I've been toying with (okay, struggling with is a more apt description) the pantoum recently and since misery loves company ...
Here's a description of the form adapted from The Teachers & Writers Handbook of Poetic Forms.
Here's a description of the form adapted from The Teachers & Writers Handbook of Poetic Forms.
The pantoum is a poem made up of stanzas of four lines where lines 2 and 4 of each stanza are repeated as lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza. The final stanza of a pantoum has an interesting twist. Lines 2 and 4 are the same as the 3rd and 1st of the first stanza, thereby using every line in the poem twice.You can read more about the pantoum at Poets.org. Here is one of my favorite examples of the form.
Here is an outline for the form.
Line 1
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4
Line 5 (same as line 2)
Line 6
Line 7 (same as line 4)
Line 8
Line 9 (same as line 6)
Line 10
Line 11 (same as line 8)
Line 12
Line 13 (same as line 10)
Line 14 (same as line 3)
Line 15 (same as line 12)
Line 16 (same as line 1)
Keep in mind that this form of poetry is of an indefinite length. It could be three stanzas, 4 stanzas or 20!
Another Lullaby for InsomniacsSo, your challenge for the week is to write a pantoum. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll post the results here later this week.
by A.E. Stallings
Sleep, she will not linger:
She turns her moon-cold shoulder.
With no ring on her finger,
You cannot hope to hold her.
She turns her moon-cold shoulder
And tosses off the cover.
You cannot hope to hold her:
She has another lover.
Read the poem in its entirety.
You don't toy with a pantoum - it toys with you!
ReplyDeleteFor another example, here's Joyce Sidman's Spring is the Time from last year's 30 Poets/30 Days. She makes it look so easy! Unfair!
I love this form. It's a great tool for coming up with poems that aren't pantoums, but simply grow out of the lines the pattern forces on you.
ReplyDeleteLost Scents
The smell of butter rum
Will not take her back, though it should,
To a high-ceilinged room
On Ponce de Leon Avenue.
It should take her back. It should
Let her re-live summertime
On Ponce de Leon Avenue
When sirens were but a sound in the night,
Let her re-live the summertime
Of strawberry pie and apple peels
When sirens were but a sound in the night
And she was safe under handmade quilts.
Strawberry pie and apple peels,
Glass doorknobs, cedar trunks, jasmine vines
And she, safe under handmade quilts,
Watching lights play through Venetian blinds.
But, glass doorknobs, cedar trunks, jasmine vines
Lie tangled in a web of silk threads,
And no one watches lights play through Venetian blinds.
She stares instead at faded walls and regrets
The tangled web. Silk threads
She stitched in time unravel in her hands.
She stares. Instead of faded walls and regrets,
She dreams an old romance. Memories,
Stitched in time, unraveled in her hands,
Linger in a high-ceilinged room.
She dreams an old romance, straining to remember
The smell of butter rum.
Funny, I just recently wrote a pantoum... Caribou Shadows
ReplyDeleteMy captcha says "everse" E-verse? :O
Oh, I was so glad to see that it doesn't have to rhyme! I was having heart palpitations just thinking about fitting in the form AND the rhyme. I may actually give it a go...but not today.
ReplyDeleteAnother Spring: A Pantoume
ReplyDeleteIf I never see another spring--
the green thrusts of daffodils,
the violin curl of ferns--
I will still remember them.
The green thrusts of daffodils,
the scatter of crocuses.
I will still remember them
when I am under earth.
The scatter of crocuses,
like children in a playground,
when I am under earth
will still look the same:
like children in a playground.
The violin curl of ferns
will still look the same
(even if I never see another spring).
©2010 Jane Yolen all rights reserved
Boy, this was hard! I tried to tell a story with it, so here we go.
ReplyDeleteThe Treasure of Old Captain Bones
A Pantoum by Nicole Marie Schreiber
Old Captain Bones, in a cave off the coast,
Sits waiting with his treasure for you.
Cursed by the hand of a siren so fair,
Beware, to all those who go seeking.
Sits waiting with his treasure for you,
For anyone who dare to try.
Beware, to all those who go seeking,
For all who have tried have died.
For anyone who dare to try,
One piece of advice I do give.
For all who have tried have died,
Choosing one jewel out of many to live.
One piece of advice I do give--
Find which of the hoard that she seeks.
Choosing one jewel out of many to live,
It’s not as easy as one might think.
Find which of the hoard that she seeks.
With a ruby or strand of pearls,
It’s not as easy as one might think,
To appease a siren of the sea.
With a ruby or strand of pearls,
You shall never soothe her jealous soul.
To appease a siren of the sea,
Remember what the siren seeks most.
You shall never soothe her jealous soul,
Cursed by the hand of a siren so fair,
Remember what the siren seeks most--
Old Captain Bones, in a cave off the coast.
More rain here in Southern California...
ReplyDeleteRain Again
Rain comes graying back again,
dropping over sky like a stage curtain.
Blue fades, coolness creeps in,
and we all lift our umbrellas.
Dropping over sky like a stage curtain,
rain silvers everything in sight,
and we all lift our umbrellas,
dry hearts hopeful as houseplants.
Rain silvers everything in sight.
Our footsteps splash on sidewalks,
dry hearts hopeful as houseplants.
The sun goes back to bed, sulking.
Our footsteps splash on sidewalks.
Blue fades, coolness creeps in.
The sun goes back to bed, sulking.
Rain comes graying back again.
--Kate Coombs, 2010
Wow! What a challenge. Not sure I did it justice, but it was fun! Here's mine.
ReplyDeletehttp://marcieaf.blogspot.com/2010/03/poetry-stretch-pantoum.html
It's good to be back....
ReplyDeletePants of Doom
I fill the tiny dressing room
with pairs of pants for this pantoum:
pinstriped trousers, denim jeans—
they all are bursting at the seams
Pairs of pants for this pantoum
fill the stall with signs of doom:
they all are bursting at the seams—
I’ve gained a pound or two, it seems
They fill the stall, these signs of doom.
My mood is dark: I scowl and fume:
I’ve gained a pound or two, it seems—
Pants of nightmare, not of dreams
My mood is dark, I scowl and fume;
Pinstriped trousers, denim jeans:
Pants of nightmare, not of dreams—
Fill the tiny dressing room
Just a note for Jane: As always, you're writing such honest and beautiful poetry.
ReplyDelete