Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
As we round the corner to the end of June,
the forecast has the full moon reaching
its peak and Mercury slowing down.
In many stories, the moon wears a face
you could read if it revealed itself to you.
This doesn't necessarily mean you'd ask it
to grant a wish. I never wanted to live forever,
though I did often dream I could fly. The moment
a thing manifests is often followed by the moment
it fades. This is why sometimes, you never
want to wake up from a dream.
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, days bear their teeth, fantasy and reality rhyme, attention is a form of loss, and the poem has stopped showing and started naming. Enjoy.
Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2026, Week 26”
(Lord’s day). Early in the morning my last night’s physic worked and did give me a good stool, and then I rose and had three or four stools, and walked up and down my chamber. Then up, my maid rose and made me a posset, and by and by comes Mr. Creed, and he and I spent all the morning discoursing against to-morrow before the Duke the business of his pieces of eight, in which the Treasurer makes so many queries.
At noon, my physic having done working, I went down to dinner, and then he and I up again and spent most of the afternoon reading in Cicero and other books of good discourse, and then he went away, and then came my brother Tom to see me, telling me how the Joyces do make themselves fine clothes against Mary is brought to bed. He being gone I went to cast up my monthly accounts, and to my great trouble I find myself 7l. worse than I was the last month, but I confess it is by my reckoning beforehand a great many things, yet however I am troubled to see that I can hardly promise myself to lay up much from month’s end to month’s end, about 4l. or 5l. at most, one month with another, without some extraordinary gettings, but I must and I hope I shall continue to have a care of my own expenses.
So to the reading my vows seriously and then to supper. This evening there came my boy’s brother to see for him, and tells me he knows not where he is, himself being out of town this week and is very sorry that he is gone, and so am I, but he shall come no more. So to prayers, and to bed.
early in the morning
last night’s rose
is in pieces
so many books of joy
make themselves
in bed
I shall continue
reading myself
into prayers
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 28 June 1663.
In a dream, two of my daughters sit in a box
frame house the size of a sky lantern. They are going
to bring a plate of purple figs to God, freshly picked
yesterday and cold from the refrigerator. I hold
the bottom steady, waiting for the lit birthday candles
to fuel the paper envelope surrounding them
and the moment of lift-off. I want to be useful.
I want them to succeed. I want them to soar
through the night sky holding hands but unafraid.
I want to watch the marvel of their progress,
a gold thread steadily stitching the blue. There
they go, floating with every good wish in
the wind. I don't mind the cold in these dark
hills, nor the crows full of bluster in the trees.
Up by 4 o’clock and a little to my office. Then comes by agreement Sir W. Warren, and he and I from ship to ship to see deals of all sorts, whereby I have encreased my knowledge and with great pleasure. Then to his yard and house, where I staid two hours or more discoursing of the expense of the navy and the corruption of Sir W. Batten and his man Wood that he brings or would bring to sell all that is to be sold by the Navy.
Then home to the office, where we sat a little, and at noon home to dinner, alone, and thence, it raining hard, by water to the Temple, and so to Lincoln’s Inn, and there walked up and down to see the new garden which they are making, and will be very pretty, and so to walk under the Chappell by agreement, whither Mr. Clerke our Solicitor came to me, and he fetched Mr. Long, our Attorney in the Exchequer in the business against Field, and I directed him to come to the best and speediest composition he could, which he will do. So home on foot, calling upon my brother’s and elsewhere upon business, and so home to my office, and there wrote letters to my father and wife, and so home to bed, taking three pills overnight.
from hip to hip
I have increased
in the wood where we walked
they are making a field
and me here in my office
the fat taking over
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 27 June 1663.
For all the times I believe better
to ask forgiveness instead of permission.
For the times I break the quiet,
and all the times I refuse to speak.
For plucking fruit still jacketed in green
just to cut it open and prove it has a heart.
For pressing my eager hand on the glass
and lifting the ropes, despite the warnings.
For all the times I mean no but
my mouth, this body, says yes or maybe.
For thinking the world is always willing to help,
rather than lying in wait as an orange sunrise.
For the hours I let grief eat from my hand
and the nights I pray for sleep so when I wake
everything stretched to near breaking
will return to its unbroken self.
