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Help writing a pantoum

The pantoum consists of a series of quatrains riming ABAB in which the second and 4th lines of a quatrain recur as the first and 3rd lines in the succeeding quatrain ; each quatrain introduces a new 2nd rime as BCBC, CDCD. The first line of the series recurs as the last line of the shutting quatrain, and 3rd line of the verse form recurs as the 2nd line of the shutting quatrain, riming ZAZA. The design is simple: Line 1 Line 2 Line 3 Line 4 Line 5 ( repetition of line 2 ) Line 6 Line 7 ( repetition of line 4 ) Line 8 Continue with every bit many stanzas as you wish, but the stoping stanzathen repeats the 2nd and 4th lines of the old stanza ( as its first and 3rd lines ) , and besides repeats the 3rd line of the first stanza, as its 2nd line, and the first line of the first stanza as its 4th. So the first line of the verse form is besides the last. Last stanza: Line 2 of old stanza Line 3 of first stanza Line 4 of old stanza Line 1 of first stanza

Structure

The pantoum is a signifier of poesy similar to a villanelle in that there are reiterating lines throughout the verse form. It is composed of a series of quatrains ; the 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza are repeated as the first. The form continues for any figure of stanzas, except for the concluding stanza, which differs in the repetition form. The first and 3rd lines of the last stanza are the 2nd and 4th of the penultimate ; the first line of the verse form is the last line of the concluding stanza, and the 3rd line of the first stanza is the 2nd of the concluding. Ideally, the significance of lines displacements when they are repeated although the words remain precisely the same: this can be done by switching punctuation, wordplay, or merely recontextualizing.

A Straightforward Example

`` I 'm traveling to wish it here.There is something about the topographic point, An encouraging atmosphere, Like a smiling on a friendly face.There is something about the topographic point, So fondling and warm it is.Like a smiling on a friendly face, Like a port in a storm it is.So fondling and warm it is.All the people are so sincere.Like a port in a storm it is.I am traveling to wish here.All the people are so sincere.There 's particularly one I like.I am traveling to wish here.It 's the male parent 's first boy I like.There 's particularly one I like.There is something about his face.It 's the male parent 's first boy I like.He 's the ground I love the place.There is something about his face.I would follow him anywhere.If he goes to another topographic point, I am traveling to wish it at that place. ''

He had a ruddy raised bump from writing excessively longNow, I feel a proud opposition from my 36 ‘o clock shadow’s frillSummer cicala, on Cranfield Road, ever sang their songand the Sun set behind our bluish Appalachian foothillNow, I feel a proud opposition from my 36 ‘o clock shadow’s frillI got to hit Dad’s 30/30 rifle when I was fourteenand the Sun set behind our bluish Appalachian foothillNo other Bayless has of all time seen Peru’s countryside eaten in fire and morphineI got to hit Dad’s 30/30 rifle when I was fourteenbut Mom has ever been a vegetarian ( except for some fish ) No other Bayless has of all time seen Peru’s countryside eaten in fire and morphineCheese, fruit, and silence is our favourite household dishBut ma has ever been a vegetarian ( except for some fish ) Mimi and Leiron love cats and Pops and I on ink reliedCheese, fruit, and silence is our favourite household dishMimi’s spectacless, shaken by shortness of breath and laughter, fell off when he diedMimi and Leiron love cats and Pops and I on ink reliedhis dead lips were painted a shadiness excessively ruddy, unpardonably Mimi’s spectacless, shaken by shortness of breath and laughter, fell off when he diedThe trashcan in my room was filled with murdered versions of his eulogyhis dead lips were painted a shadiness excessively pink, unpardonably Summer cicala, on Cranfield Road, ever sang their songThe trashcan in my room was filled with murdered versions of his eulogyHe has a ruddy raised bump from writing excessively long.

The terminal is near, I fear my dear.Drained the light out of me, Merely a shell now, Another version of what I one time was.You drained the light out of me, Transformed me into person else.Another version of what I one time was, Ugly, devil twin turning in my brain.Transformed me into person else, Is that what you wanted all along? Ugly, devil twin turning in my encephalon, Hurling knives at the spots of light left. Is that what you wanted all along, To watch me decease entirely on the floor? Hurling knives at the spots of visible radiation left, Because person did this to you.To watch me decease entirely on the floor, Oh how nice that must hold been.Because person did this to you, Was it nice to be on the other side? Oh how nice that must hold been, I guess I 'll ne'er know.Was it nice to be on the other side? I swear I 'll ne'er know.But I guess I 'll ne'er cognize, For I am merely a shell now, You may travel on, but you are non ageless, The terminal is near, I fear my beloved.

