Pantoum

I have never written a pantoum but have to rise to the challenge because it keeps the little grey cells working.  I had to scout around the net - Stephen Fry says nothing about this particular poetic form. I gather from my research that this type of poem has its roots in Malasyia but was adopted by French writers. It has a set pattern but doesn't need to rhyme - however if it does rhyme, that also has a set pattern.

OK. It sounds really complicated and I have a busy day ahead so here goes...

Dorothy’s Ninety  Eighth

Her ashes sprinkled on a blooming rose

She would be ninety eight years old today

Today we meet to honour her repose

And toast her in our long established way

She would be ninety eight years old today

And every year the family would convene
And toast her in our long established way
Our loving mother and our queen

And every year the family would convene

From far flung places they all came this way 
Our loving mother and our queen
So happy that we came to share her day

From far flung places they all came this way

Today we meet to honour her repose
So happy that we came to share her day
Her ashes sprinkled on a blooming rose.


Short and sweet - just like Mum. Thanks for reading. Adele

 

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Pantoum Challenge

I wonder if you are a person who likes a challenge?

Do you like to test yourself and extend the range of what you can do or achieve?

Or are you content with what you can do and keep on familiar paths?

In poetry, there are many different forms and types to be explored. We have already had the villanelle form in a previous blog and this week is an even more obscure and difficult form of poetry called a pantoum.

A pantoum is a poem which has repeated lines from stanza to stanza in a set structure and the final stanza uses two lines from the first stanza, but in a different order!

All this repetition must make sense and hopefully not sound too forced or ‘wooden’.

It is a real challenge; why not step out of the comfort zone and give it a try?

Here is my attempt; you can decide if it hangs together without being too forced or wooden.

 

Silence

Two forces rule the way we use breath;

one is silence and one is speech;

their jurisdiction is birth to death;

there is nothing beyond their reach. 

One is silence and one is speech.

When the young ones come to stay,

there is nothing beyond their reach,

with throbbing noise, all and every day. 

When the young ones come to stay,

their necessary sound is like a backing track,

with throbbing noise, all and every day.

But silence, there’s a disconcerting lack. 

Their necessary sound is like a backing track.

The house is quiet when the children are gone.

But silence, there’s a disconcerting lack,

as unrelentingly, the clock ticks on. 

The house is quiet when the children are gone,

it’s not silent, for cities never are,

as unrelentingly, the clock ticks on

between what lies ahead and went before. 

It’s not silent, for cities never are.

Imagine a silence, it can embolden

between what lies ahead and went before,

drawing out truth, for silence is golden. 

Imagine a silence, it can embolden

the opening of a creaking church door,

drawing out truth, for silence is golden.

Is there a voice to be heard through awe? 

The opening of a creaking church door;

their jurisdiction is birth to death.

Is there a voice to be heard through awe?

Two forces rule the way we use breath. 

Why not take up the challenge? Thanks for reading.

 

David Wilkinson

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Pantoum - For My Paternal Grandfather

The Pantoum - I don’t think I’ve encountered this poetry form before. I’ve played about with it during the last few days, but didn’t write anything worth sharing, and I had something in my head that I thought might work but I’m saving it for another time. Instead, my inspiration, for what it’s worth, came from my paternal grandfather’s Bible and the handwritten inscription inside, penned exactly a hundred years ago yesterday.

  

 I wonder, was it hot like today?

And was he eager, and was he keen

To get to Belgium, where he would stay

In the summer of nineteen-eighteen. 

And was he eager, and was he keen

Joining his comrades to go to war?

In the summer of nineteen-eighteen,

Manchester boys, not travelled before. 

Joining his comrades to go to war,

Weighed down with stuff and Army khaki.

Manchester boys, not travelled before

Building up some camaraderie. 

Weighed down with stuff and Army khaki,

Merriment from the back of the truck,

Building up some camaraderie.

Take care now boys, and the best of luck. 

Merriment from the back of the truck,

George Hales was with that Manchester lot.

Take care now boys, and the best of luck.

And I’m still wondering, was it hot? 

Pamela Winning 2018

 I don’t know much about his time in the First World War, only that he saw action in July and August, 1918 and returned safely home.

In 1922, he married Miss Henrietta Brearey, otherwise known as my lovely Nanna Hetty.

The Bible was given to him by Mrs Hyde, Nanna Hetty’s adoptive mother.

 

Thanks for reading, keep cool, Pam x

 

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