles. Don’t blow me a kiss, give me a real one. Yield, says the traffic sign. Two little girls with unruly braids turn their brown paper goody bags upside down the faster to get to the strawberry pink lollies and chocolate hearts. May all beings be happy, the Buddha said; may all beings be free from suffering. Those girls don’t need to be told that, even if the gold foil doily hearts are stuck on upside down.

 

In response to Via Negativa: On the Way to Santiago, 1978.

Valentine’s Day dreams

First an opossum crawls into our bed.
He’s tame, you cry.
Those are just love-bites.

Then it’s a long-haired white cat,
purring and snuggling.
Get her out of here, you groan.

I wake to a heavy snowfall,
the old dog statue in the yard
just a bump under the blanket.


Right after drafting this poem, I found out that Rachel’s (short-haired) white cat in London was killed last night. RIP Mario.

Blazon

To my Lord’s, and there with him all the morning, and then (he going out to dinner) I and Mr. Pickering, Creed, and Captain Ferrers to the Leg in the Palace to dinner, where strange Pickerings impertinences. Thence the two others and I after a great dispute whither to go, we went by water to Salsbury Court play-house, where not liking to sit, we went out again, and by coach to the Theatre, and there saw “The Scornfull Lady,” now done by a woman, which makes the play appear much better than ever it did to me. Then Creed and I (the other being lost in the crowd) to drink a cup of ale at Temple Bar, and there we parted, and I (seeing my father and mother by the way) went home.

To her leg in lace
her rings
her after-play
her heat
her full pear
her lost temple
her art
I see my way.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 12 February 1660/61.

Sledding

The spruce grove
at the top of the hollow
harbors a north-woods chill.

Seated on a runner sled
I hurtle down into
the sunlit field,

my shadow like a witching rod
stretched out before me,
alive to every bump and dip.

Joinery

At the office all the morning. Dined at home, and then to the Exchange, and took Mr. Warren with me to Mr. Kennard, the master joiner, at Whitehall, who was at a tavern, and there he and I to him, and agreed about getting some of my Lord’s deals on board to-morrow.
Then with young Mr. Reeve home to his house, who did there show me many pretty pleasures in perspectives, that I have not seen before, and I did buy a little glass of him cost me 5s. And so to Mr. Crew’s, and with Mr. Moore to see how my father and mother did, and so with him to Mr. Adam Chard’s (the first time I ever was at his house since he was married) to drink, then we parted, and I home to my study, and set some papers and money in order, and so to bed.

The master joiner agreed about
the many pretty pleasures
in a glass house.
Since he was married to drink,
we parted, I home
to my paper bed.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 11 February 1660/61.