Via Negativa

October 17, 2024October 17, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

At the office all the morning, at noon my wife being gone to my coz Snow’s with Dr. Thomas Pepys and my brother Tom to a venison pasty (which proved a pasty of salted pork); by appointment I went with Captain David Lambert to the Exchequer, and from thence by appointment he and I were to meet at a cook’s shop to dine. But before I went to him Captain Cock, a merchant I had not long known, took me to the Sun tavern and gave me a glass of sack, and being a man of great observation and repute, did tell me that he was confident that the Parliament, when it comes the next month to sit again, would bring trouble with it, and enquire how the King had disposed of offices and money, before they will raise more; which, I fear, will bring all things to ruin again. Thence to the Cook’s and there dined with Captain Lambert and his father-in-law, and had much talk of Portugall; from whence he is lately come, and he tells me it is a very poor dirty place; I mean the City and Court of Lisbon; that the King is a very rude and simple fellow; and, for reviling of somebody a little while ago, and calling of him cuckold, was run into the cods with a sword and had been killed, had he not told them that he was their king. That there are there no glass windows, nor will they have any; which makes sport among our merchants there to talk of an English factor that, being newly come thither, writ into England that glass would be a good commodity to send thither, &c. That the King has his meat sent up by a dozen of lazy guards and in pipkins, sometimes, to his own table; and sometimes nothing but fruits, and, now and then, half a hen. And now that the Infanta is become our Queen, she is come to have a whole hen or goose to her table, which is not ordinary. So home and to look over my papers that concern the difference between Mrs. Goldsborough and us; which cost me much pains, but contented me much after it was done. So at home all the evening and to supper and to bed.

a noon of salt and sun
a glass of ruin

poor simple body
killed by nothing

but ordinary paper
the difference between us

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 17 October 1661.

October 16, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Fleeting

In bed till 12 o’clock. This morning came several maids to my wife to be hired, and at last she pitched upon one Nell, whose mother, an old woman, came along with her, but would not be hired under half a year, which I am pleased at their drollness. This day dined by appointment with me, Dr. Thos. Pepys and my Coz: Snow, and my brother Tom, upon a fin of ling and some sounds, neither of which did I ever know before, but most excellent meat they are both, that in all my life I never eat the like fish. So after dinner came in W. Joyce and eat and drank and were merry. So up to my chamber, and put all my papers, at rights, and in the evening our maid Mary (who was with us upon trial for a month) did take leave of us, going as we suppose to be married, for the maid liked us and we her, but all she said was that she had a mind to live in a tradesman’s house where there was but one maid. So to supper and to bed.

a red moth
came with the snow

I know they are
both life-like

is joy a right
like sand
to use up

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 16 October 1661.

October 16, 2024October 16, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Wealth

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Sometimes, when you're turning 
coats or pants pockets inside out
before doing the laundry, you find

change—even small wads of bills
creased and folded from whatever
original errand they were used for

at the store. It's like receiving un-
expected windfall, though you might 
also look around furtively to make sure 

no one thinks you're taking what isn't 
yours. See, you're the type who's never 
had the privilege of being able to play 

with the intricacies of this thing 
called investment. How easy some
people make it sound: Oh you just 

put a little extra money away into your 
portfolio, and next time you look, it's 
doubled or tripled. When your insurance 

agent asks if you know how much your
retirement account must be worth today, 
you stammer. Your grandfather, in the last

years of his life, could at least say he owned 
one carabao, a yard full of roosters and hens,  
some mango and coconut trees, a little 

plot of farmland. You wonder what 
he'd say if asked how much his field 
would yield this year, next year, 

the next. What his hand sowed, 
his hand reaped unless the wind 
and rain took more than their share.

October 15, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Vanishing point

At the office all the morning, and in the afternoon to Paul’s Churchyard to a blind place, where Mrs. Goldsborough was to meet me (who dare not be known where she lives) to treat about the difference which remains between my uncle and her. But, Lord! to hear how she talks and how she rails against my uncle would make one mad. But I seemed not to be troubled at it, but would indeed gladly have an agreement with her. So I appoint Mr. Moore and she another against Friday next to look into our papers and to see what can be done to conclude the matter. So home in much pain by walking too much yesterday I have made my testicle to swell again, which much troubles me.

morning in the blind place
where gold lives

between rails an agreement
not to conclude

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 15 October 1661.