*
P.S.: I woke up to this beautiful translation into Ilocano
of my poem, by Baguio-based poet, scholar, translator
and artist Junley Lorenzana Lazaga. I have his permission
to share it here on Via Negativa. Agyamanac unay, Junley!
Daniw kas Pammakawan iti Uniberso
(Poem as Apology to Universe by Luisa A. Igloria;
translated by Junley Lorenzana Lazaga)
Para kadagiti amin a panawen nga ad-adda nga italekko
ti kumiddaw iti pammakawan imbes a pammalubos.
Para kadagiti amin a kanito a ti talna, binurakko,
ken amin a kanito a nagkedkedak nga agsao.
Para iti panangpuros iti bunga a naganus pay laeng a silalangto
tapno laeng iwaek a luktan ken paneknekan nga addaan iti puso.
Para iti panangigaedko iti imak iti sarming
ken panangitag-ay kadagiti galut, iti laksid dagiti ballaag.
Para kadagiti amin nga oras a kayatko a sawen ti saan
ngem dagiti bibigko, daytoy bagik, nangbalikas iti wen wenno amangan.
Para iti panangpanunot a ti lubong ket kanayon a sisasagana a tumulong,
imbes nga agtalinaed laeng nga agur-uray a kas iti maris-kahel nga ileleggak ti init.
Para kadagiti oras a ti leddaang, isubbuak a mangan
ken kadagiti rabii nga agkararagak para iti pannaturog tapno iti iririingko
amin a mabinnat nga agarup maburak
ket agsublida iti bagida a di-naburak.
Prof. Junley Lorenzana Lazaga, holds the distinction of being
the first in the University of the Philippines Baguio to be conferred
the title of UP Artist. He currently serves as an associate professor
in the Department of Language, Literature, and the Arts, where he
has served for over fifteen years in various academic and administrative
leadership roles, including directing public affairs during the height
of the COVID-19 pandemic. He writes in Ilokano, Filipino, and English,
and also translates between these languages. He is the recipient
of a UP Baguio Golden Jubilee Award (2021), One UP Faculty Grant
Award (2016-2018, 2019-2021), and One UP Professorial Chair
Award (2022-2024).
Up betimes, and Mr. Moore coming to see me, he and I discoursed of going to Oxford this Commencement, Mr. Nathaniel Crew being Proctor and Mr. Childe commencing Doctor of Musique this year, which I have a great mind to do, and, if I can, will order my matters so that I may do it.
By and by, he and I to the Temple, it raining hard, my cozen Roger being got out, he and I walked a good while among the Temple trees discoursing of my getting my Lord to let me have security upon his estate for 100l. per ann. for two lives, my own and my wife, for my money. But upon second thoughts Mr. Moore tells me it is very likely my Lord will think that I beg something, and may take it ill, and so we resolved not to move it there, but to look for it somewhere else.
Here it raining hard he and I walked into the King’s Bench Court, where I never was before, and there staid an hour almost, till it had done raining, which is a sad season, that it is said there hath not been one fair day these three months, and I think it is true, and then by water to Westminster, and at the Parliament House I spoke with Roger Pepys. The House is upon the King’s answer to their message about Temple, which is, that my Lord of Bristoll did tell him that Temple did say those words; so the House are resolved upon sending some of their members to him to know the truth, and to demand satisfaction if it be not true.
So by water home, and after a little while getting me ready, Sir W. Batten, Sir J. Minnes, my Lady Batten, and I by coach to Bednall Green, to Sir W. Rider’s to dinner, where a fine place, good lady mother, and their daughter, Mrs. Middleton, a fine woman. A noble dinner, and a fine merry walk with the ladies alone after dinner in the garden, which is very pleasant; the greatest quantity of strawberrys I ever saw, and good, and a collation of great mirth, Sir J. Minnes reading a book of scolding very prettily.
This very house was built by the Blind Beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sang in ballads; but they say it was only some of the outhouses of it. We drank great store of wine, and a beer glass at last which made me almost sick.
