Inspiration: Pantoum
Writing unlocks thoughts and feelings we may be surprised we have. You want to explore your thoughts about a memorable incident! It could be a good, bad, embarrassing or insightful one.
Here’s a poem structure that will pull ideas from your heart and mind that you may be surprised are there. It’s a pantoum: a poem with structure that comes from repeating each line in a specific order. Try this and see what you learn about your memorable incident. Number lines from 1-16.
Process
A PANTOUM is a poem consisting of 8 non-rhyming lines that each are used twice in the poem.
STANZA ONE: Write four short phrases or sentences about that incident on four different lines.
STANZA TWO: Copy lines 2 and 4 on lines five and seven and then, expand the thought in five on line six. Now, expand the thought of line seven as line eight.
STANZA THREE: Copy lines 5 and 6 on lines nine and eleven. Then, expand the thought of line nine as line ten; and expand line eleven as line twelve.
STANZA FOUR: Now, for the final lines 13-16, copy lines 1,3,7, and 8 in this order: line seven, three, eight, and finally line one.
What do you see that you didn’t know about that memorable incident?Here’s a sheet to share with students. Click here to download full page.
The pantoum poem a interesting structured form with a formula that works well for a optional assessment to measure student understanding of a an article or literary work they’ve just studied. They can write about main idea, character, setting, theme, or conflict. You can add minimum components depending on the skill of the students. The pantoum pattern requires students to pay attention to grammar and punctuation as they add lines. Great for grammar review, too.
Here’s one we wrote after studying Farewell to Manzanar by John Houston and Jeanne Watasuki Houston, an autobiographical novel about Japanese internment during World War II.
Anna’s Poem
When I was seven
My family was evacuated.
We rode a bus
To Manzanar.
My family was evacuated.
Only forty-eight hours to prepare, then
To Manzanar.
We rode in shock, but together.
Only forty-eight hours to prepare, then
Mama, stressed and frustrated, broke all the dishes.
We rode in shock, but together.
Together, except for Papa.
Mama, stressed and frustrated, broke all the dishes.
We rode a bus
Together, except for Papa.
When I was seven.
Anna J. Small Roseboro, a National Board Certified Teacher is a published author and poet but is primarily an educator with over forty years’ experience teaching English and Speech to students in middle school, high school and college in public, private, and parochial schools in five states. A mentor for early career educators, Ms. Roseboro earned a B.A. in Speech Communications from Wayne State University and an M.A. in Curriculum Design from the University of California, San Diego. Her newest published work is a series of books published by Rowman and Littlefield designed for pre-service teachers and for those teaching middle school for the first time. See those three books GETTING STARTED (2018) MORE ABOUT WRITING (2019) , NOT INTIMIDATING (2019), and PLANNING WITH PURPOSE: A HANDBOOK FOR FIRST-YEAR COLLEGE INSTRUCTORS due out in 2020. And check out her poetry book, EXPERIENCE POEMS AND PICTURES in English and Spanish. For more resources, visit Anna’s website http://teachingenglishlanguagearts.com/.
Wow! I can’t believe how hard this one was for me! The formula made me so anxious! Am I doing it right??? I just had to submit so I don’t keep myself up wondering all night long.
We walk, walk, walk, and walk
We are a diverse group-
Old, young, American, Argentinian, Bolivian, and Welsh
Machu Picchu rises majestically before us
We are a diverse group
But we all love Tío
Machu Picchu rises majestically before us
The clouds, waiting to part until we are exhausted
We are a diverse group
How can we become so close so quickly?
But we all love Tío
Tío, who some think is Hiram Bingham’s grandson
Machu Picchu rises majestically before us
Old, young, American, Argentinian, Bolivian, and Welsh
The clouds, waiting to part until we are exhausted
We walk, walk, walk, and walk
This is amazing! I also felt uncertain at first, but the poem form actually taught me about the experience because its repetition deepened certain observations of the experience. I love the description of your diverse group and hope to make it to Machu Picchu some day.
Thanks so much for each of you who viewed post, tried the poems, even if you decided not to post today. We feel honored, too, to have the opportunities of reading such vulnerability that reminds us of our own, losses, sadnesses, triumphs and searches. I will continue to read and comment tomorrow.
It takes courage to share times when you didn’t believe you had it.
See you…
Thanks for the encouragement, Anna!
PANTOUM
Smacked across the face
Hard enough to bloody a lip
By the same parent who taught her the word
So carelessly repeated.
Hard enough to bloody a lip
Quivering in fear and shocked surprise.
So carelessly repeated
In imitation and artless fashion,
Hard enough to bloody a lip
To “teach a lesson”.
Quivering in fear and shocked surprise
The hurt lasted years.
So carelessly repeated
By the same parent who taught her the word
In imitation and artless fashion
Smacked across the face.