Summer rainbow thread still stretches in the bluish rainAs green serpents dance to the melody of charmer’s wind flutesBlue butterflies chase velvety humblebees singing couples in vainSummer laughs around ruddy velvety roses and green fruits. As green serpents dance to the melody of charmer’s wind flutesSummer ends her way over hayfield, with a dream of greenSummer laughs around ruddy velvety roses and green fruitsMoon radiances behind the barrier of cloud 's fencing, as a queen. Summer ends her way over hayfield, with a dream of greenInto the fall 's sky with whiffs of cotton clouds and drifting lightMoon radiances behind the barrier of cloud 's fencing, as a queen.And dancing green shadows sprites appear all round the sight. Into the fall 's sky with whiffs of cotton clouds and drifting lightBlue butterflies chase velvety humblebees singing couples in vainAnd dancing green shadows sprites appear all round the sight.Summer rainbow thread still stretches in the bluish rain.

So frequently I feel like you are fruitPlaced gently on me, a sandpaper offering plate.I do non desire to keep you so approximately, But there are things I am still learningPlaced gently on me, a sandpaper offering plateMy rough hang-up you easy, But there are things I am still learning.How we are unto diamonds.My rough hang-up you easy, Until we are equally raw.How we are unto diamonds ; I wish I was that soft.Until we are equally natural, This feels like the degeneration of beauty.I wish I was that soft.Something similar to deceasing fruit.This feels like the degeneration of beauty.Soon you will no longer be sweet.Something similar to deceasing fruit.And I am a emery paper monster still larning, And so frequently I feel like you are fruit.

Open up the sky, come autumn electricitylift each blade of grass to hanker for heaven.The churning foliages, thumping cataracts come autumn, beat us back into our ascendants, into the earth.Lift each blade of grass to hanker for heavenall reflected, caught in the H2O of our eyes.Beat us back into our ascendants, into the earthwhere words are rendered indigestible as stonesall reflected, caught in the H2O of our eyes.Come, thirsty, choking coil on rime and H2O where words are rendered indigestible as rocks In the Grey and green wash, the last storm of summer. Come, thirsty, choking coil on rime and H2O asThe sky interruptions, Sun behind its gauze of clouds, breaksIn the rose and gilded wash, the last storm of summerand this is that fairy land, the land of Eden.

Pantoums

For this prompt, we looked at `` Something About the Trees '' by Linda Pastan. ( You can watch and hear Pastan reading the verse form on YouTube. ) It 's a pantoum and formal verse forms of any sort frequently scare poets. We will let some simplification. In the verse form, she asks, `` When will I be most myself? '' That line is what our prompt focused on. Write a verse form that addresses the age in which you, or the voice of your verse form, were, or will be, most yourself. That 's non an easy inquiry. Puting your reply in a signifier may really do it easier to compose. ( This sounds counterintuitive, but is frequently true. ) You surely could seek a true pantoum signifier, but we will accept verse forms that follow these 3 progressive regulations: 1. You must utilize quatrains ( 4 line stanzas ) 2. The first 4 lines must re-emerge in precisely the same format in some subsequent stanzas at least one time more, and 3. the verse form 's first line must besides be its last. Pastan 's verse form negotiations about her parents and her childhood belief that set them at an age when they seemed merely right and where `` they both would populate everlastingly. '' Her male parent, at 50, proposing that `` There is an age when you are most yourself '' is what puts the verse form in gesture. The circling, lullaby feel of a pantoum ( because of the engagement lines and repeat ) seems right for the topic. I recommend that you listen to her read the verse form from the picture online every bit good as read the verse form in order to analyze the signifier. If you do make up one's mind to seek a true pantoum, take a expression at this How To page - you might happen it easier to figure your lines, for illustration. There is much more about the pantoum signifier and many other prompts and things poetic on the Poets Online web log. Linda Pastan was born in the Bronx in 1932. She graduated from Radcliffe College and received an M.A. from Brandeis University. Her books include Queen of a Rainy Country, Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998, which was nominated for the National Book Award ; The Imperfect Paradise, a campaigner for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize ; and PM/AM: New and Selected Poems, which was besides nominated for the National Book Award. From 1991 to 1995, she served as the Poet Laureate of Maryland, and was among the staff of the Breadloaf Writers Conference for twenty old ages. Linda Pastan lives in Potomac, Maryland.