October 15, 2024October 15, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Café Interlude, with Socratic Method

After his trial, Socrates is condemned to death
for sins of impiety and corrupting the youth. 
Most depictions show him as noble and calm
in this final adversity, befitting a philosopher 
of his stature—In the Phaedo, when he inquires, 
the official poisoner says the only thing he's 
expected to do is drink it, that's all. Carrot 
fern, poison parsley, purple-blotched 
along the stem and bitter when bruised—
Even as Socrates gamely downs 
the hemlock-saturated cup of wine,
he doesn't froth at the mouth, clutch 
at his stomach, or stumble around 
like a common drunk. He simply pulls
his robe over his face. This is the guy
famous for asking What do you know?
How do you know what you know? and 
Why should you care about it? Unsettling,
to anyone uncomfortable with challenging
the status quo or what they've been 
conditioned to believe. And so, at the café 
this morning, when the barista instructs
us to keep anyone from sitting at the corner
table because a repairman's coming to fix
the closed circuit camera above it,
we are at first amused as customer
after customer tries to sit there, 
even when we've turned the chairs
over or pushed them under the window
counter. All they have to do is comply, find
another table; that's all. Aren't they also 
asking How do you know? Why should we
believe you? And it seems there is also 
something in the spirit that makes me want
to cheer, for refusing to accept there can be 
only one outcome, besides or before 
the body's surrender to its most final fate.

October 14, 2024October 14, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 41

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 at Via Negativa or, if you’d like it in your inbox, subscribe on Substack (where the posts might be truncated by some email providers).

This week: what’s bothering the clouds, a mausoleum of flowers, slim needles of flow, the hitchhiking dead, and much more. Enjoy.

October 14, 2024 by Dave Bonta

Luisa on “Caulbearer” at Poetry Daily

Don’t miss this feature on the title poem from Luisa’s new collection Caulbearer at Poetry Daily, as part of their series What Sparks Poetry. Here’s an excerpt:

As an immigrant and a writer in the diaspora, despite the length of time I’ve lived in the U.S. and as a naturalized citizen, I’m still conscious of the feeling of being neither here nor there. There is a fantasy of irrecoverable return, and here is the place to which I’ve carried the ghosts of my own (and perhaps my community’s) nostalgia. Between these two states of being is a veil perishable as a panicle of yucca flowers, sheer as the wings of a yucca moth whose continued existence in an often brutal world depends on mutuality. But it is also a space which I want to imbue with as much tenderness as I can.
Read the rest.

Regular readers might recognize the poem, which first appeared here in January 2019. Read it at Poetry Daily… and order the book from Black Lawrence Press.

October 14, 2024 by Dave Bonta

After ward

This morning I ventured by water abroad to Westminster, but lost my labour, for Mr. Montagu was not in town. So to the Wardrobe, and there dined with my Lady, which is the first time I have seen her dine abroad since her being brought to bed of my Lady Katherine. In the afternoon Captain Ferrers and I walked abroad to several places, among others to Mr. Pim’s, my Lord’s Taylour’s, and there he went out with us to the Fountain tavern and did give us store of wine, and it being the Duke of York’s birthday, we drank the more to his health. But, Lord! what a sad story he makes of his being abused by a Dr. of Physique who is in one part of the tenement wherein he dwells. It would make one laugh, though I see he is under a great trouble in it. Thence home by link and found a good answer from my father that Sir R. Bernard do clear all things as to us and our title to Brampton, which puts my heart in great ease and quiet.

a lost war is a road
to no place
to give birth

the lord of abuse
dwells under a title
in great quiet

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 14 October 1661.

October 14, 2024October 12, 2024 by Luisa A. Igloria

Daughters

The novelist said drop daughter
        into your proposal and the whole
marketing team will be behind you

because daughter is synonymous 
        with love and sorrow, conflict 
and separation, age, impossible

desire. We laughed but I knew 
        it was true—all those stories 
about blood and bone, how we 

felt our way out of blind tunnels
        in the same way our mothers and
their mothers and their mothers before

them did, elbowing into a world we  
        are still demanding make space for us.