Dark Angelic Mills

(Lord’s day). In the morn to our own church, where Mr. Mills did begin to nibble at the Common Prayer, by saying “Glory be to the Father, &c.” after he had read the two psalms; but the people had been so little used to it, that they could not tell what to answer. This declaration of the King’s do give the Presbyterians some satisfaction, and a pretence to read the Common Prayer, which they would not do before because of their former preaching against it.
After dinner to Westminster, where I went to my Lord’s, and having spoke with him, I went to the Abbey, where the first time that ever I heard the organs in a cathedral! Thence to my Lord’s, where I found Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and with him and Mr. Sheply, in our way calling at the Bell to see the seven Flanders mares that my Lord has bought lately, where we drank several bottles of Hull ale. Much company I found to come to her, and cannot wonder at it, for she is very pretty and wanton.
Hence to my father’s, where I found my mother in greater and greater pain of the stone. I staid long and drank with them, and so home and to bed. My wife seemed very pretty to-day, it being the first time I had given her leave to wear a black patch.

Mills nibble at prayer.
So little satisfaction!
I hear organs and a bell,
and wonder at the pain of the stone.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 4 November 1660.

The world’s greatest exercise in erasure poetry, now at 5.0

A review of the 5th edition of The Humument at The Found Poetry Review:

To call it a novel would be a misnomer; to categorize it as a poetry collection would be just as false. This brings us back to the role of the work as a monument or, more appropriately, testament. As a testament, it has to witness the peculiarities of the age to which it is a witness. With the rise of the Metamodern in world literature, it is strange that a book such as A Humument stands the test of time and vision better from edition to edition as it ages. But, Phillips’ commitment to the revision, a true “re-seeing,” creates a compelling collection of which every edition is a must own.

Or, maybe it is truly the first and last edition of a “human document,” paralleling the human spirit — it wanders like us, wends like us, it changes into ever-morphing forms. Each edition a deletion of memory, even with flaws — just like us.


(via Maureen Doallas on Twitter)

Chance: Six More From a Tarot

43

Madam, I’ll serve
your interests,
contingent on
your currency.

44

A pearl will do
as well as a bond—
The first one heralds
a string: loss leader.

45

Implacable
promise: your word
on this piece
of paper.

46

Twilight
of perforations
that we call
stars—

47

Have a seat
at my table
and tell me what
you would not eat.

48

On the Day
of the Dead, we collect
the softest bones
of tallow.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Single-handed

Saturday. At home all the morning. In the afternoon to White Hall, where my Lord and Lady were gone to kiss the Queene’s hand.
To Westminster Hall, where I met with Tom Doling, and we two took Mrs. Lane to the alehouse, where I made her angry with commending of Tom Newton and her new sweetheart to be both too good for her, so that we parted with much anger, which made Tom and me good sport. So home to write letters by the post, and so to bed.

Sat all afternoon on the hand
I took to the alehouse,
where I made her and her sweetheart part
and go home to write.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 3 November 1660.

Chance: Six More From a Tarot

37

Dear mannequin,
you wear your red-
sashed burlap tunic
with aplomb.

38

What time is it
when the soul
calls out in its
loudest voice?

39

Dear honeyed
skein of years,
dear seasons
of salt and fog.

40

We pass from one
encumbrance to another
while the radio
plays a waltz.

41

And all night,
bonfires burn
like sacrifices laid
along the road.

42

The wheel that turns
is not on anyone’s
side: beer and goat meat
today, burnt toast tomorrow.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Book of Martyrs.

A few good reasons to use Twitter

  1. It’s superficial. Surfaces are beautiful and necessary, especially to us primates with our extreme reliance on vision.
  2. Chaucer Doth Tweet.

