A Poet's Response

In the Company of Linnie's Pantoums
(Based on the titles of Linnie York's chapbook of original pantoums)

by Linda Wilken



Shall I tell you my favorite

As I watch the brim of my hat meet the larger sky?

Or would you like to guess

The words and things I know transplanted onto tracing paper?



As I watch the brim of my hat meet the larger sky,

An amazing path of irony opens up to

The words and things I know, transplanted onto tracing paper,

Showing me an elaborate facade.



An amazing path of irony opens up to

An epiphany and a shimmer, finally

Showing me an elaborate facade.

So I peel layers in this circle to stillness.



An epiphany and a shimmer, finally.

Great riches lie in keen mistakes and ten quotes.

So I peel layers in this circle to stillness.

It remains untitled, beyond mandala and stories.



Great riches lie in keen mistakes and ten quotes.

The day has come, kensal green, at town landing.

It remains untitled, beyond mandala and stories,

As a villager hob-nails leather onto birch.



The day has come, kensal green, at town landing,

And morning emerges through hollow cliffs, sleepy

As a villager hob-nailing leather onto birch.

Keats and a friend quote pantoums to my socks.

And morning emerges through hollow cliffs, sleepy.
London and a coupe digest only one page of a modern prophet.
Keats and a friend quote pantoums to my socks
In Falmouth, Maine, and Maine, again.

London and a coupe digest only one page of a modern prophet.
And would you like to guess
In Falmouth, Maine, and Maine, again
How I shall tell you my favorite?


Thanks, Linda!

Snowstorm Pantoum

Blizzards stop cities dead
Seizing the last taxi for a fifty dollar ride
Through the worst we struggle homeward
No larder in kitchens the size of half-closets

Seizing the last taxi for a fifty dollar ride
We rush to grab comfort food and liquids
No larder in kitchens the size of half-closets
And we curb the dog for the last time

We rush to grab comfort food and liquids
By 4 AM the street lights provide daylight
And we curb the dog for the last time
I can't sleep. This silence. No traffic.

By 4 AM the street lights provide daylight
As a single voice echoes white canyon walls
I can't sleep. This silence. No traffic.
Each suspended in the apartment world of our own making

As a single voice echoes white canyon walls
Blizzards stop cities dead
Each is suspended in the world of our own making
Through the worst we struggle onward

Linnie York  c.2009

Christmas Chapbooks by Robert Frost

Annual "Christmas Cards" from Frost are on display at Poets House until Janury 15th.

Published from 1935 to 1961, the tradition inspired me.

Go for the exhibit but stay for the library and  the peace!

And the view!

www.poetshouse.org/

FREE ADMISSION!

POETS HOUSE AT 10 River Terrace in Battery Park

Subway 1,2,3,R to Chambers

WalkWest

Best Pantoum I Know

This pantoum by Ron Overton mimics the NYC traffic report.
His poetry book available on Amazon, Psychic Killed by Train---
http://www.amazon.com/Psychic-Killed-Train-Ron-Overton/dp/1931236143/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1260408386&sr=1-2


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ron_Overton

Ron---Let me know if I can post it!

HOW IT WORKS--Pantoum

Wrtie 10 lines of poetry and number each lines.

Transcribe them in 5 stanzes as follows:

Line 1
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4

Line 2
Line 5
Line 4
Line 6

Line 5
Line 7
Line 6
Line 8

Line 7
Line 9
Line 8
Line 10

Line 9
Line 1
Line 10
Line 3

Now you have a pantoum! More later about subtlety-

How the French Invented PANTOUMS

The French fooled around with repetition in poetry, creating echoes of previous lines. It was not a form so much as an experiment. Seeing the impact advanced the form.
Today, we have pantoum! 10 lines, repeated in a prescribed sequence, leading to five stanzas of four lines each.
See the formula soon--Linnie

What is a PANTOUM?

Somewhere in the 15th century Malay language used a folk pattern of speaking that had repeats...or echoes.
Picked up by the French, it soon evolved into a poetry form...the PANTOUM.
Since the 18th Century and Victor Hugo, it has grown into a patterned poem with repeating lines.
Next entry, I'll give you the formula--