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More on Poet to Poet: Pantoums
Published: February 27, 2009 In April's Poet to Poet column, contributing editor Marilyn Taylor discusses the pantoum, a form composed of linked four-line stanzas—the second and fourth lines of each become the first and third lines of the next, with the last stanza's second and fourth lines repeating the first stanza's third and first lines. The beauty of the pantoum, Marilyn says, lies in its ability to deepen the meaning of the lines with the changing context. Here is a lovely, haunting pantoum by Catherine Tufariello:
Zero at the Bone
For years it hardly moved at all.
It didn't dart, or even creep.
It had no power to appall,
Its hooded eyes eclipsed with sleep.
It didn't dart, or even creep,
Recumbent on a sun-warmed shelf,
Its hooded eyes eclipsed with sleep,
So still, it seemed your very self.
Recumbent on a sun-warmed shelf,
It hadn't will or means to strike,
So still, it seemed your very self
While seconds ticked, each clenched, alike.
It hadn't will or means to strike.
How long it indolently grew,
While seconds ticked, each clenched, alike.
When did it learn to cleave in two?
How long it indolently grew,
How thick! It was a stagnant mass.
When did it learn to cleave in two,
Pouring itself through stones and grass?
How thick it was, a stagnant mass.
What force impelled it to aspire,
Pouring itself through stones and grass,
Purposive, lithe, and swift as fire?
What force impelled it to aspire?
What touched its fuse until it sprang,
Purposive, lithe, and swift as fire?
Then finally the sirens rang.
What touched its fuse? Until it sprang,
It had no power to appall.
Then finally the sirens rang.
For years it hardly moved at all.
--Posted Feb. 27, 2009
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