Via Negativa

November 14, 2013November 14, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Ghazal for the Dead: In Tacloban

Processed but not identified: scattered by wind,
splintered, battered where the flood left them in Tacloban.

The dark is a cave is the mouth of God or the unfathomable—
O for sleep without such helpless waking in Tacloban.

How many baubles and stolen billions will bring lives back? Ask
the former First Lady, who attended Holy Infant Academy in Tacloban.

The mayor was lashed to a coconut tree. The mayor was the coconut in the tree.
The tree was in a ballroom. This is not about the oral tradition in Tacloban.

In the midst of calamity, would you have time to worry about your shoes?
Through the waters, a typhoon victim bore a general on his back in Tacloban.

Why were the military first on the scene? Why did it take so long for relief
to arrive? The dead are past blame, the dead are past games in Tacloban.

The actors and actresses turned politicians flash smiles at the camera
while the living vomit with grief, hunger, dysentery, in Tacloban.

November 13, 2013November 13, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

(10 More:) Afterwards

is the gasp and the catch of ten thousand mouths singing wordless as they come up for air

is the burn of brine and the salt that streams and streams in the lungs afterwards

is a muddy hem and the sleeve of what once was a tree or a door that opens the chest

is the buoy or the bell or the shape of the coast or the bodice of a church folded at the seams

is the thread of a voice that left its hungry tongue at the door of the ear

is the staircase spiraling down to the floor of the sea where the ghost of a ship explores

is the room in the school where people sleep under blankets of powdered chalk

is chicken coop wire unrolled like a carpet in the plaza where statues have been bent

is red and red and brown and red and blue and sheets of lime in the open grave

is the scar that climbs the trellis to rest on the cheek of the moon

November 13, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Lay long in bed to-day. Sir Wm. Batten went this morning to Deptford to pay off the Wolf. Mr. Comptroller and I sat a while at the office to do business, and thence I went with him to his house in Lime Street, a fine house, and where I never was before, and from thence by coach (setting down his sister at the new Exchange) to Westminster Hall, where first I met with Jack Spicer and agreed with him to help me to tell money this afternoon. Hence to De Cretz, where I saw my Lord’s picture finished, which do please me very well. So back to the Hall, where by appointment I met the Comptroller, and with him and three or four Parliament men I dined at Heaven, and after dinner called at Will’s on Jack Spicer, and took him to Mr. Fox’s, who saved me the labour of telling me the money by giving me 3000l. by consent (the other 1000l. I am to have on Thursday next), which I carried by coach to the Exchequer, and put it up in a chest in Spicer’s office. From thence walked to my father’s, where I found my wife, who had been with my father to-day, buying of a tablecloth and a dozen of napkins of diaper, the first that ever I bought in my life.
My father and I took occasion to go forth, and went and drank at Mr. Standing’s, and there discoursed seriously about my sister’s coming to live with me, which I have much mind for her good to have, and yet I am much afeard of her ill-nature.
Coming home again, he and I, and my wife, my mother and Pall, went all together into the little room, and there I told her plainly what my mind was, to have her come not as a sister in any respect, but as a servant, which she promised me that she would, and with many thanks did weep for joy, which did give me and my wife some content and satisfaction.
So by coach home and to bed.
The last night I should have mentioned how my wife and I were troubled all night with the sound of drums in our ears, which in the morning we found to be Mr. Davys’s jack, but not knowing the cause of its going all night, I understand to-day that they have had a great feast to-day.

We pay the wolf
with a fine house
in heaven.

Save me from nature—
not a sister
but a servant.

All night it drums
in our ears.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 12 November 1660.

November 13, 2013November 15, 2013 by Dave Bonta

Encounters with the Neolithic (2)

(Read Part 1.)

When Alexander Keiller, the marmalade magnate, restored Avebury Ring in the 1930s, they cleared a lot of trees. But for whatever reason a few token beech trees were left, and these have now become a focus of reverence perhaps rivaling the stones themselves. Continue reading “Encounters with the Neolithic (2)”

November 13, 2013 by Dave Bonta

Digital vs. paper: navigating the landscape of a text

From Scientific American, a fascinating round-up of research on “The Reading Brain in the Digital Age: The Science of Paper versus Screens.” I particularly liked this part:

Beyond treating individual letters as physical objects, the human brain may also perceive a text in its entirety as a kind of physical landscape. When we read, we construct a mental representation of the text in which meaning is anchored to structure. The exact nature of such representations remains unclear, but they are likely similar to the mental maps we create of terrain—such as mountains and trails—and of man-made physical spaces, such as apartments and offices. Both anecdotally and in published studies, people report that when trying to locate a particular piece of written information they often remember where in the text it appeared. We might recall that we passed the red farmhouse near the start of the trail before we started climbing uphill through the forest; in a similar way, we remember that we read about Mr. Darcy rebuffing Elizabeth Bennett on the bottom of the left-hand page in one of the earlier chapters.

In most cases, paper books have more obvious topography than onscreen text. An open paperback presents a reader with two clearly defined domains—the left and right pages—and a total of eight corners with which to orient oneself. A reader can focus on a single page of a paper book without losing sight of the whole text: one can see where the book begins and ends and where one page is in relation to those borders. One can even feel the thickness of the pages read in one hand and pages to be read in the other. Turning the pages of a paper book is like leaving one footprint after another on the trail—there’s a rhythm to it and a visible record of how far one has traveled. All these features not only make text in a paper book easily navigable, they also make it easier to form a coherent mental map of the text.

Click through for the link-citations and the rest of the article.

