Gun-happy

Up very early, and now beginning to be settled in my wits again, I went about setting down my last four days’ observations this morning. After that, was trimmed by a barber that has not trimmed me yet, my Spaniard being on shore.
News brought that the two Dukes are coming on board, which, by and by, they did, in a Dutch boat, the Duke of York in yellow trimmings, the Duke of Gloucester in grey and red.
My Lord went in a boat to meet them, the Captain, myself, and others, standing at the entering port.
So soon as they were entered we shot the guns off round the fleet. After that they went to view the ship all over, and were most exceedingly pleased with it.
They seem to be both very fine gentlemen.
After that done, upon the quarter- deck table, under the awning, the Duke of York and my Lord, Mr. Coventry, and I, spent an hour at allotting to every ship their service, in their return to England; which having done, they went to dinner, where the table was very full: the two Dukes at the upper end, my Lord Opdam next on one side, and my Lord on the other.
Two guns given to every man while he was drinking the King’s health, and so likewise to the Duke’s health.
I took down Monsieur d’Esquier to the great cabin below, and dined with him in state alone with only one or two friends of his.
All dinner the harper belonging to Captain Sparling played to the Dukes.
After dinner, the Dukes and my Lord to see the Vice and Rear-Admirals; and I in a boat after them.
After that done, they made to the shore in the Dutch boat that brought them, and I got into the boat with them; but the shore was so full of people to expect their coming, as that it was as black (which otherwise is white sand), as every one could stand by another.
When we came near the shore, my Lord left them and came into his own boat, and General Pen and I with him; my Lord being very well pleased with this day’s work.
By the time we came on board again, news is sent us that the King is on shore; so my Lord fired all his guns round twice, and all the fleet after him, which in the end fell into disorder, which seemed very handsome.
The gun over against my cabin I fired myself to the King, which was the first time that he had been saluted by his own ships since this change; but holding my head too much over the gun, I had almost spoiled my right eye.
Nothing in the world but going of guns almost all this day. In the evening we began to remove cabins; I to the carpenter’s cabin, and Dr. Clerke with me, who came on board this afternoon, having been twice ducked in the sea to-day coming from shore, and Mr. North and John Pickering the like. Many of the King’s servants came on board to- night; and so many Dutch of all sorts came to see the ship till it was quite dark, that we could not pass by one another, which was a great trouble to us all.
This afternoon Mr. Downing (who was knighted yesterday by the King) was here on board, and had a ship for his passage into England, with his lady and servants. By the same token he called me to him when I was going to write the order, to tell me that I must write him Sir G. Downing.
My Lord lay in the roundhouse to-night.
This evening I was late writing a French letter myself by my Lord’s order to Monsieur Kragh, Embassador de Denmarke a la Haye, which my Lord signed in bed. After that I to bed, and the Doctor, and sleep well.

Settled in my wits, I set down
my guns—both fine gentlemen.

Two guns give
every man two friends.

My pen and I fire twice
and I almost spoil my eye.

Nothing in the world
but going of guns all day.

I am a duck in the sea,
a knight with an order to sleep.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 22 May 1660. I’m experimenting with a new style of presentation, copied from
Nets by Jen Bervin (an erasure of Shakespeare’s sonnets; see the review by Sarah Sloat). I like that I can format it entirely in HTML and don’t have to post an image, and it lets the reader see the precise relationship of salvaged to erased text. But I miss the hand-made quality of a literal erasure.

Ad Man

erasure of a page from Samuel Pepys' diary

In a bed of oysters
I am secure as death
and in the arms of a severe knight
I find sure sales,
there being nothing
in any man’s mind
but the pleasure of loss.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 21 May 1660.

Naked and mad

Pepys erasure #138 - letters and images by Clive Hicks-Jenkins
Click image to see the full-size version.

Clive Hicks-Jenkins made this with letters and images left over from his just-completed animation project for the Mid Wales Chamber Orchestra production of Stravinsky’s The Soldier’s Tale. It is of course the poem generated from one of my recent erasures of Pepys. I told him I thought that conceptually, in relation to the erasure, it’s as if he’s put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Presented this way, it feels much more like a complete poem to me. In place of the white emptiness of erasure, there’s solid black. And Clive’s vibrantly colored majuscule letters don’t shout, but intone.

Dog Roses

(Rosa canina assisiensis)

A jute robe is itchy. And so one day, the saint
feels the urge to abandon monastic life. If only
he were a tree, a strip of lettered wood nailed
to a crossroads sign; something else, anything
other than this silence among the doves, duties
beautifully illustrated by the missalette. If only
he were a sailor bound for a year’s ship journey
to the far ends of the earth, or even a scarecrow
flapping its tin-can arms in the middle of a field.
At the height of great feeling or pain, the body
has been known to forget itself. Do his eyes roll back
into his head, does he break into a sweat and twitch
like a lit swath of firecrackers? What are the cries
that escape his mouth? In the humid night, open
your windows after sex to find the air saturated
with the rumor of flowers: the ones with thorns
are said to have the sweetest scent. It’s not hard
to imagine what it’s like to be seized by fragrance,
to give oneself to the darkness; to leap
into the bramble bushes fully clothed.

 

In response to Via Negativa: In Partibus Infidelium.

Pilgrimage

erasure of a page from Samuel Pepys' diary

I lie alone, mind on her face.
In the church chancel, the mouth of a whale,
bigger than bad weather.
I keep myself in the open,
wake to piss.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 20 May 1660.

In Partibus Infidelium

erasure of a page from Samuel Pepys' diary

Up early, in pink light
I see rock and a broken land,
the house sunk where children were born—
one of our villages, but for the language.
The people eat fish
but play at physician, a clapper
to frighten the birds
away from the corn.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 19 May 1660.

Election

Rumors abound as citizens wait for voting results. A metal box meant for a village in the north has found its way to a town in the south; none of these votes will be counted. The new king is naked and mad; or he has ADHD; or he is autistic. Or he is a former actor who cannot distinguish between reality and a B-movie script. The old king has been dead more than two decades; he lies in state, frozen in a crypt, pumped full of formaldehyde and surrounded by satin flowers. The ex-queen squints at him through the glass panels and plants a coral-lipsticked kiss closest to the side of his face. She returns to her walled-in estate and sighs, flexing her size 8 1/2 feet encased in Italian leather. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Orchids sway in the breeze and the ocean blinks, brighter than cut sapphires. Maids bring her sparkling coconut water and ice. Someone turns on the plasma screen TV but her eyes are not what they used to be. Even in a country where she might run out of tears to cry for the very poor who are so very many, she believes there are still pockets of hope. Her son the senator has promised to join her for dinner. Her daughter the governor no longer hates her as she used to in her teens. See? she wants to say to the voices who come to taunt her in dreams. In the end, all will be well. The ones who have truly suffered will get their just rewards. Heaven after all is a dynasty where only the good can live forever.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Heaven.

Skeptic

erasure of a page from Samuel Pepys' diary

I hear the wind speak:
nothing but epitaph,
brass angels crying.
The church, a poor man’s box
that binds any guest
to the dying light
like some great weight.
I go down to the water
with my echo:
to say is to know.


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 18 May 1660.