Transformative

Sam Pepys and me

Up and all the morning helping my wife to put up her things towards her going into the country and drawing the wine out of my vessel to send.
This morning came my cozen Thomas Pepys to desire me to furnish him with some money, which I could not do till his father has wrote to Piggott his consent to the sale of his lands, so by and by we parted and I to the Exchange a while and so home and to dinner, and thence to the Royal Theatre by water, and landing, met with Captain Ferrers his friend, the little man that used to be with him, and he with us, and sat by us while we saw “Love in a Maze.” The play is pretty good, but the life of the play is Lacy’s part, the clown, which is most admirable; but for the rest, which are counted such old and excellent actors, in my life I never heard both men and women so ill pronounce their parts, even to my making myself sick therewith.
Thence, Creed happening to be with us, we four to the HalfMoon Tavern, I buying some sugar and carrying it with me, which we drank with wine and thence to the whay-house, and drank a great deal of whay, and so by water home, and thence to see Sir W. Pen, who is not in much pain, but his legs swell and so immoveable that he cannot stir them, but as they are lifted by other people and I doubt will have another fit of his late pain. Played a little at cards with him and his daughter, who is grown every day a finer and finer lady, and so home to supper and to bed.
When my wife and I came first home we took Ashwell and all the rest below in the cellar with the vintner drawing out my wine, which I blamed Ashwell much for and told her my mind that I would not endure it, nor was it fit for her to make herself equal with the ordinary servants of the house.

going into the country
one could land

in the little life of a clown
for old women

the half moon so moveable
as they play at cards

every day in the cellar
with the wine of the house


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 10 June 1663.

It was

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
the luck of the draw. Fortune you can acknowledge,
as long as it's good. A handful of luck supposedly
brings you more than a sackful of wisdom. Lucky
to be in the right place at the right time, rubbing
elbows with the (right/wrong) people. Then again,
what worse luck could your bad luck have saved
you from? No cat crossed your path, no bathroom
mirror fell and shattered on the floor. Add up all
the numerals in your house number. If the total
is a round number, congratulations. It seems
you made a sound real estate choice. Whereas
one day, the furniture and belongings of the people
who lived three houses down got thrown out on
the curb. Random or not, that was not lucky.

It was

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
 
just a joke, wasn't meant to be serious.
Why can't you lighten up, why be so thin-
skinned? It's so unnecessary. Couldn't you
just laugh along, be a good sport? It's just life.
It's the loudest voice that gets to go on stage
under the spotlights. It's the ones that say
they went on their knees and then a vision
opened up of what God intends for them. Amen.
A Destiny made Manifest. It was a skirmish, not
a fullblown war. It was for your own good. You
wouldn't be here now enjoying the four seasons—
summers picking vegetables and fruit, following
the salmon in fall. Jumping trains winter and
spring, in this big country of big, blonde men.

Nonconformist

Sam Pepys and me

Up and after ordering some things towards my wife’s going into the country, to the office, where I spent the morning upon my measuring rules very pleasantly till noon, and then comes Creed and he and I talked about mathematiques, and he tells me of a way found out by Mr. Jonas Moore which he calls duodecimal arithmetique, which is properly applied to measuring, where all is ordered by inches, which are 12 in a foot, which I have a mind to learn.
So he with me home to dinner and after dinner walk in the garden, and then we met at the office, where Coventry, Sir J. Minnes, and I, and so in the evening, business done, I went home and spent my time till night with my wife.
Presently after my coming home comes Pembleton, whether by appointment or no I know not, or whether by a former promise that he would come once before my wife’s going into the country, but I took no notice of, let them go up and Ashwell with them to dance, which they did, and I staid below in my chamber, but, Lord! how I listened and laid my ear to the door, and how I was troubled when I heard them stand still and not dance. Anon they made an end and had done, and so I suffered him to go away, and spoke not to him, though troubled in my mind, but showed no discontent to my wife, believing that this is the last time I shall be troubled with him.
So my wife and I to walk in the garden, home and to supper and to bed.

after some war
the rules come out
and I learn to walk at night

after my appointment with the door
I stand still and dance
in my mind


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 9 June 1663.

Empty-landed

Sam Pepys and me

Up and to my office a while, and thence by coach with Sir J. Minnes to St. James’s to the Duke, where Mr. Coventry and us two did discourse with the Duke a little about our office business, which saved our coming in the afternoon, and so to rights home again and to dinner. After dinner my wife and I had a little jangling, in which she did give me the lie, which vexed me, so that finding my talking did but make her worse, and that her spirit is lately come to be other than it used to be, and now depends upon her having Ashwell by her, before whom she thinks I shall not say nor do anything of force to her, which vexes me and makes me wish that I had better considered all that I have of late done concerning my bringing my wife to this condition of heat, I went up vexed to my chamber and there fell examining my new concordance, that I have bought, with Newman’s, the best that ever was out before, and I find mine altogether as copious as that and something larger, though the order in some respects not so good, that a man may think a place is missing, when it is only put in another place.
Up by and by my wife comes and good friends again, and to walk in the garden and so anon to supper and to bed. My cozen John Angier the son, of Cambridge coming to me late to see me, and I find his business is that he would be sent to sea, but I dissuaded him from it, for I will not have to do with it without his friends’ consent.

the right to be other
than I used to be

depends upon having
nothing that is mine

and some may think
a place is missing

when it is only put
in another place

a walk in the garden
becoming sea


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 8 June 1663.

