Via Negativa

May 11, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Lethargic

(Lord’s day). To our church in the morning, where, our Minister being out of town, a dull, flat Presbiter preached. Dined at home, and my wife’s brother with us, we having a good dish of stewed beef of Jane’s own dressing, which was well done, and a piece of sturgeon of a barrel sent me by Captain Cocke. In the afternoon to White Hall; and there walked an hour or two in the Park, where I saw the King now out of mourning, in a suit laced with gold and silver, which it was said was out of fashion. Thence to the Wardrobe; and there consulted with the ladies about our going to Hampton Court to-morrow, and thence home, and after settled business there my wife and I to the Wardrobe, and there we lay all night in Captain Ferrers’ chambers, but the bed so soft that I could not sleep that hot night.

morning is a dull ache
an urge to go out
of fashion

war after war and the bed
so soft

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 11 May 1662.

May 10, 2025May 10, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Refusing the Future

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

         A tinge     A minim        Something of the smallest

size         In such 

                      increments          the sense 

         of doubt doesn't feel      so overwhelming 

But also can't 
                be completely overruled

         If some days      I can hardly complete 

a thought                      perhaps it's because I can't

bear                   to arrive     at its irrefutable 
conclusion      

            Imagine if you could rewind     outcome

     back to before process         
               
                                     Cajole

a fish 

       
       back into water
                           A bird

                                      into the air

May 10, 2025January 4, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Viewshed

By myself at the office all the morning drawing up instructions for Portsmouth yard in those things wherein we at our late being there did think fit to reform, and got them signed this morning to send away to-night, the Duke being now there.
At noon to the Wardrobe; there dined. My Lady told me how my Lady Castlemaine do speak of going to lie in at Hampton Court; which she and all our ladies are much troubled at, because of the King’s being forced to show her countenance in the sight of the Queen when she comes. Back to the office and there all afternoon, and in the evening comes Sir G. Carteret, and he and I did hire a ship for Tangier, and other things together; and I find that he do single me out to join with me apart from the rest, which I am much glad of. So home, and after being trimmed, to bed.

of all the raw things
we signed away

the peak comes back
to the evening
for rest

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 10 May 1662.

May 9, 2025May 9, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Quotidian

That which constantly recedes into
its background, because by nature it isn't
considered remarkable to observation.

That which is familiar, and thus
might still step lightly outside 
narrowing circles of thought.

Here is a cup and here 
is a saucer, one of a few 
from a set no longer complete. 

You trace the faded garland of ochre
around their rims— pattern that used
to be ubiquitous in many cupboards.

The starting point of every day
is often the everyday: towel on
the bar, ashes on the grate.

The beginnings of phenomenology:
what is the first thing you see
when you open your eyes? 

And yet, I confess I love the rung 
on the ladder that Aristotle calls
the vegetative soul— look at

the simple wonderments of 
proliferation: dirt under your finger-
nails, yeast on a sponge of bread.

A sprig I pluck from a bush 
and set in a jar of water builds a root 
network finer than hair. How does it know?

May 9, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Deathless

Up and to my office, and so to dinner at home, and then to several places to pay my debts, and then to Westminster to Dr. Castle, who discoursed with me about Privy Seal business, which I do not much mind, it being little worth, but by Watkins’s late sudden death we are like to lose money. Thence to Mr. de Cretz, and there saw some good pieces that he hath copyed of the King’s pieces, some of Raphael and Michael Angelo; and I have borrowed an Elizabeth of his copying to hang up in my house, and sent it home by Will. Thence with Mr. Salisbury, who I met there, into Covent Garden to an alehouse, to see a picture that hangs there, which is offered for 20s., and I offered fourteen — but it is worth much more money — but did not buy it, I having no mind to break my oath. Thence to see an Italian puppet play that is within the rayles there, which is very pretty, the best that ever I saw, and great resort of gallants. So to the Temple and by water home, and so walk upon the leads, and in the dark there played upon my flageolette, it being a fine still evening, and so to supper and to bed.
This day I paid Godfrey’s debt of 40 and odd pounds. The Duke of York went last night to Portsmouth; so that I believe the Queen is near.

pay me no mind
little death
like a copy of an angel

bury no mind
dark being
in this debt of night

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 9 May 1662.

May 8, 2025May 8, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Snapshot, with Endoscopy and Transformation

After the noodle-like camera snakes in, 
          you see that bit of flesh hanging 
like a little grape or teardrop in the back 

          of the throat. Above the smooth
pink walls of this cavern, twin doors leading
          to the ears; and below, the well of

the esophagus. Here, it's positively  
          tropical: an orchid's open mouth. 
But think of the moment after Tereus has had
  
          his way with the girl, and torn out
her tongue. A nightingale and a swallow fly away
         over the roof. Do they wish they were

cormorants standing on the rocks, wings spread out
         to dry? Bright sapphire, inside their bills.

