Via Negativa

August 12, 2026August 11, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Pag-ahon *

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

~ after "Pag-ahon" by Elmer Borlongan, 2011

Don’t look for a simple treatise on triumph, here.
These figures pull the weight they’ve been given—
see how it sits, not flimsy like an outrigger,
but weighted as a bulwark is weighted.

Nothing is soft underfoot. Water,
the color and texture of beaten metal.
Overhead, the sky is enigmatic: amalgam
pressing down on each flank of the horizon.

The energy on one side is repeated on the other.
Right and left are two halves of a similar purpose.
If there were noise, one of them makes it
by roaring into the wind. Their bodies, burnished

from years of striving. Years of work make
the task almost possible. Everyone else bends
forward, trying to keep the star in the center
of their bellies from falling into the sea.

*Pag-ahon (pag-Á-hon), Tagalog or Filipino for
rising/the act of rising; recovery, overcoming

August 11, 2026August 11, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Mystery

My daughter asks if I ever read 
mystery or crime novels when I was younger.

I used to like this literary mystery series 
in which the main character 

is a literature professor in a little college town.
She becomes a de facto consultant for the local 

investigations unit after she helps them solve a case,
reading random fragments as part of a plot

that only begins to make sense 
when seemingly inconsequential details 

begin to take the form of intention. Close
reading, my own college professor called it. 

Meaning that takes shape behind the scenes, more 
quietly than the shock of a body found by a hedge

in the quad, face mangled beyond recognition.. 
Everything connects to some kind of story, 

though understanding takes time. Clues reside 
in throwaway comments, a letter misplaced, 

weird forms of construction that make characters 
sound other than themselves. Everyday conflicts 

leave careless traces. Warnings go unheeded.
Stories of grief date back, just as in the myths 

of old, to ancient grudges. When did you last 
see the missing woman, the murderer? Perhaps 

hiding in plain sight. Perhaps filling a hot bath
with bath salts or adding suspicious meats to a stew.

August 11, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Soft return

Up, though not so early this summer as I did all the last, for which I am sorry, and though late am resolved to get up betimes before the season of rising be quite past. To my office to fit myself to wait on the Duke this day.
By and by by water to White Hall, and so to St. James’s, and anon called into the Duke’s chamber, and being dressed we were all as usual taken in with him and discoursed of our matters, and that being done, he walked, and I in the company with him, to White Hall, and there he took barge for Woolwich, and, I up to the Committee of Tangier, where my Lord Sandwich, my Lord Peterborough, (whom I have not seen before since his coming back,) Sir W. Compton, and Mr. Povy. Our discourse about supplying my Lord Teviott with money, wherein I am sorry to see, though they do not care for him, yet they are willing to let him for civility and compliment only have money almost without expecting any account of it; but by this means, he being such a cunning fellow as he is, the King is like to pay dear for our courtiers’ ceremony. Thence by coach with my Lords Peterborough and Sandwich to my Lord Peterborough’s house; and there, after an hour’s looking over some fine books of the Italian buildings, with fine cuts; and also my Lord Peterborough’s bowes and arrows, of which he is a great lover, we sat down to dinner, my Lady coming down to dinner also, and there being Mr. Williamson, that belongs to Sir H. Bennet, whom I find a pretty understanding and accomplished man, but a little conceited.
After dinner I took leave and went to Greatorex’s, whom I found in his garden, and set him to work upon my ruler, to engrave an almanac and other things upon the brasses of it, which a little before night he did, but the latter part he slubbered over, that I must get him to do it over better, or else I shall not fancy my rule, which is such a folly that I am come to now, that whereas before my delight was in multitude of books, and spending money in that and buying alway of other things, now that I am become a better husband, and have left off buying, now my delight is in the neatness of everything, and so cannot be pleased with anything unless it be very neat, which is a strange folly.
Hither came W. Howe about business, and he and I had a great deal of discourse about my Lord Sandwich, and I find by him that my Lord do dote upon one of the daughters of Mrs. [Becke] where he lies, so that he spends his time and money upon her. He tells me she is a woman of a very bad fame and very impudent, and has told my Lord so, yet for all that my Lord do spend all his evenings with her, though he be at court in the day time, and that the world do take notice of it, and that Pickering is only there as a blind, that the world may think that my Lord spends his time with him when he do worse, and that hence it is that my Lord has no more mind to go into the country than he has. In fine, I perceive my Lord is dabbling with this wench, for which I am sorry, though I do not wonder at it, being a man amorous enough, and now begins to allow himself the liberty that he says every body else at Court takes.
Here I am told that my Lord Bristoll is either fled or concealed himself; having been sent for to the King, it is believed to be sent to the Tower, but he is gone out of the way.
Yesterday, I am told also, that Sir J. Lenthall, in Southwarke, did apprehend about one hundred Quakers, and other such people, and hath sent some of them to the gaole at Kingston, it being now the time of the Assizes.
Hence home and examined a piece of Latin of Will’s with my brother, and so to prayers and to bed.
This evening I had a letter from my father that says that my wife will come to town this week, at which I wonder that she should come to town without my knowing more of it. But I find they have lived very ill together since she went, and I must use all the brains I have to bring her to any good when she do come home, which I fear will be hard to do, and do much disgust me the thoughts of it.