I ever knew alteration would come, yet turning 60 was particularly difficult. The forests were quiet and called to me. So much looking back on what has been. Turning 60 was particularly difficult. I measured old ages in things left undone. So much looking back on what has been, Time to turn around and confront what will be. I measured old ages in things left undone. All those dreams are now merely memories. Time to turn around and confront what will be, March is here and the garden needs work. All those dreams are now merely memories. I go outdoors where the air has turned warm. March is here and the garden needs work, Time to cut back the butterfly bush so it will blossom. I go outdoors where the air has turned warm, Already bulbs are shouting with life. Time to cut back the butterfly bush so it will blossom. The garden now awakens to spring. Already bulbs are shouting with life, but the forests are quiet and call to me. The garden now awakens to spring. I ever knew alteration would come.

Violet Nesdoly THE SEASON I’LL BE MOST MYSELF Overnight the brook washed out the fencings. So much rain allowing go from the hillsides harrying dirt, doing new gullies and ruts. So much rain allowing travel transporting people’s once-treasures, doing new gullies and ruts in what I thought of as mine. Transporting people’s once-treasures, excessively heavy a burden – what I thought of as mine, all those old ages of keys and ironss. Too heavy a burden. What held the fencing in topographic point? All those old ages of keys and ironss I kept roll uping as if they’d maintain me. What held the fencing in topographic point, these lands no 1 owns everlastingly. I kept roll uping as if they’d maintain me from giving up to the wild spring flow. These lands no 1 owns everlastingly – my rutty face rain-washed from giving up to the wild spring flow – is this myself now, muddy, natural, and singing? My rutted face, rain-washed from the hillsides harrying dirt, is this now myself, muddy, natural, and singing? Overnight the brook washed out the fencings. Taylor Graham MOTHER SELF

There isn’t adequate love to travel around My life, fragmented by that careless word. Wordss wound the lingua that can non crunch them smooth. Make I intend by `` love '' what existent people mean? My life fragmented by that careless word, By mother-love that dullard and dramatis personae aside. Make I intend by love what existent people mean? They ever ask how it feels to be me. By mother-love that dullard and dramatis personae aside, My apparition bosom feels pangs of existent life. They ever ask how it feels to be me. I look existent, but they know. They ever know. My phantom bosom feels pangs of existent life ; My dorsum is hollow, yes, but I can dance ( I look existent, but I know. I ever know ) You down to click and endorse before I fade. My dorsum is hollow, yes. But I can dance More prettily than crisp borders can reflect You down to morning and back -- before I fade, I know a abandon you will ne'er cognize. More prettily than crisp borders can reflect, My life, fragmented by that careless word. I know a abandon you will ne'er cognize. A jaggy brokenness reflects me whole, My life fragmented by that careless word. There isn’t plenty love to travel about. A jaggy brokenness reflects me whole. Wordss wound the lingua that can non crunch them smooth.

pantoum - Note stanzas appear in two columns to conserve.

Unformatted text prevue: ( Note: stanzas appear in two columns to conserve room in this papers. Your stanzas should run down the length of the page in sequence. ) Stanza 1: ____________ ( line 1 ) ____________ ( line 2 ) ____________ ( line 3 ) ____________ ( line 4 ) Stanza 2: ____________ ( line 5—same as line 2 ) ____________ ( line 6 ) ____________ ( line 7—same as line 4 ) ____________ ( line 8 ) Stanza 3: ___________ ( line 9—same as line 6 ) ___________ ( line 10 ) ___________ ( line 11—same as line 8 ) ___________ ( line 12 ) Stanza 4: ___________ ( line 13—same as line 10 ) ___________ ( line 14—same as line 3 ) ___________ ( line 15—same as line 12 ) ___________ ( line 16—same as line 1 ) . View Full Document

Pantoum - Poem by John Ashbery

Eyess reflecting without enigma, Footprints eager for the pastThrough the obscure snow of many clay pipes, And what is in shop? Footprints tidal bore for the pastThe usual obtuse blanket.And what is in storeFor those dearest to the male monarch? The usual obtuse blanket.Of legless declinations and amplificationsFor those dearest to the king.Yes, sirs, cognoscentes of limbo, The usual obtuse blanket.Of legless declinations and amplificationsFor those dearest to the king.Yes, sirs, cognoscentes of limbo, Of legless declinations and elaborations, That is why a watchdog is shy.Yes, sirs, cognoscentes of limbo, These yearss are short, brickle ; there is merely one night.That is why a watchdog is diffident, Why the tribunal, trapped in a Ag storm, is dying.These yearss are short, brickle ; there is merely one nightAnd that shortly gotten over.Why the tribunal, trapped in a Ag storm, is dyingSome blunt pretence to safety we haveAnd that shortly gotten overFor they must hold motion.Some blunt pretence to safety we haveEyes reflecting without enigma, For they must hold motionThrough the obscure snow of many clay pipes.

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