Apart

Sam Pepys and me

Up early among my workmen, then Mr. Creed coming to see me I went along with him to Sir Robert Slingsby (he being newly maister of that title by being made a Baronett) to discourse about Mr. Creed’s accounts to be made up, and from thence by coach to my cozen Thomas Pepys, to borrow 1000l. for my Lord, which I am to expect an answer to tomorrow. So to my Lord’s, and there staid and dined, and after dinner did get my Lord to view Mr. Shepley’s accounts as I had examined them, and also to sign me a bond for my 500l.
Then with Mr. Shepley to the Theatre and saw “Rollo” ill acted. That done to drink a cup of ale and so by coach to London, and having set him down in Cheapside I went home, where I found a great deal of work done to-day, and also 70l. paid me by the Treasurer upon the bill of exchange that I have had hopes of so long, so that, my heart in great content; I went to bed.

among men I seem mad
a made-up account

to sign on my own
heap of hopes


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 28 March 1661.

Harrowing

an empty coal train
is rolling past a hobo camp

so many vacancies
like christ’s tomb

while the emergency room at the hospital
has no beds to spare

no windows of any kind
only an addict’s hallucinations

and a skinny old man
yelling help without the p

hell hell hell for hours
until the hospitalist snaps

out here it’s nearly easter
another winter’s worth of fossil fuels

have risen indeed
on wings of mercury

deer weakened by chronic wasting
browse on mountain laurel

a gray fox ravaged by rabies
leaves her pelt beside the burrow

as the first hepaticas
raise their blue cups

Reel

Sam Pepys and me

Up early to see my workmen at work. My brother Tom comes to me, and among other things I looked over my old clothes and did give him a suit of black stuff clothes and a hat and some shoes.
At the office all the morning, where Sir G. Carteret comes, and there I did get him to promise me some money upon a bill of exchange, whereby I shall secure myself of 60l. which otherwise I should not know how to get.
At noon I found my stairs quite broke down, that I could not get up but by a ladder; and my wife not being well she kept her chamber all this day.
To the Dolphin to a dinner of Mr. Harris’s, where Sir Williams both and my Lady Batten, and her two daughters, and other company, where a great deal of mirth, and there staid till 11 o’clock at night; and in our mirth I sang and sometimes fiddled (there being a noise of fiddlers there), and at last we fell to dancing, the first time that ever I did in my life, which I did wonder to see myself to do. At last we made Mingo, Sir W. Batten’s black, and Jack, Sir W. Pen’s, dance, and it was strange how the first did dance with a great deal of seeming skill.
Home, where I found my wife all day in her chamber. So to bed.

brother to other things
my old black shoes

get where I otherwise
should not know

down a ladder
into another night

and there in a noise
of fiddlers I wonder

to see myself dance
with seeming skill


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 27 March 1661.

Banner, Wings, and Keel

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
 
Hand-in-hand, hand over hand; hand over heart—
        how we move through the life we’re given, to keep  
from premature unraveling. I remember green days  

        dazzled with light, the child I was astride a tricycle 
with red and white streamers dangling from each handlebar.  
	In a nearly faded picture, my mother bends toward me. 

We both look in the direction of the camera, which is  
        another name for the future at which we flash our well-
pressed smiles. Later, let loose on the grass, I behead my own 

       share of dandelions, surreptitiously nibble on white 
clover, hiding my disappointment at not finding a four-leafed prize. 
       But I remember the herb-sour fascination on my tongue; how

every flower was a globe studded with tens of tiny flowers, each 
with its own small standard and two side petals enclosing the keel. 

Interval, with Ghosts of Wounds

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
As a young man, one of my grandfathers 
went to work as a cook in a hotel built 
in the 1900s. My youngest daughter and I 
stayed there on a visit years ago. It rained 
almost every day. But we had strong 
black coffee and ate breakfasts of fried 
egg and venison or fried egg and smoked 
fish with a relish of onions and tomato
in a room where generals and soldiers
dined during colonial times. 
We walked in the sopping rain—
I wanted to show her the cathedral
where people sheltered during the war;
there had been a crack running all
the way from the door and up the aisle, 
but like any kind of scar, it was hardly 
visible anymore. Even then, it was 
a place mostly full of ghosts for me. 
A statue of the crucified Christ still
lay on its back in a dusty glass case. 
During Lent, they took off the lid and
the faithful could come and touch
their fingers to all the places 
where the wounds would be. 