May 8, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Onset

At the office all the morning doing business alone, and then to the Wardrobe, where my Lady going out with the children to dinner I staid not, but returned home, and was overtaken in St. Paul’s Churchyard by Sir G. Carteret in his coach, and so he carried me to the Exchange, where I staid awhile. He told me that the Queen and the fleet were in Mount’s Bay on Monday last, and that the Queen endures her sickness pretty well. He also told me how Sir John Lawson hath done some execution upon the Turks in the Straight, of which I am glad, and told the news the first on the Exchange, and was much followed by merchants to tell it. So home and to dinner, and by and by to the office, and after the rest gone (my Lady Albemarle being this day at dinner at Sir W. Batten’s) Sir G. Carteret comes, and he and I walked in the garden, and, among other discourse, tells me that it is Mr. Coventry that is to come to us as a Commissioner of the Navy; at which he is much vexed, and cries out upon Sir W. Pen, and threatens him highly. And looking upon his lodgings, which are now enlarging, he in passion cried, “Guarda mi spada; for, by God, I may chance to keep him in Ireland, when he is there:” for Sir W. Pen is going thither with my Lord Lieutenant. But it is my design to keep much in with Sir George; and I think I have begun very well towards it. So to the office, and was there late doing business, and so with my head full of business I to bed.

a child overtaken by change
endures her sickness

how the new becomes
another discourse

in which pen and ink
have begun to do business

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 8 May 1662.

May 7, 2025 by Dave Bonta

Clarification

Walked to Westminster; where I understand the news that Mr. Montagu is this last night come to the King with news, that he left the Queen and fleet in the Bay of Biscay, coming this wayward; and that he believes she is now at the Isle of Scilly. So at noon to my Lord Crew’s and there dined, and after dinner Sir Thos. Crew and I talked together, and among other instances of the simple light discourse that sometimes is in the Parliament House, he told me how in the late business of Chymny money, when all occupiers were to pay, it was questioned whether women were under that name to pay, and somebody rose and said that they were not occupiers, but occupied.
Thence to Paul’s Church Yard; where seeing my Lady’s Sandwich and Carteret, and my wife (who this day made a visit the first time to my Lady Carteret), come by coach, and going to Hide Park, I was resolved to follow them; and so went to Mrs. Turner’s: and thence found her out at the Theatre, where I saw the last act of the “Knight of the Burning Pestle,” which pleased me not at all. And so after the play done, she and The. Turner and Mrs. Lucin and I, in her coach to the Park; and there found them out, and spoke to them; and observed many fine ladies, and staid till all were gone almost. And so to Mrs. Turner’s, and there supped, and so walked home, and by and by comes my wife home, brought by my Lady Carteret to the gate, and so to bed.

under the news
is a wayward noon

among other instances
of simple light

sometimes a question
is found burning

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 7 May 1662.

May 7, 2025May 7, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Prayer for

"Rafter of Satin and Roof of Stone-"
                     Emily Dickinson



the days, falling upon each other.

Weighted yet weightless.

You dream of a stage on fire, explosions
just outside the range of vision;
birthday candles that keep re-lighting. 

The future should be on everyone's lips.

Imagine its voice speaking 
from under the bridge, through 
the arms of trees, from milk
cartons tossed into the trash.

If someone keeps stopping
to ask for applause, there will always
be less time for actual speaking.

How fast can you sign a thing
back into actual being?

By actual I mean not mirage.

I mean spring coming back
with more than just softness.

I mean every thing starved 
or thrown overboard or left 
for dead getting up.

Even limping is better 
than complete stupefaction.

At that time I am more
than willing to put my hands 
together, and clap.

May 6, 2025May 6, 2025 by Luisa A. Igloria

Scribere

"...to transcribe is just that— to bring a message 
across a threshold" ~ Mary Capello




And in this way, everything is a note—
            fan-shaped siftings of sunlight 

                       in the corner where a woman is talking
       with someone, headphones cancelling out

            the noise in the rest of the room as she
herself takes notes— 

                       The shirtless man jogging in the direction 
       of the bridge, insistent message of heat
 
             traveling from brow to nape to somewhere 
along the middle
               
                       crease of the spine's crumpled envelope—
And isn't language indebted in this way  

       to both the image and to thought? When the leaf 
              in the window bay emerged

                       as one of many along the stalks 
       transferred from some hothouse into a heavy urn, 

did it just then start to stipple its undersides in yellow,
              each dot circled as if in red pencil, or

       wasn't it always quietly transcribing in the dark? 
              Signals proliferate the way a lighthouse blinks, 

its one eye furious in a storm, the way
                        one cry, one blast, gives birth to whole

galaxies— Miles and centuries from the instant,
       are we not among the things still rocking in its wake—