Vague rant

Sam Pepys and me

Up, and carrying Gosnell by coach, set her down at Temple Barr, she going about business of hers today. By the way she was telling me how Balty did tell her that my wife did go every day in the week to Court and plays, and that she should have liberty of going abroad as often as she pleased, and many other lies, which I am vexed at, and I doubt the wench did come in some expectation of, which troubles me.
So to the Duke and Mr. Coventry, and alone, the rest being at a Pay and elsewhere, and alone with Mr. Coventry I did read over our letter to my Lord Treasurer, which I think now is done as well as it can be. Then to my Lord Sandwich’s, and there spent the rest of the morning in making up my Lord’s accounts with Mr. Moore, and then dined with Mr. Moore and Battersby his friend, very well and merry, and good discourse. Then into the Park, to see them slide with their skeates, which is very pretty. And so to the Duke’s, where the Committee for Tangier met: and here we sat down all with him at a table, and had much good discourse about the business, and is to my great content. That done, I hearing what play it was that is to be acted before the King to-night, I would not stay, but home by coach, where I find my wife troubled about Gosnell, who brings word that her uncle, justice Jiggins, requires her to come three times a week to him, to follow some business that her mother intrusts her withall, and that, unless she may have that leisure given her, he will not have her take any place; for which we are both troubled, but there is no help for it, and believing it to be a good providence of God to prevent my running behindhand in the world, I am somewhat contented therewith, and shall make my wife so, who, poor wretch, I know will consider of things, though in good earnest the privacy of her life must needs be irksome to her. So I made Gosnell and we sit up looking over the book of Dances till 12 at night, not observing how the time went, and so to prayers and to bed.

go down go out
of doubt

in some expectation
of an elsewhere

let the rest of them slide
on the ice that will take
any place

there is no running
in the book of dances


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Monday 8 December 1662.

Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 49

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 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: bearing witness to old rhythms, the laptop singing to life, a postcolonial flâneuse, the slow harvest of mindfulness, and much more. Enjoy.

Continue reading “Poetry Blog Digest 2025, Week 49”

Consensus

Sam Pepys and me

(Lord’s day). A great snow, and so to church this morning with my wife, which is the first time she hath been at church since her going to Brampton, and Gosnell attending her, which was very gracefull. So home, and we dined above in our dining room, the first time since it was new done, and in the afternoon I thought to go to the French church; but finding the Dutch congregation there, and then finding the French congregation’s sermon begun in the Dutch, I returned home, and up to our gallery, where I found my wife and Gosnell, and after a drowsy sermon, we all three to my aunt Wight’s, where great store of her usuall company, and here we staid a pretty while talking, I differing from my aunt, as I commonly do, in our opinion of the handsomeness of the Queen, which I oppose mightily, saying that if my nose be handsome, then is her’s, and such like. After much discourse, seeing the room full, and being unwilling to stay all three, I took leave, and so with my wife only to see Sir W. Pen, who is now got out of his bed, and sits by the fireside. And after some talk, home and to supper, and after prayers to bed. This night came in my wife’s brother and talked to my wife and Gosnell about his wife, which they told me afterwards of, and I do smell that he I doubt is overreached in thinking that he has got a rich wife, and I fear she will prove otherwise. So to bed.

snow was
our first church

a congregation
turned store
of common opinion

like an after-
supper prayer
in each rich ear


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Sunday 7 December 1662.

Losers, Finders

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
What you lose that someone else finds:
a note slipped into a fold in the cloth
of time; another that slipped your mind.

Not the first time you feel as if blind,
flightless as a domesticated silk moth.
But what you lose, someone else finds—

Luck had nothing to do with your state of mind.
Gravity pick machine, numbered balls in the broth
of time. One after another they slip in your mind.

In thrift store bins, jumbles of left-behinds.
Atlases, maps; mismatched crystal, dish cloths.
What you lost that someone else finds

one bleak day, rummaging idly only to find
luck that flew out of your hands. It sprang forth
out of time that for a moment slipped your mind.

One day, will you catch up to find
it accidentally broken, changed in worth?
What you lose that someone else finds
at another time slips into your mind.

Committed

Sam Pepys and me

Up and to the office, and there sat all the morning, Mr. Coventry and I alone, the rest being paying off of ships. Dined at home with my wife and Gosnell, my mind much pleased with her, and after dinner sat with them a good while, till my wife seemed to take notice of my being at home now more than at other times. I went to the office, and there I sat till late, doing of business, and at 9 o’clock walked to Mr. Rawlinson’s, thinking to meet my uncle Wight there, where he was, but a great deal of his wife’s kindred-women and I knew not whom (which Mr. Rawlinson did seem to me to take much notice of his being led by the nose by his wife), I went away to my office again, and doing my business there, I went home, and after a song by Gosnell we to bed.