November 12, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Promoter

(Lord’s day). This morning I went to Sir W. Batten’s about going to Deptford to-morrow, and so eating some hog’s pudding of my Lady’s making, of the hog that I saw a fattening the other day at her house, he and I went to Church into our new gallery, the first time it was used, and it not being yet quite finished, there came after us Sir W. Pen, Mr. Davis, and his eldest son. There being no woman this day, we sat in the foremost pew, and behind us our servants, and I hope it will not always be so, it not being handsome for our servants to sit so equal with us.
This day also did Mr. Mills begin to read all the Common Prayer, which I was glad of.
Home to dinner, and then walked to Whitehall, it being very cold and foul and rainy weather. I found my Lord at home, and after giving him an account of some business, I returned and went to my father’s where I found my wife, and there we supped, and Dr. Thomas Pepys, who my wife told me after I was come home, that he had told my brother Thomas that he loved my wife so well that if she had a child he would never marry, but leave all that he had to my child, and after supper we walked home, my little boy carrying a link, and Will leading my wife.
So home and to prayers and to bed.
I should have said that before I got to my Lord’s this day I went to Mr. Fox’s at Whitehall, when I first saw his lady, formerly Mrs. Elizabeth Whittle, whom I had formerly a great opinion of, and did make an anagram or two upon her name when I was a boy. She proves a very fine lady, and mother to fine children.
To-day I agreed with Mr. Fox about my taking of the 4000l. of him that the King had given my Lord.

The hog, fattening, is
our common weather.
I found a home after
giving my wife
a child, a child.
And after supper, my ink
is a mother to greed.

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 11 November 1660.

November 12, 2013November 12, 2013 by Luisa A. Igloria

Afterwards

is an edifice half on stilts and half unroofed for a newborn’s entrance into the world

is the crimson edging his mother’s skirt as she lies on a makeshift couch waiting for the afterbirth

is the blueprint of darkness drawn in detail beneath a swell of water

is the hollow in the wall of the factory and the sign over a buried church reading Esperar

is the ring of beaten silver around the Badjao woman’s finger and the slow listing of the ferry

is the peeling bark of trees disguised as outriggers stranded in the shoals

is the lantern burning its last store of oil and the doctor tearing his surgical coat into strips

is the helicopter and its cargo of bottled water hovering over no place to land

is the republic of the drowned and its plazas decorated with abandoned basketball courts

is the bread of nothing and the salt of nothing and the crust of nothing freely shared

is the new address of the dead whose gravestones have all been moved to the sea

is the children carrying a jug of water and a clutch of nearly deflated balloons they found lashed to a tree

In response to Via Negativa: Typhoon.

November 12, 2013 by Dave Bonta

Will Ashford and the art of erasure

If Tom Phillips’ A Humument is the gold standard for artistic erasure poetry, Will Ashford’s new work The Gospel According to Art should be a platinum hit. His erasures are not only image-rich, but use the text in varying ways: often for didactic purpose, but sometimes in more decorative/suggestive ways as well (a rain of “I”s, a swarm of “o”s). If I had a better developed sense of shame, I guess I’d be abashed I’d never heard of Will Ashford until he contacted me yesterday, prompted by a perusal of my Pepys erasures. But I’ve very glad (and flattered) that he did.

There’s a lot of good stuff in the Flash-based portfolio at his main site, too, but I found The Gospel According to Art easier to use at my relatively slow connection speed — and as a fan of the literary charms of the Bible, I was entranced by this re-purposing of the Gospel of Mark. It’s full of wonder, humor and delight. Go have a look.

November 11, 2013May 30, 2016 by Dave Bonta

Typhoon

Up early. Sir Wm. Batten and I to make up an account of the wages of the officers and mariners at sea, ready to present to the Committee of Parliament this afternoon. Afterwards came the Treasurer and Comptroller, and sat all the morning with us till the business was done.
So we broke up, leaving the thing to be wrote over fair and carried to Trinity House for Sir Wm. Batten’s hand. When staying very long I found (as appointed) the Treasurer and Comptroller at Whitehall, and so we went with a foul copy to the Parliament house, where we met with Sir Thos. Clarges and Mr. Spry, and after we had given them good satisfaction we parted.
The Comptroller and I to the coffee-house, where he shewed me the state of his case; how the King did owe him about 6000l.. But I do not see great likelihood for them to be paid, since they begin already in Parliament to dispute the paying of the just sea-debts, which were already promised to be paid, and will be the undoing of thousands if they be not paid.
So to Whitehall to look but could not find Mr. Fox, and then to Mr. Moore at Mr. Crew’s, but missed of him also. So to Paul’s Churchyard, and there bought Montelion, which this year do not prove so good as the last was; so after reading it I burnt it.
After reading of that and the comedy of the Rump, which is also very silly, I went to bed. This night going home, Will and I bought a goose.

The wages of the sea, fair or foul,
will be the undoing
of thousands they could not find,
a missed church,
the last reading of the night…

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 10 November 1660.

November 11, 2013November 11, 2013 by Dave Bonta

Landfall

Landfall
that one English word
in Philippine news reports about Guiuan
where Magellan landed in 1521
where the Americans made their first beachhead in World War II
in the swirl of Tagalog I don’t understand
that word keeps floating to the surface
landfall
where floors shook
where roofs blew off
where concrete columns toppled
where wind gusts reached 195 miles per hour
where a 13-foot wall of water swept ashore
landfall
where the eye took a brief calm
sightless look & moved on
where a stone church was flattened
landfall
where “100 percent
of all structures were damaged”
where evacuation centers collapsed
where 47,000 souls had been living
land
fall