summer is past into amber
we take our white sand back

like a lover I long
for a multitude of books

and evenings
when the amorous rains come

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 10 August 1663.

August 10, 2026August 10, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

All day each cloud

hides a stone, and every stone
                          hides a weight of unfinished 
sweetness. Does the sky tire 

of being endless, of holding court 
                          in a kingdom of what can't
ever be touched? Storms gather

what seems a century's worth 
                         of water, a deluge poured  
over the ribs of the earth.

Your heart is small as a pebble,
                          the sound of its drum 
drowned out inside a tin pail 

swinging from the shoulders 
                          of a bean curd vendor 
walking the streets at first light.  

~ after "Sky Into Stone," Katrina Bello (2025)

August 10, 2026August 10, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 32

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: walking with the dead, talking with Claude, performing poems in care homes, being the forbidden lover of a prince, and much more. Enjoy.

August 9, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Giving earth

(Lord’s day). Up, and leaving my brother John to go somewhere else, I to church, and heard Mr. Mills (who is lately returned out of the country, and it seems was fetched in by many of the parishioners, with great state,) preach upon the authority of the ministers, upon these words, “We are therefore embassadors of Christ.” Wherein, among other high expressions, he said, that such a learned man used to say, that if a minister of the word and an angell should meet him together, he would salute the minister first; which methought was a little too high. This day I begun to make use of the silver pen (Mr. Coventry did give me) in writing of this sermon, taking only the heads of it in Latin, which I shall, I think, continue to do. So home and at my office reading my vowes, and so to Sir W. Batten to dinner, being invited and sent for, and being willing to hear how they left things at Portsmouth, which I found but ill enough, and are mightily for a Commissioner to be at seat there to keep the yard in order.
Thence in the afternoon with my Lady Batten, leading her through the streets by the hand to St. Dunstan’s Church, hard by us (where by Mrs. Russell’s means we were set well), and heard an excellent sermon of one Mr. Gifford, the parson there, upon “Remember Lot’s wife.” So from thence walked back to Mrs. Russell’s, and there drank and sat talking a great while. Among other things talked of young Dawes that married the great fortune, who it seems has a Baronet’s patent given him, and is now Sir Thos. Dawes, and a very fine bred man they say he is. Thence home, and my brother being abroad I walked to my uncle Wight’s and there staid, though with little pleasure, and supped, there being the husband of Mrs. Anne Wight, who it seems is lately married to one Mr. Bentley, a Norwich factor. Home, and staid up a good while examining Will in his Latin below, and my brother along with him in his Greeke, and so to prayers and to bed.
This afternoon I was amused at the tune set to the Psalm by the Clerke of the parish, and thought at first that he was out, but I find him to be a good songster, and the parish could sing it very well, and was a good tune. But I wonder that there should be a tune in the Psalms that I never heard of.

if an angel should get
a little too high

I shall lead her through
the streets by the hand

and remember Lot’s wife
who stayed married to wonder

her Psalm
never heard

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 9 August 1663.