Jackie — Oh man, every repeated smack hits with godawful impact. What a painful memory…the “shocked surprise” of it is as stunning as the smack itself. That whole business of teaching a lesson is a miserable excuse, and it hurts me to think of anyone being “handed” such a “lesson,” but I do understand it too well. The one who taught the word…oh geez. What a powerful poem! The format of the pantoum actually delivered this with a real sense of being smacked again and again…. over the years of memory… whew. Makes me sad and so certain that striking children is so very wrong. You are brave to wade back through this memory and then to share it. Thank you. Susie
Susie– it was cathartic to try and exorcise this demon memory. And I just realized how painful it must still be because I had to use third person here. Just to be clearer, I think I’ll change “word” to Bad Word. And yes, I remember which Bad Word. I was about 6 or 7 years old.
Jackie, you are demonstrating the value of revising for precision in changing the word “word” to “Bad Word”. I read the poem to mean that a professing Christian was abusing you even though the person claimed to be doing so because of “the Word”, a way that some people refer to the Bible. I just thought you had forgotten to capitalize the word.
Anna, I am so grateful to you for helping me realize the power of word choice! I couldn’t see past the remembered shame and pain to realize that this poem could be read with an entirely different slant. What’s kind of ironic is that the “Bad Word” of the original incident happened to include God. Thank you for your insight!
Violent repetition in your poem embodies an argument about what we teach and what we TEACH. The two can differ dramatically. And this reality “smacked across the face” metaphorically smacks me in the face. Today my AP Lit students read a poem that underscores this idea about how children learn to speak.
Okay, the Pantoum challenges me. I knew I wanted to write about Notre Dame, which I visited in 2015. However, I have thoughts about what we mourn and what we treat as normal, and I wanted to use this writing moment as an opportunity to comment on that. I don’t know if I was successful, but here’s my poem anyway.
“While Notre Dame Burned”
And the world wept while Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris blazed.
A spiral of silent flames lapped and toppled the spire.
Patron Saints and Sinners of Paris devastated by fiery destruction,
Gargoyle-like grievers bearing witness to the carnage.
A spiral of silent flames lapped and toppled the spire.
Troves of past tourists posted toothy memories on social media,
Gargoyle-like grievers bearing witness to the carnage
Golgotha on the Île de la Cité along the banks of the Seine.
Troves of past tourists posted toothy memories on social media
Meanwhile, we’ll bring the illegals to sanctuary cites of light.
Golgotha on the Île de la Cité along the banks of the Seine.
Still, the walls stand, erect, strong, determined, untoppled
Meanwhile, we’ll bring the illegals to sanctuary cites of light.
Patron Saints and Sinners of Paris devastated by fiery destruction
Still, the walls stand, erect, strong, determined, untoppled
And the world wept while Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris blazed.
Glenda, your poem brought tears to my eyes as I recalled standing in this historical monument on Easter Sunday the summer my daughter was 16 years and thought of the thousands of other families who have done the same. Then, your bringing in the “threat” of sanctuary cities reminded us that there still is work to be done. Your closing two lines “Still, the walls stand, erect, strong, determined, untoppled, challenges us to do the same!
How many kids did you have?
I had five.
Where are they now?
All over the United States.
I had five.
Your grandma’s parents died, and I had five
All over the United States.
She’s in heaven.
Your grandma’s parents died, and I had five.
Took her under my wing.
She’s in heaven.
I’m going to visit them all.
Took her under my wing.
Where are they now?
She’s in heaven.
How many kids did you have?
The question that begins and ends your poem is wonderful and a reminder of the strong bonds of past to present in families.
I’ve been looking for a place to live,
Six months have pass and still no luck.
Will I be able to buy or am I going to rent?
Whatever I do I need a place of my own.
Six months have pass and still no luck.
Left the military without a home.
Whatever I do I need a place of my own.
Trying to move somewhere in DuPage.
Left the military without a home.
Thought it was fast and easy to buy.
Trying to move somewhere in DuPage
Going to school at College of DuPage
Thought it was fast and easy to buy.
Will I be able to buy or am I going to rent?
Going to school at College of DuPage.
I’ve been looking for a place to live.
IT WAS JUST A DREAM
It was just a dream
something terrifying at night
Pet Sematary at the theater last night
“I am not scared” she says
Something terrifying at night
needed to remain calm
“I am not scared” she says
“your skin is pale as a corpse” he says
Needed to remain calm
heart is pounding like a drum
“your skin is pale as a corpse” he says
she let out an erie cry
heart pounding like a drum
Pet Sematary at the theater last night
she let out an erie cry
it was just a dream
Okay, this is creepy! Stephen King would be proud. The image of a pale corpse in the line “you skin is pale as a corpse” creates an eerie tone. Love it.
The sensory images of sight, sound and touch give power to this poem.
Her phone dinged as usual,
a message containing devastating news-
an infant being rushed to the hospital.
“They’ve just been through so much,” she cried.