Greed

Sam Pepys and me

Up early to do business in my study.
This is my great day that three years ago I was cut of the stone, and, blessed be God, I do yet find myself very free from pain again. All this morning I staid at home looking after my workmen to my great content about my stairs, and at noon by coach to my father’s, where Mrs. Turner, The, Joyce, Mr. Morrice, Mr. Armiger, Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, and his wife, my father and mother, and myself and my wife.
Very merry at dinner; among other things, because Mrs. Turner and her company eat no flesh at all this Lent, and I had a great deal of good flesh which made their mouths water.
After dinner Mrs. Pierce and her husband and I and my wife to Salisbury Court, where coming late he and she light of Col. Boone that made room for them, and I and my wife sat in the pit, and there met with Mr. Lewes and Tom Whitton, and saw “The Bondman” done to admiration. So home by coach, and after a view of what the workmen had done to-day I went to bed.

this is the toneless god
I find myself free from

this urge of flesh-
mad mouths

to bury light
in the pit


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 26 March 1661.

Helped

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The sound of the river at night,
easier on the ears than the  noise
of winds rousing their own rabble.
I eat a banana at the counter, 
waiting for the laundry to dry,
wondering how to pay off all
my debts so I can retire. 
After the death of my father,
we found out he had barely
anything left in his savings. I can't 
remember for sure, but my mother 
lay in bed for weeks. I can't remember 
either how I fended for myself or if 
I had any help; surely I had help? 
There's another memory of her, 
sick in bed; and I only seven, moving 
back and forth between her bedside
and the kitchen as she gave me
instructions on how to cook adobo.:
lay the chicken pieces in the pot.
Barely cover with soy sauce, 
vnegar, a little water. Throw in 
garlic cloves and peppercorn, a large
bay leaf. I don't remember how long
it took to make everything tender,
who poured the stew over a bowl
of steaming white rice. Somehow 
she survived, I survived. She 
is only recently gone, while
I am still here. 

Re-commitment

Sam Pepys and me

(Lady day). This morning came workmen to begin the making of me a new pair of stairs up out of my parler, which, with other work that I have to do, I doubt will keep me this two months and so long I shall be all in dirt; but the work do please me very well. To the office, and there all the morning, dined at home, and after dinner comes Mr. Salisbury to see me, and shewed me a face or two of his paynting, and indeed I perceive that he will be a great master.
I took him to Whitehall with me by water, but he would not by any means be moved to go through bridge, and so we were fain to go round by the Old Swan.
To my Lord’s and there I shewed him the King’s picture, which he intends to copy out in little. After that I and Captain Ferrers to Salisbury Court by water, and saw part of the “Queene’s Maske.” Then I to Mrs. Turner, and there staid talking late. The. Turner being in a great chafe, about being disappointed of a room to stand in at the Coronacion.
Then to my father’s, and there staid talking with my mother and him late about my dinner to-morrow.
So homewards and took up a boy that had a lanthorn, that was picking up of rags, and got him to light me home, and had great discourse with him how he could get sometimes three or four bushells of rags in a day, and got 3d. a bushell for them, and many other discourses, what and how many ways there are for poor children to get their livings honestly.
So home and I to bed at 12 o’clock at night, being pleased well with the work that my workmen have begun to-day.

I am making new stairs
up out of my doubt

I face the old mask
and talk to it about light

and how many ways I get
to be with my gun


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 25 March 1660/61.

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 12

Poetry Blogging Network

A personal selection of posts from the Poetry Blogging Network and beyond. Although I tend to quote my favorite bits, please do click through and read the whole posts. You can also browse the blog digest archive, subscribe to its RSS feed in your favorite feed reader, or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack.

This week: meaning in fog, emergency language, an inconvenient cemetery, a home make-under, World Poetry Day, the spring equinox, and more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 12”

Five Year Review

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
We keep 
reinventing ourselves 

as if there was a shelf 
life to our kind 

of professional
Someone's always

asking for a dossier
An updated file

just to make sure 
you're worth the award

How much work
does it take to prove

you can work
How much more 

you could work
without the light

of constant scrutiny
Happy even

to be of use
Happy to disprove

the so-called self-
fulfilling prophecies