It was

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
all those years of managing. With a capital 
M. By myself. As in, taking on the various jobs
of accountant, short order cook, paper shredder,
juggler, on-call first responder. I told myself, breathless
just meant I was getting things done. A trip downstairs
meant an ocular survey of what I could check off my list
both going and coming. Lug a load of laundry, start
the machine. Empty the old coffee filter. Drain the catch
basket. Put away clean dishes. Toss the half-bottle of fizzy
water gone flat. Charge the twin pack of weed whacker
batteries. I have perhaps a B average on bathroom stall
refinishing, but an A+ on bidet install. At the grocery,
there are marked-down trays of fish or chicken labeled
Manager's Special. In my case, Hell yeah.

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 23

Poetry Blogging Network

A personal selection of posts from around the Anglophone blogosphere, including Substack, with a commitment to following a somewhat haphazardly chosen selection of poets, poetry lovers, literary critics and publishers over time. 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: the prow of the house, swampy winged women, a parking space for dreams, rubbish dumps and petrol pumps, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 23”

It was

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
nothing short of bizarre, but with equal parts
whimsy and genius. They're a kind of diorama,
a moving show, folding and unfolding little
grey-haired aunties into scenarios—they fly
in and out of kitchens crowded with soy sauce
bottles, chopstick holders, plates of steaming
omurice and jelly salad. They dive into luggage
with more hidden creases than the laugh lines
on the sides of their eyes. Next thing you know,
the suitcase opens up again. One of them has
a motorcycle helmet on. The other climbs up
a gallery wall to join other aunties installed as
an audacious kind of Mount Rushmore above
the welting. I am telling you this is a thing.

Camaraderie

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). Whit Sunday. Lay long talking with my wife, sometimes angry and ended pleased and hope to bring our matters to a better posture in a little time, which God send. So up and to church, where Mr. Mills preached, but, I know not how, I slept most of the sermon. Thence home, and dined with my wife and Ashwell and after dinner discoursed very pleasantly, and so I to church again in the afternoon, and, the Scot preaching, again slept all the afternoon, and so home, and by and by to Sir W. Batten’s, to talk about business, where my Lady Batten inveighed mightily against the German Princess, and I as high in the defence of her wit and spirit, and glad that she is cleared at the sessions.
Thence to Sir W. Pen, who I found ill again of the gout, he tells me that now Mr. Castle and Mrs. Martha Batten do own themselves to be married, and have been this fortnight. Much good may it do him, for I do not envy him his wife. So home, and there my wife and I had an angry word or two upon discourse of our boy, compared with Sir W. Pen’s boy that he has now, whom I say is much prettier than ours and she the contrary. It troubles me to see that every small thing is enough now-a-days to bring a difference between us.
So to my office and there did a little business, and then home to supper and to bed. Mrs. Turner, who is often at Court, do tell me to-day that for certain the Queen hath much changed her humour, and is become very pleasant and sociable as any; and they say is with child, or believed to be so.

a sun sometimes
to ache with
in the afternoon

and by and by
red at night to see
every small thing

we change humour
I become as sociable
as a child


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 7 June 1663.

Rough sleepers

Sam Pepys and me

Lay in bed till 7 o’clock, yet rose with an opinion that it was not 5, and so continued though I heard the clock strike, till noon, and would not believe that it was so late as it truly was. I was hardly ever so mistaken in my life before.
Up and to Sir G. Carteret at his house, and spoke to him about business, but he being in a bad humour I had no mind to stay with him, but walked, drinking my morning draft of whay, by the way, to York House, where the Russia Embassador do lie; and there I saw his people go up and down louseing themselves: they are all in a great hurry, being to be gone the beginning of next week. But that that pleased me best, was the remains of the noble soul of the late Duke of Buckingham appearing in his house, in every place, in the doorcases and the windows.
By and by comes Sir John Hebden, the Russia Resident, to me, and he and I in his coach to White Hall, to Secretary Morrice’s, to see the orders about the Russia hemp that is to be fetched from Archangel for our King, and that being done, to coach again, and he brought me into the City and so I home; and after dinner abroad by water, and met by appointment Mr. Deane in the Temple Church, and he and I over to Mr. Blackbury’s yard, and thence to other places, and after that to a drinking house, in all which places I did so practise and improve my measuring of timber, that I can now do it with great ease and perfection, which do please me mightily.
This fellow Deane is a conceited fellow, and one that means the King a great deal of service, more of disservice to other people that go away with the profits which he cannot make; but, however, I learn much of him, and he is, I perceive, of great use to the King in his place, and so I shall give him all the encouragement I can.
Home by water, and having wrote a letter for my wife to my Lady Sandwich to copy out to send this night’s post, I to the office, and wrote there myself several things, and so home to supper and bed. My mind being troubled to think into what a temper of neglect I have myself flung my wife into by my letting her learn to dance, that it will require time to cure her of, and I fear her going into the country will but make her worse; but only I do hope in the meantime to spend my time well in my office, with more leisure than while she is here.
Hebden, to-day in the coach, did tell me how he is vexed to see things at Court ordered as they are by nobody that attends to business, but every man himself or his pleasures. He cries up my Lord Ashley to be almost the only man that he sees to look after business; and with that ease and mastery, that he wonders at him. He cries out against the King’s dealing so much with goldsmiths, and suffering himself to have his purse kept and commanded by them.
He tells me also with what exact care and order the States of Holland’s stores are kept in their Yards, and every thing managed there by their builders with such husbandry as is not imaginable; which I will endeavour to understand further, if I can by any means learn.

a mist
in our morning selves

the remains of the soul
in every window

the angel in the churchyard
after drinking the night’s ink

vexed to see nobody
attend to wonder

cries out against so much
gold and suffering


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 6 June 1663.