At table, discoursing of thunder and lightning, they told many stories of their own knowledge at table of their masts being shivered from top to bottom, and sometimes only within and the outside whole, but among the rest Sir W. Rider did tell a story of his own knowledge, that a Genoese gaily in Leghorn Roads was struck by thunder, so as the mast was broke a-pieces, and the shackle upon one of the slaves was melted clear off of his leg without hurting his leg. Sir William went on board the vessel, and would have contributed towards the release of the slave whom Heaven had thus set free, but he could not compass it, and so he was brought to his fetters again.
In the evening home, and a little to my Tryangle, and so to bed.
music in the temple
rain on the trees
I have two lives
my own and my money
second thoughts rain hard
in sad season
one fair day
the truth is not true
after a walk with
a blind beggar
I shiver from top to bottom
who would not
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 26 June 1663.
the uncanny distribution of quakes
all over the globe, some deadlier than
others— Did the tortoise in the center
of the earth finally tire of shouldering
our burdens and maybe step away from
the pillar that holds everything in place?
Yesterday, towers stood like gleaming
sheaths beneath the broiling sun as though
they would withstand every form of violence.
Yesterday, a sinkhole yawned open at the exit
from the freeway. Days bare their teeth and
gums. The wind smears pastes of insect
bodies on glass. I am trying not to think
of these as plagues pouring out of the sky.
Up both of us pretty early and to my chamber, where he and I did draw up a letter to Sir G. Carteret in excuse and preparation for Creed against we meet before the Duke upon his accounts, which I drew up and it proved very well, but I am pleased to see with what secret cunning and variety of artifice this Creed has carried on his business even unknown to me, which he is now forced by an accident to communicate to me. So that taking up all the papers of moment which lead to the clearing of his accounts unobserved out of the Controller’s hand, which he now makes great use of; knowing that the Controller has not wherewith to betray him. About this all the morning, only Mr. Bland came to me about some business of his, and told me the news, which holds to be true, that the Portuguese did let in the Spaniard by a plot, and they being in the midst of the country and we believing that they would have taken the whole country, they did all rise and kill the whole body, near 8,000 men, and Don John of Austria having two horses killed under him, was forced with one man to flee away.
Sir George Carteret at the office (after dinner, and Creed being gone, for both now and yesterday I was afraid to have him seen by Sir G. Carteret with me, for fear that he should increase his doubt that I am of a plot with Creed in the business of his accounts) did tell us that upon Tuesday last, being with my Lord Treasurer, he showed him a letter from Portugall speaking of the advance of the Spaniards into their country, and yet that the Portuguese were never more courageous than now; for by an old prophecy, from France, sent thither some years, though not many since, from the French King, it is foretold that the Spaniards should come into their country, and in such a valley they should be all killed, and then their country should be wholly delivered from the Spaniards. This was on Tuesday last.
And yesterday came the very first news that in this very valley they had thus routed and killed the Spaniards, which is very strange but true.
So late at the office, and then home to supper and to bed.
This noon I received a letter from the country from my wife, wherein she seems much pleased with the country; God continue that she may have pleasure while she is there.
She, by my Lady’s advice, desires a new petticoat of the new silk striped stuff, very pretty. So I went to Paternoster Row presently, and bought her one, with Mr. Creed’s help, a very fine rich one, the best I did see there, and much better than she desires or expects, and sent it by Creed to Unthanke to be made against tomorrow to send by the carrier, thinking it had been but Wednesday to-day, but I found myself mistaken, and also the taylor being out of the way, it could not be done, but the stuff was sent me back at night by Creed to dispose of some other way to make, but now I shall keep it to next week.
what secret is unknown
to all the papers of moment
which unobserved hand
makes no news
holds two horses
for now and for never
in the very valley where
we sent the night
to dispose of it
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 25 June 1663.
the small graft that took, the barely green
patched into the rootstock of another. Or
whip and tongue, cleft together. Meaning,
a wound is made to shorten the time
it takes to fruit or flower. Virgil wrote
of where the buds push forth amidst
the bark, and burst the membranes
thin, but we only talk about toughening
the skin. Legends say the dimpled fruit,
bruised by a forest fairy's fingers, turned
from bitter to syrup in the mouth. Every
change adds another layer. How fortunate
we are to pick and choose what to leave
behind, what to make part of our insides.