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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.
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
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.
I dream I no longer keep
presents for use at a better time.
When the tree bows low
with persimmons, I eat
and am grateful.
When the fig yields sweet
purple fruit, I pick
and am overcome
with their unashamed
tenderness. I no longer feel
sorry for rooms with too many
unread books, the silence
of needles with no mending,
dry buds of tea
waiting to blossom
in the perfect cup of hot water.
The river flecks with foam,
and the sun wears the halo
of centuries. I take
a book in my hand and slide
it under my pillow where it will open
to dream after dream after dream.
Up with my workmen and then about 9 o’clock took horse with both the Sir Williams for Walthamstow, and there we found my Lady and her daughters all.
And a pleasant day it was, and all things else, but that my Lady was in a bad mood, which we were troubled at, and had she been noble she would not have been so with her servants, when we came thither, and this Sir W. Pen took notice of, as well as I. After dinner we all went to the Church stile, and there eat and drank, and I was as merry as I could counterfeit myself to be. Then, it raining hard, we left Sir W. Batten, and we two returned and called at Mr. –- and drank some brave wine there, and then homewards again and in our way met with two country fellows upon one horse, which I did, without much ado, give the way to, but Sir W. Pen would not, but struck them and they him, and so passed away, but they giving him some high words, he went back again and struck them off their horse, in a simple fury, and without much honour, in my mind, and so came away.
Home, and I sat with him a good while talking, and then home and to bed.
with my workhorse
a thin pen
I counterfeit myself
rain turned wine
giving high words
a simple home
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Thursday 18 April 1661.
By land and saw the arches, which are now almost done and are very fine, and I saw the picture of the ships and other things this morning, set up before the East Indy House, which are well done. So to the office, and that being done I went to dinner with Sir W. Batten, and then home to my workmen, and saw them go on with great content to me. Then comes Mr. Allen of Chatham, and I took him to the Mitre and there did drink with him, and did get of him the song that pleased me so well there the other day, “Of Shitten come Shites the beginning of love.”
His daughters are to come to town to-morrow, but I know not whether I shall see them or no. That done I went to the Dolphin by appointment and there I met Sir Wms. both and Mr. Castle, and did eat a barrel of oysters and two lobsters, which I did give them, and were very merry.
Here we had great talk of Mr. Warren’s being knighted by the King, and Sir W. B. seemed to be very much incensed against him.
So home.
no one saw us in my tent
at the beginning of love
tomorrow shall see no one
in a castle of two
and here we talk of war
benighted
incensed
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Wednesday 17 April 1661.
September flower, spiked white
wood or billowy lavender aster—
pearl crescents, monarchs, and
golden moths come to feed
as if worshipping where you cluster.
There is a first star, a morning and
evening star, a star for every event
in the zodiac; and there is one of sudden
or ruinous nature, one which falls out
of lucky alignment. A crossed star, dis-
possessed of favor or fortune. Tell
me, which one stood watch or
crowned me at birth; which one offered
its distant light like a godmother?
So soon as word was brought me that Mr. Coventry was come with the barge to the Tower, I went to him, and found him reading of the Psalms in short hand (which he is now busy about), and had good sport about the long marks that are made there for sentences in divinity, which he is never like to make use of. Here he and I sat till the Comptroller came and then we put off for Deptford, where we went on board the King’s pleasure boat that Commissioner Pett is making, and indeed it will be a most pretty thing.
From thence to Commr. Pett’s lodging, and there had a good breakfast, and in came the two Sir Wms. from Walthamstow, and so we sat down and did a great deal of public business about the fitting of the fleet that is now going out.
That done we went to the Globe and there had a good dinner, and by and by took barge again and so home. By the way they would have me sing, which I did to Mr. Coventry, who went up to Sir William Batten’s, and there we staid and talked a good while, and then broke up and I home, and then to my father’s and there lay with my wife.
a word brought me
to a long sentence
like a boat going out
a good way
to try who I am
at home with my wife
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Tuesday 16 April 1661.
Tonight there’s a thunderstorm warning—
chance of hail and rising wind, though all day
generous sunlight winnowed through
impossible blue. On my weather app
I track what mornings and evenings
are like in other cities of the world—
Charlottesville, Raleigh; Chicago, Baguio,
Manila. I can imagine how light breaks
where my loves lie, perhaps in bed.
Perhaps they look out a window, streaked
rust-orange as a rooster’s crest. If someone has
discovered the secret to being in more than one
place without breaking, I would like to know it.
I would like to walk in a soft, forgiving rain.
I dream that preparations are underway
for your arrival. It feels so imminent
and so real, in the dream I completely forget
that it is a dream. Thunder sounds on the rim
of hills surrounding the town. The sky
gradually darkens, but inside, the house is warm
and filling with fragrant clouds of steam
from gingery broth and white rice. The table
has been wiped clean and even the neighbors
have come to set the table: good plates
and silverware, tulips in a glass pitcher.
The stove holds a corona of flame in each
burner, and the kettle whispers: any time
now, any time now, any time now.