Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 16

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: a wasp’s heart, rearranging the ghosts, the language of cicadas, empires of the everyday, losing the moon and more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2024, Week 16”

Cornered

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
(translation from Filipino of Rebecca Añonuevo's "Sulok;" from Pananahan:
Mga Tula,
Talingdao Publishing House, 1999)

One morning, I woke myself with a question:
for whom and what for am I living?
and at once it seemed the loneliest
question for which I had no immediate answer.
The clock above my head pulses
to mete out the hours,
to wake
those like me from sleep
or those pretending to be asleep.
The spoon and fork
lie on the table within reach
of anyone who wants to eat,
to help them eat
(unless the table gapes from hunger
and from being lashed by sunlight).
The fan, the lights, the earthenware stove,
the flourishing orchids
outside the house,
our house,
the store at the end of the street,
my mother who wakes
and sleeps in order to cook and do laundry,
my father who likes listening
and butting into the stories
my sisters and I share,
the barangay captain,
the newly constructed waiting shed,
the new day after a hurricane
which once again sank a large boat,
the cheerfulness of Sinatra songs
I played over and over
last night in the hope I could keep
hope alive,
the church and market and plaza,
the man on the cross,
the beggar sprawled face down
on the cold and hot cement,
the farmers and widows,
my countrymen who work
in other lands,
the children singing and dancing
and going to school,
the soldier, the revolutionary,
the priest, the teacher, the poet,
the lovers—
all of them who know
what their living is for.
I wish I could pretend,
stroke my breast
and with a confident voice
offer a profound answer
to elicit a public ovation.
I don't envy everyone
for what they know
and the wisdom they have.
Why do moments like these arrive
unasked for, and yet you wade in solitude,
dark and gloomy desolation,
the kind you hide from the world
so no one suspects,
its cry
that of a child you'll muzzle
and press to your breast
until it stops breathing.

Unsuitable

Sam Pepys and me

King’s going from ye Tower to Whitehall
Up early and made myself as fine as I could, and put on my velvet coat, the first day that I put it on, though made half a year ago. And being ready, Sir W. Batten, my Lady, and his two daughters and his son and wife, and Sir W. Pen and his son and I, went to Mr. Young’s, the flag-maker, in Corne-hill; and there we had a good room to ourselves, with wine and good cake, and saw the show very well. In which it is impossible to relate the glory of this day, expressed in the clothes of them that rid, and their horses and horses clothes, among others, my Lord Sandwich’s.
Embroidery and diamonds were ordinary among them. The Knights of the Bath was a brave sight of itself; and their Esquires, among which Mr. Armiger was an Esquire to one of the Knights. Remarquable were the two men that represent the two Dukes of Normandy and Aquitane.
The Bishops come next after Barons, which is the higher place; which makes me think that the next Parliament they will be called to the House of Lords. My Lord Monk rode bare after the King, and led in his hand a spare horse, as being Master of the Horse.
The King, in a most rich embroidered suit and cloak, looked most noble. Wadlow, the vintner, at the Devil; in Fleetstreet, did lead a fine company of soldiers, all young comely men, in white doublets. There followed the Vice-Chamberlain, Sir G. Carteret, a company of men all like Turks; but I know not yet what they are for.
The streets all gravelled, and the houses hung with carpets before them, made brave show, and the ladies out of the windows, one of which over against us I took much notice of, and spoke of her, which made good sport among us.
So glorious was the show with gold and silver, that we were not able to look at it, our eyes at last being so much overcome with it.
Both the King and the Duke of York took notice of us, as he saw us at the window.
The show being ended, Mr. Young did give us a dinner, at which we were very merry, and pleased above imagination at what we have seen. Sir W. Batten going home, he and I called and drunk some mum and laid our wager about my Lady Faulconbridge’s name, which he says not to be Mary, and so I won above 20s.
So home, where Will and the boy staid and saw the show upon Towre Hill, and Jane at T. Pepys’s, the Turner, and my wife at Charles Glassecocke’s, in Fleet Street. In the evening by water to White Hall to my Lord’s, and there I spoke with my Lord. He talked with me about his suit, which was made in France, and cost him 200l., and very rich it is with embroidery. I lay with Mr. Shepley, and …

we make ourselves
impossible to express

clothes horses as bare
as the devil in white

like streets with carpets
and windows into the wind

end up in a suit
rich with embroidery


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 22 April 1661.

Signs and Wonders

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
At a table in the open air market,
the farmer asks us to guess which
colored eggs come from which chickens—
off-white, copper brown, green
and blue. The arugula fronds are not
wilting yet in the heat. Tomato clusters
boast their firm, ruddy shine. I read
somewhere about the earlobes,
and how their color matches that of the orbs
the farmer's wife collects in baskets
from the coop. How amazing it is when signs
tell the truth though more often now,
they could be duplicitous; when a dream
of combing bees out of your hair
turns into pollen-dusted stigmata on your
palms, but when you open them, they
start singing a song you can understand.

Rainy

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). In the morning we were troubled to hear it rain as it did, because of the great show tomorrow. After I was ready I walked to my father’s and there found the late maid to be gone and another come by my mother’s choice, which my father do not like, and so great difference there will be between my father and mother about it. Here dined Doctor Thos. Pepys and Dr. Fayrebrother; and all our talk about to-morrow’s show, and our trouble that it is like to be a wet day.
After dinner comes in my coz. Snow and his wife, and I think stay there till the show be over. Then I went home, and all the way is so thronged with people to see the triumphal arches, that I could hardly pass for them.
So home, people being at church, and I got home unseen, and so up to my chamber and saw done these last five or six days’ diarys.
My mind a little troubled about my workmen, which, being foreigners, are like to be troubled by a couple of lazy rogues that worked with me the other day, that are citizens, and so my work will be hindered, but I must prevent it if I can.