I sat all morning alone
with the ice of time

a clock thinking
me kindred

being led by the nose
by my business


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 6 December 1662.

Process Analysis

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
Relief 
at finding a bathroom  
       
                    She says she feels
                 almost like a new person

If we are always tethered
to some idea or state

                          when are we most
                       ourselves

Pauses show
how silence is a palimpsest 

                   of meanings
                         The instability of

surfaces and intentions
At the end we are rendered into

              pulp and bone 
                   Only some things sift

completely into ash 
A practice in which the exterior
   
                                makes the interior
                             visible at last

Long Night Moon

river in November light between bare woods and mountain

Bodies of water with a menace of teeth
beneath the surface.

Silvered arms of trees, unleafed, suggest
a longing for taxonomy—

How to remember origins,
where we began.

Trace them back to the root.

And farther back,
past the level of groundwater—

where there's less evaporation in deeper
layers of soil.

While we're asleep, our hearts
send telegrams into the frozen skies.

Winter wind

Sam Pepys and me

Up, it being a snow and hard frost, and being up I did call up Sarah, who do go away to-day or to-morrow. I paid her her wages, and gave her 10s. myself, and my wife 5s. to give her. For my part I think never servant and mistress parted upon such foolish terms in the world as they do, only for an opinion in my wife that she is ill-natured, in all other things being a good servant. The wench cried, and I was ready to cry too, but to keep peace I am content she should go, and the rather, though I say nothing of that, that Jane may come into her place.
This being done, I walked towards Guildhall, thither being summoned by the Commissioners for the Lieutenancy; but they sat not this morning. So meeting in my way W. Swan, I took him to a house thereabouts, and gave him a morning draft of buttered ale; he telling me still much of his Fanatique stories, as if he were a great zealot, when I know him to be a very rogue. But I do it for discourse, and to see how things stand with him and his party; who I perceive have great expectation that God will not bless the Court nor Church, as it is now settled, but they must be purified. The worst news he tells me, is that Mr. Chetwind is dead, my old and most ingenious acquaintance. He is dead, worth 3,000l., which I did not expect, he living so high as he did always and neatly. He hath given W. Symons his wife 300l., and made Will one of his executors.
Thence to the Temple to my counsel, and thence to Gray’s Inn to meet with Mr. Cole but could not, and so took a turn or two in the garden, being very pleasant with the snow and frost. Thence to my brother’s, and there I eat something at dinner and transcribed a copy or two of the state of my uncle’s estate, which I prepared last night, and so to the Temple Church, and there walked alone till 4 or 5 o’clock, and then to my cozen Turner’s chamber and staid there, up and down from his to Calthrop’s and Bernard’s chambers, till so late, that Mr. Cole not coming, we broke up for meeting this night, and so taking my uncle Thomas homewards with me by coach, talking of our desire to have a peace, and set him down at Gracious-street end, and so home, and there I find Gosnell come, who, my wife tells me, is like to prove a pretty companion, of which I am glad. So to my office for a little business and then home, my mind having been all this day in most extraordinary trouble and care for my father, there being so great an appearance of my uncle’s going away with the greatest part of the estate, but in the evening by Gosnell’s coming I do put off these thoughts to entertain myself with my wife and her, who sings exceeding well, and I shall take great delight in her, and so merrily to bed.

in a hard world I was ready
to cry but say nothing

a draft of a new wind
is not always neat

given gray snow
in a homeward street

like the most ordinary
trouble becoming delight


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 5 December 1662.

Tragedy

river in November light between bare woods and mountain
The story is that an eagle mistook 
Aeschylus' bald head for a rock,
and dropped a tortoise upon it.
Did it shatter his skull or give
him a giant concussion? In any case,
he was supposed to have died instantly.
Aeschylus, described as the father of
tragedy, wrote: He who learns must suffer.
And even in our sleep, pain that cannot
forget falls drop by drop upon the heart.
What of the tortoise— did it incur any
injuries? In Maso Finiguerra's pen-and-
sepia-ink drawing of the scene, the idea
of catastrophe makes a light impression.
There's the writer, seated placidly by
a stream, book on one knee, nodding off
perhaps because of the leaves rustling in
the grove. Strangely, the before and
after of the turtle's fall is rendered
in the drawing. One moment it hovers
mid-air like a cartoon alien ship.
In the next, it's landed smack
on its back on the artist's head.
The eagle itself wears an expression
of mild dismay, perhaps having just
then realized it aimed at the wrong
target. But such is the nature of tragedy—
how the small, seemingly inconsequential
thing leads to the undoing.

Ratty

Sam Pepys and me

At the office all the morning setting about business, and after dinner to it again, and so till night, and then home looking over my Brampton papers against to-morrow that we are to meet with our counsel on both sides toward an arbitration, upon which I was very late, and so to bed.

setting out after dinner

night in my ear
on both sides

a rat


Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 4 December 1662.