August 9, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Agnostic

Up and to my office, whither I search for Brown the mathematical instrument maker, who now brought me a ruler for measuring timber and other things so well done and in all things to my mind that I do set up my trust upon it that I cannot have a better, nor any man else have so good for this purpose, this being of my own ordering. By and by we sat all the morning dispatching of business, and then at noon rose, and I with Mr. Coventry down to the water-side, talking, wherein I see so much goodness and endeavours of doing the King service, that I do more and more admire him. It being the greatest trouble to me, he says, in the world to see not only in the Navy, but in the greatest matters of State, where he can lay his finger upon the soare (meaning this man’s faults, and this man’s office the fault lies in), and yet dare or can not remedy matters.
Thence to the Exchange about several businesses, and so home to dinner, and in the afternoon took my brother John and Will down to Woolwich by water, and after being there a good while, and eating of fruit in Sheldon’s garden, we began our walk back again, I asking many things in physiques of my brother John, to which he gives me so bad or no answer at all, as in the regions of the ayre he told me that he knew of no such thing, for he never read Aristotle’s philosophy and Des Cartes ownes no such thing, which vexed me to hear him say. But I shall call him to task, and see what it is that he has studied since his going to the University.
It was late before we could get from Greenwich to London by water, the tide being against us and almost past, so that to save time and to be clear of anchors I landed at Wapping, and so walked home weary enough, walking over the stones.
This night Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes returned [from] Portsmouth, but I did not go see them.

I search for a maker
no ruler in my mind

no man for a king
to lay his finger on

in all the regions of the air
nothing owns nothing

see what it is to be clear
walking over stones

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 8 August 1663.

August 9, 2026August 9, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Sarabo

August 8, 2026August 9, 2026 by Luisa A. Igloria

Terra Madre

~ after Katrina Bello


First country, last sea— How light 
knits a borderless shawl to throw 

on the backs of hills, across sheaths 
of grain, across cities recovering from

fire or flood or some recent disaster. We too 
are sown and re-sown in the world, as seeds 

pushing through soil,  as water traveling through 
veins, unfazed by mineral shadows. At daybreak, 

fishermen shake scales of silver from their nets. 
At dusk, furtive light burnishes the soles of their feet.  

I want to believe we are cupped like this—held 
like warm knobs of bread cradled in brown paper

and borne through the still sleeping streets, held 
like a quiet clapper inside the cast iron mouth 

of a great bell. What fell out of the skies, 
and from such a great distance? When islands 

quake and leaves shrivel, it is from the hands 
of the Mother. Peel the dry papyrus husk 

of a garlic clove, salt a plate of java plums. Sit 
at the edge of the harbor watching ships

haul their mixed inventory of treasure and waste. 
In time, we will die where we are. First sea, last country.

August 7, 2026 by Dave Bonta

Shed

Up and to my office a little, and then to Brown’s for my measuring rule, which is made, and is certainly the best and the most commodious for carrying in one’s pocket, and most useful that ever was made, and myself have the honour of being as it were the inventor of this form of it. Here I staid discoursing an hour with him and then home, and thither came Dr Fairbrother to me, and we walked a while together in the garden and then abroad into the cittie, and then we parted for a while and I to my Viall, which I find done and once varnished, and it will please me very well when it is quite varnished.
Thence home and to study my new rule till my head aked cruelly. So by and by to dinner and the Doctor and Mr. Creed came to me.
The Doctor’s discourse, which (though he be a very good-natured man) is but simple, was some sport to me and Creed, though my head akeing I took no great pleasure in it.
We parted after dinner, and I walked to Deptford and there found Sir W. Pen, and I fell to measuring of some planks that was serving into the yard, which the people took notice of, and the measurer himself was amused at, for I did it much more ready than he, and I believe Sir W. Pen would be glad I could have done less or he more.
By and by he went away and I staid walking up and down, discoursing with the officers of the yard of several things, and so walked back again, and on my way young Bagwell and his wife waylayd me to desire my favour about getting him a better ship, which I shall pretend to be willing to do for them, but my mind is to know his wife a little better.
They being parted I went with Cadbury the mast maker to view a parcel of good masts which I think it were good to buy, and resolve to speak to the board about it.
So home, and my brother John and I up and I to my musique, and then to discourse with him, and I find him not so thorough a philosopher, at least in Aristotle, as I took him for, he not being able to tell me the definition of final nor which of the 4 Qualitys belonged to each of the 4 Elements.
So to prayers, and to bed, among other things being much satisfied with my new rule.

in the most commodious
garden shed
I shed my headache

a doctor’s discourse is simple
measuring people
up and down

I get better at being
able to belong
to each other thing

Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 7 August 1663.