I hear rain
walk about

like a throng
that could hardly pass

for soup in a little
red can


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 21 April 1661.

Earth Day Poem

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
My grandson listens to a science podcast 
where children call in questions, all

prefaced by "But why"— But why is snow
white and sparkly? But why do people have

two eyes and yet see only one image? Why
do we call some species invasive, meaning

they're not indigenous to that environment?
Why and how did they move to where they

shouldn't be in the first place? Why should we
kill the spotted lanternfly, the brown stink bug,

nutria in marsh waters? Everyone is writing
about this world that is ending and ending,

or choking and soon on the brink. But it's still
a world in which I've not yet had the chance

to put my arms around the largest tree, not yet
stood hip-deep in water to applaud the homing

instincts of fish swimming against the current,
or welcome the pelicans back after their long

absence. Should we turn off the lights tonight
for an hour, and go outside to look at the stars?

Perhaps we should tell stories of what it was like
the first time we saw the moon rise into the dark

tablecloth of sky, gleaming silver platter free of
the need to serve bread or potatoes or stew. We

should hold the ticking minutes—pearls shaped
like small O's of wonder, which is what they are.

Revolution

Sam Pepys and me

Here comes my boy to tell me that the Duke of York had sent for all the principal officers, &c., to come to him to-day. So I went by water to Mr. Coventry’s, and there staid and talked a good while with him till all the rest come. We went up and saw the Duke dress himself, and in his night habitt he is a very plain man. Then he sent us to his closett, where we saw among other things two very fine chests, covered with gold and Indian varnish, given him by the East Indy Company of Holland. The Duke comes; and after he had told us that the fleet was designed for Algier (which was kept from us till now), we did advise about many things as to the fitting of the fleet, and so went away. And from thence to the Privy Seal, where little to do, and after that took Mr. Creed and Moore and gave them their morning draught, and after that to my Lord’s, where Sir W. Pen came to me, and dined with my Lord. After dinner he and others that dined there went away, and then my Lord looked upon his pages’ and footmen’s liverys, which are come home to-day, and will be handsome, though not gaudy. Then with my Lady and my Lady Wright to White Hall; and in the Banqueting-house saw the King create my Lord Chancellor and several others, Earls, and Mr. Crew and several others, Barons: the first being led up by Heralds and five old Earls to the King, and there the patent is read, and the King puts on his vest, and sword, and coronet, and gives him the patent. And then he kisseth the King’s hand, and rises and stands covered before the king. And the same for the Barons, only he is led up but by three of the old Barons, and are girt with swords before they go to the King.
That being done (which was very pleasant to see their habits), I carried my Lady back, and I found my Lord angry, for that his page had let my Lord’s new beaver be changed for an old hat.
Then I went away, and with Mr. Creed to the Exchange and bought some things, as gloves and bandstrings, &c. So back to the Cockpitt, and there, by the favour of one Mr. Bowman, he and I got in, and there saw the King and Duke of York and his Duchess (which is a plain woman, and like her mother, my Lady Chancellor).
And so saw “The Humersome Lieutenant” acted before the King, but not very well done. But my pleasure was great to see the manner of it, and so many great beauties, but above all Mrs. Palmer, with whom the King do discover a great deal of familiarity.
So Mr. Creed and I (the play being done) went to Mrs. Harper’s, and there sat and drank, it being about twelve at night. The ways being now so dirty, and stopped up with the rayles which are this day set up in the streets, I would not go home, but went with him to his lodging at Mr. Ware’s, and there lay all night.

here comes the night
here comes that which was kept
from us till morning

will the king create
another king

a king is a sword and a kiss
a cover for old loves

a king is a plain moth
a chance tenant

a king is a familiar street
but we are the night


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 20 April 1661.

Flat Roof

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The roofers pry open the flat 
part of the roof, looking

for water damage, soft
beams underneath, open

seams through which the wind
shudders. Everyone longs for

a canopy to keep out rain,
shade the color of cool

afternoons. Ours is a bed
or a page open to the scrutiny

of the sky, the indecipherable
handwriting of birds. Not being

horizonless, it marks off the space
where we live out some of our days.

Stone Aged Man

found in peat
part-way to coal

the hide under his fur
has weathered further than leather

and his rib cage still holds
a deathless canary

he’ll never fix that leaky faucet
you know the one

a chip chip chip
off the old flint

adamant under pressure
something gleams

White phosphorous

Sam Pepys and me

Among my workmen and then to the office, and after that dined with Sir W. Batten, and then home, where Sir W. Warren came, and I took him and Mr. Shepley and Moore with me to the Mitre, and there I cleared with Warren for the deals I bought lately for my Lord of him, and he went away, and we staid afterwards a good while and talked, and so parted, it being so foul that I could not go to Whitehall to see the Knights of the Bath made to-day, which do trouble me mightily. So home, and having staid awhile till Will came in (with whom I was vexed for staying abroad), he comes and then I went by water to my father’s, and then after supper to bed with my wife.

a red war went white
to see the night

and who I was abroad
comes to bed


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 19 April 1661.