Via Negativa

October 5, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Chrono logic

Up with pain, and with Sir J. Minnes by coach to the Temple, and then I to my brother’s, and up and down on business, and so to the New Exchange, and there met Creed, and he and I walked two or three hours, talking of many businesses, especially about Tangier, and my Lord Tiviot’s bringing in of high accounts, and yet if they were higher are like to pass without exception, and then of my Lord Sandwich sending a messenger to know whether the King intends to come to Newmarket, as is talked, that he may be ready to entertain him at Hinchingbroke.
Thence home and dined, and my wife all day putting up her hangings in her closett, which she do very prettily herself with her own hand, to my great content. So I to the office till night, about several businesses, and then went and sat an hour or two with Sir W. Pen, talking very largely of Sir J. Minnes’s simplicity and unsteadiness, and of Sir W. Batten’s suspicious dealings, wherein I was open, and he sufficiently, so that I do not care for his telling of tales, for he said as much, but whether that were so or no I said nothing but what is my certain knowledge and belief concerning him. Thence home to bed in great pain.

the hour ringing out
all day

an hour of simplicity
where I was sufficient

not that nothing
but what is now

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 5 October 1663.

October 5, 2026October 5, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 40

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 tiny clothes of tiny women, weeds in heaven, an expansive view of Pandemonium, the shared texture of echoes, and much more. Enjoy.

October 4, 2026October 4, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Make of Our Brokenness Another Hymn

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

"Go ahead, Lord, break our harp.
We have thousands upon thousands of harps."
                                                                                ~ Rumi


They hang in clusters of russet and gold. Or belled
in orchards, blushed like pear or hachiya persimmon.

Branches bend and the ground receives the weight
they cannot hold. We pick these up too, and save 

their impatient sweetness. In our houses, splintered 
and blackened boards must be sanded down again 

and made smooth. Not all of the season's cold has entered, 
and so the grass has not quite stopped growing. In the bowl, 

bananas that were bruised from ripening were sifted 
with flour and sugar and egg. What rose in the heat 

of the oven was a transfiguration. Resisting his attacker,
a wounded pilot maneuvered the cockpit door open 

as the plane plummeted 17,000 feet in under two minues.
Silence refused to take a seat. Ruin refused a victory.

October 4, 2026October 4, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Monotonal

(Lord’s day). Up and to church, my house being miserably overflooded with rayne last night, which makes me almost mad. At home to dinner with my wife, and so to talk, and to church again, and so home, and all the evening most pleasantly passed the time in good discourse of our fortune and family till supper, and so to bed, in some pain below, through cold got.

day is over
rain makes me at home

with so even a tune
and so old

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 4 October 1663.

October 3, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Toll

Up, being well pleased with my new lodging and the convenience of having our mayds and none else about us, Will lying below. So to the office, and there we sat full of business all the morning. At noon I home to dinner, and then abroad to buy a bell to hang by our chamber door to call the mayds. Then to the office, and met Mr. Blackburne, who came to know the reason of his kinsman (my Will) his being observed by his friends of late to droop much. I told him my great displeasure against him and the reasons of it, to his great trouble yet satisfaction, for my care over him, and how every thing I said was for the good of the fellow, and he will take time to examine the fellow about all, and to desire my pleasure concerning him, which I told him was either that he should become a better servant or that we would not have him under my roof to be a trouble. He tells me in a few days he will come to me again and we shall agree what to do therein. I home and told my wife all, and am troubled to see that my servants and others should be the greatest trouble I have in the world, more than for myself. We then to set up our bell with a smith very well, and then I late at the office. So home to supper and to bed.

so full of business
the bell by our door

and who am I to droop
or care if another

should trouble the world
more than me

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 3 October 1663.

October 3, 2026October 3, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Multi

When did you become the one who rose early 
and went to bed late, the one who made the meals 
and negotiated other openings in the day so sheets 
could be changed and clean laundry folded? You 
went from one thing to the other while answering 
and composing email, scheduling conferences, 
marking papers, writing reviews, helping a child out 
of yet another predicament. And still the days never 
run out of tasks, never seem to stop asking for you 
to give: time, money, effort, sleep, though none 
of these things you do is original or heroic—only 
necessary.  You make a list on the side while out 
to dinner with a friend,  and she says I am not 
criticizing you. You do what you have to do.

October 3, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Bellicose

Up betimes and by water to St. James’s, and there visited Mr. Coventry as a compliment after his new coming to town, but had no great talk with him, he being full of business. So back by foot through London, doing several errands, and at the ‘Change met with Mr. Cutler, and he and I to a coffee-house, and there discoursed, and he do assure me that there is great likelyhood of a war with Holland, but I hope we shall be in good condition before it comes to break out. I like his company, and will make much of his acquaintance.
So home to dinner with my wife, who is over head and eares in getting her house up, and so to the office, and with Mr. Lewes, late, upon some of the old victuallers’ accounts, and so home to supper and to bed, up to our red chamber, where we purpose always to lie. This day I received a letter from Mr. Barlow, with a Terella, which I had hoped he had sent me, but to my trouble I find it is to present from him to my Lord Sandwich, but I will make a little use of it first, and then give it him.

I try to talk with a rough
cut of the discourse

sure that there is war
before it comes

to break the old ways
to lie low

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 2 October 1663.

October 2, 2026October 2, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Stay

Early October:
they go behind the curtain
to administer death.
The universe has other plans.
Death returns the prisoner twice.

Bells split the evening,
and a sentence is split, too.
Who wants to come back
an unintended postscript,
a stone rolled back into place?

October 2, 2026October 2, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Vacation

Up and betimes to my office, and then to sit, where Sir G. Carteret, Sir W. Batten, Sir W. Pen, Sir J. Minnes, Mr. Coventry and myself, a fuller board than by the King’s progresse and the late pays and my absence has been a great while.
Sat late, and then home to dinner. After dinner I by water to Deptford about a little business, and so back again, buying a couple of good eeles by the way, and after writing by the post, home to see the painter at work, late, in my wife’s closet, and so to supper and to bed, having been very merry with the painter, late, while he was doing his work.
This day the King and Court returned from their progress.

time to sit myself
in the sand

my absence has been
great water for a little eel

my wife having
been very merry

while I work
in an urn

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 1 October 1663.

October 1, 2026October 1, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Unfeeling

Would you say animals
are lonely, or that a cloud
yearns for what it doesn't
understand?

Even a puddle left over
from last night's rain, drying
in the sun, holds what it can
of the sky.