  3. Enforced concision has a way of sorting the sheep from the goats where writers and humorists are concerned.
  4. Continue reading “A few good reasons to use Twitter”

Book of Martyrs

Office. Then dined at home, and by chance Mr. Holliard called at dinner time and dined with me, with whom I had great discourse concerning the cure of the King’s evil, which he do deny altogether any effect at all.
In the afternoon I went forth and saw some silver bosses put upon my new Bible, which cost me 6s. 6d. the making, and 7s. 6d. the silver, which, with 9s. 6d. the book, comes in all to 1l. 3s. 6d. From thence with Mr. Cooke that made them, and Mr. Stephens the silversmith to the tavern, and did give them a pint of wine. So to White Hall, where when I came I saw the boats going very thick to Lambeth, and all the stairs to be full of people. I was told the Queen was a-coming; so I got a sculler for sixpence to carry me thither and back again, but I could not get to see the Queen; so come back, and to my Lord’s, where he was come; and I supt with him, he being very merry, telling merry stories of the country mayors, how they entertained the King all the way as he come along; and how the country gentlewomen did hold up their heads to be kissed by the King, not taking his hand to kiss as they should do. I took leave of my Lord and Lady, and so took coach at White Hall and carried Mr. Childe as far as the Strand, and myself got as far as Ludgate by all the bonfires, but with a great deal of trouble; and there the coachman desired that I would release him, for he durst not go further for the fires. So he would have had a shilling or 6d. for bringing of me so far; but I had but 3d. about me and did give him it. In Paul’s church-yard I called at Kirton’s, and there they had got a mass book for me, which I bought and cost me twelve shillings; and, when I came home, sat up late and read in it with great pleasure to my wife, to hear that she was long ago so well acquainted with. So to bed.
I observed this night very few bonfires in the City, not above three in all London, for the Queen’s coming; whereby I guess that (as I believed before) her coming do please but very few.

A great evil I saw:
a book comes
to give stairs to people,
but they hold up their heads
to be kissed, not to kiss.
And so bonfires
desire the book
and read it with pleasure
to that long night, the city.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 2 November 1660.

Chance: Six More From a Tarot

31

“The memory of the wicked
shall rot”
— I come to collect
chaff and ash, splinters doubled
from being waterlogged.

32

A little bell made
of moneybags tied around
your neck: Abogado
de campanilla.

33

When you grow up, do not seek
to be a lawyer, soldier, governor,
doctor, king. Grow something
real with your hands.

34

How many cubits to the east?
What depth the wall-posts and what
height the beams? Do not forget
hallways of branching dreams.

35

I kissed the ground
and touched my forehead
to the dust then rose
and gathered up belongings.

36

Happy the cricket
on the window-ledge:
everything dark but for
one bar of fallen light.

 

In response to Via Negativa: L'esprit d'escalier.

Poem Beginning With a Typo by Nicelle Davis

I would rather stable myself in the eye
than hazard the high saddle of the nose
or wander across the shoulder blade’s
desolate salt. I would rather wallow
in the vitreous humor than smother
under the belly button’s lint.
And oh, the keening of the wind
as it passes over the bottle mouth of the ear!
Bodies are treacherous & prone
to spells of heat. Keep me as
the apple of the eye, cool & crisp.

*

In a recent post at her blog, California poet Nicelle Davis used the phrase “I would rather stable myself in the eye,” which struck me as so poetically correct that I couldn’t imagine what “stable” might be a typo for, and had to click through from Feedly to find out (“stab,” of course). I hope she doesn’t mind my drawing attention to what I’m sure was some device’s autocorrect mistake.

L’esprit d’escalier

This morning Sir W. Pen and I were mounted early, and had very merry discourse all the way, he being very good company.
We came to Sir W. Batten’s, where he lives like a prince, and we were made very welcome. Among other things he showed us my Lady’s closet, where was great store of rarities; as also a chair, which he calls King Harry’s chair, where he that sits down is catched with two irons, that come round about him, which makes good sport. Here dined with us two or three more country gentle men; among the rest Mr. Christmas, my old school-fellow, with whom I had much talk. He did remember that I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy, and I was much afraid that he would have remembered the words that I said the day the King was beheaded (that, were I to preach upon him, my text should be “The memory of the wicked shall rot”); but I found afterwards that he did go away from school before that time.
He did make us good sport in imitating Mr. Case, Ash, and Nye, the ministers, which he did very well, but a deadly drinker he is, and grown exceeding fat. From his house to an ale-house near the church, where we sat and drank and were merry, and so we mounted for London again, Sir W. Batten with us. We called at Bow and drank there, and took leave of Mr. Johnson of Blackwall, who dined with us and rode with us thus far.
So home by moonlight, it being about 9 o’clock before we got home.

I batten like a mad king
on remembered words.
My text should be: “The memory
of the wicked shall rot.”
After I go, I make sport
in imitating the dead,
grown fat on moonlight.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 1 November 1660.