Pantoum
If you liked the sestina, you are going to love the pantoum. Well, you could give it a try anyway. This is a fifteenth century Malaysian form based on repetition, with an indefinite number of four-line stanzas that sometimes rhyme. The repetition is more integral to the form than the rhyme. Lines 2 and 4 of the first stanza become lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza. The 2nd and 4th lines of the second stanza become the 1st and 3rd of the next. The poem is often wrapped up by using the 1st and 3rd lines of the 1st stanza in the very last stanza, as either 2nd and 4th or the 4th and 2nd of the last stanza. That last option would make the first line of the poem also be the last line. In A Poet’s Glossary Hirsch says this is like a snake eating its tail.
From The Handbook of Poetic Forms (Padgett): Part of the
pleasure of the pantoum is the way its recurring lines gently and hypnotically
twine in and out of one another, and the way they surprise us when they fit
together in unexpected ways. In a pantoum “the reader takes four steps
forward, then two back” making it the “perfect form for the evocation of a past
time.” The Making of a Poem by Mark Strand and Eavan Boland.
Here are some examples to make it all clear. (Ha!) If it’s
not clear, then just make it fun. Keep in mind that sometimes there is a
further twist - the subject matter of the poem may be two topics seemingly
related but woven over each other until, as quoted above, “they fit together in
unexpected ways.”
Pantoum by John Ashbery
Eyes shining without
mystery,
Footprints eager for the
past
Through the vague snow of
many clay pipes,
And what is in store?
Footprints eager for the
past,
The usual obtuse blanket.
And what is in store
For those dearest to the
king?
The usual obtuse blanket
Of legless regrets and
amplifications
For those dearest to the
king.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs
of oblivion,
Of legless regrets and
amplifications,
That is why a watchdog is
shy.
Yes, sirs, connoisseurs
of oblivion,
These days are short,
brittle; there is only one night.
That is why a watchdog is
shy,
Why the court, trapped in
a silver storm, is dying.
These days are short,
brittle; there is only one night
And that soon gotten
over.
Why, the court,
trapped in a silver storm, is dying!
Some blunt pretense to
safety we have
And that soon gotten over
For they must have
motion.
Some blunt pretense to
safety we have:
Eyes shining without
mystery
For they must have motion
Through the vague snow of
many clay pipes.
Descent of the
Composer Airea D. Matthews
When I mention the ravages of now, I mean to say, then.
I mean to say the rough-hewn edges of time and space,
a continuum that folds back on itself in furtive attempts
to witness what was, what is, and what will be. But what
I actually mean is that time and space have rough-hewn
edges.
Do I know this for sure? No, I’m no astrophysicist. I
have yet
to witness what was, what is, and what will be. But what
I do know, I know well: bodies defying spatial
constraint.
Do I know this for sure? No, I’m no scientist. I have yet
to prove that defiant bodies even exist as a theory; I
offer
what I know. I know damn well my body craves the past
tense,
a planet in chronic retrograde, searching for sun’s
shadow.
As proof that defiant bodies exist in theory, I even
offer
what key evidence I have: my life and Mercury’s swift
orbits, or
two planets in chronic retrograde, searching for sun’s
shadow.
Which is to say, two objects willfully disappearing from
present view.
Perhaps life is nothing more than swift solar orbits, or
dual
folds along a continuum that collapse the end and the
beginning,
which implies people can move in reverse, will their own
vanishing;
or at least relive the ravages of then—right here, right
now.
Author’s
note: “The pantoum ‘Descent of the Composer’ seeks
to interrogate the uncertain emotional landscape of an addict in recovery. The
repetitious nature of the form suggests relapse, but the subtle shifts in
diction and syntax welcome possibility.”
—Airea
D. Matthews Descent of the Composer by Airea
D. Matthews - Poems | poets.org
And here is one of my own, originally published in my book Breathe
Here. One of my favorite high school teachers assigned us a term paper at
the beginning of the year saying it would be due in April. He also told us not to
say, when it was due, that we had been sick recently. “I’m just going to ask -
where were you in November?” I’ve thought of that over the years and wrote about
it when I was going through a divorce and I’d swear I’d already said or we had
already discussed something.
Where Were You
In November?
For Mr. Ernie Ratten, Mount View High School, Thorndike,
Maine
Fidgety Mr. Ernie Ratten assigned a term paper,
saying “Don’t tell me in April that you were sick.
Where were you in November?
That’s what I’ll ask you.”
I remember “Don’t tell me in April that you were
sick.”
because didn’t I tell you in September?
We’re done with each other. That’s why I ask you,
because I remember Mr. Ernie Ratten tried to keep us
honest.
Didn’t I tell you in September?
The class had time and now we have time enough
that we should try to stay honest with each other
even as we know the marriage is falling apart.
There should be time enough
for us to plan ahead
because we know we are falling apart.
The class still had plenty of time
as he tried to teach us to plan ahead.
You and I ignore the signs.
The class still had plenty of time,
but you never want to know what’s next.
You and I ignore the signs.
Just as the class had work to do,
we have to face what’s next.
I can only ask you now.
The class had work to do
when Mr. Ernie Ratten assigned a term paper,
but I ask us again now.
Where were we in November?
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