A message containing devastating news,
she wanted to be a mother to her.
“They’ve just been through so much,” she cried.
She wished she could do something more.
She wanted to be a mother to her.
“There’s been too much loss in the family,” she said.
She wished she could do something more-
all of it seemed so unfair.
“There’s been too much loss in the family,” she said.
An infant being rushed to the hospital,
all of it seemed so unfair.
Her phone dinged as usual.
The first and last line echo w/ the sound of a death knell, as in “Death Be Not Proud.” Your poem has such a sorrowful tone, emphasized in the dialogue, “They’ve just been through so much.”
As I waited at the poker table.
I wondered if this was it.
I have won big in this position,
I decided to bet again.
I wondered if this was it.
Will I lose it all?
I have decided to bet again.
The deck was cold.
Will I lose it all?
We’re already in deep.
The deck was cold.
“I’m All In.”
We’re already in deep.
I have won big in this position,
“I’m All In.”
As I waited at the poker table.
WOW! Now I’m wondering if this is literal or metaphorical. A comment on gambling or on life as a gamble? And that we don’t know the outcome reminds me of the uncertainty of life. Love the ambiguity.
The poker terms gave this an authentic feel. “The deck was cold” gives a sense of foreboding to your poem. Very effective pantoum!
Lightning lit up the deck.
The sharks circled the ship.
The captain screamed an order.
The ship rocked on the waves.
The sharks circled the ship.
The spotlight showed their silhouettes.
The ship rocked on the waves.
We cast another line.
The spotlight showed their silhouettes.
The sharks looked hungry.
We cast another line.
The sharks bit through another line.
The sharks looked hungry.
The captain screamed an order.
The sharks bit through another line.
Lightning lit up the deck.
Michael,
I really enjoy how descriptive your poem is. Although I have not gone fishing before, the format of your poem makes it feel as if you are sharing an experience which gives great imagery in my head.
Greetings Michael,
I really enjoyed reading this, The ending of the story creates such vivid image.
This poem reminds me of Santiago in “The Old Man and the Sea.” The image of sharks chewing the line is frightening.
Michael, can’t say I enjoyed the poem. It was so scary to imagine the circling sharks and screaming captain. Your repeated use of words starting with the “s” sounds gave an eerie feel to the experience of reading this poem silently. Imagine the power of reading it aloud, making those “s” sounds sibilant! Wow!
He was waiting on the bench
Being back up, he did not like
Seeing his parents missing from the stands
Being back up, he did not like
He was very passionate about soccer
Looking at the players out of breath
“Just one chance” he asks
He was very passionate about soccer
He played since he was Ten
“Just one chance” he asks
The coach never thought he was good enough
He played since he was ten
Seeing his parents missing from the stands
The coach never thought he was good enough
He was waiting on the bench
Brian,
I love the amount of vulnerability and emotion in your poem it really got the feel of the situation across well.
So sad. As a former soccer mom I know how devastated a child is when the parent misses a game. Seems as though neither coach nor parent believes in this child. Heartbreaking.
alright boys follow me
stay close Wyatt will lead
everything’s going to be ok
stay quiet
stay close Wyatt will lead
what’s that up ahead
stay quiet
I think I see someone
what’s that up ahead
get down
I think I see someone
run
get down
everything’s going to be ok
run
alright boys follow me
Your poem takes me back to my childhood when we dive into the ditch at sight of an approaching car. Someone was always in the lead saying, “follow me.” Your clipped lines create tension and suspense.
We are house hunting.
Not going so well.
Nothing on the market.
Where will we live?
Not going so well.
Too little to choose.
Where will we live?
Just not going to work.
Too little to choose.
That one is small.
Just not going to work.
Everything is wrong.
That one is small.
Nothing on the market.
Everything is wrong.
We are house hunting.
Dylan- I appreciate you writing on this topic because in my life House hunting takes time and its hard to move into a new house after being at the same house for my entire life. It can hit anyone hard so this writing just did the trick with me.
This is a difficult time to be in the market for a home. So many places have too few homes for sale. I saw a report recently about how boomers are staying in their homes longer, creating a shortage for young families. Your poem is a strong argument for finding a solution to the housing shortage.
Twenty-four
Alive, active, vital
Suddenly absent—elusive
Sick—dying
Alive, active, vital
How could he be—
sick—dying?
Merciless viral assault
How could he be?
Husband and father
Merciless viral assault;
dead.
Husband and father
Suddenly absent, elusive,
dead.
Twenty-four
Steve – Holy cow, this is so sad, a stunning blow. Nothing is ever right when someone so young taken in this “merciless viral assault.” The impact hits so especially hard in this poetic form, the repetitions pounding at the unwanted reality. Thanks for offering a piece so personal. Susie
steve,
As a reader, I want to know the background to this poem prior to responding. I wonder if it is personal to you (it feels that way because you are such a gifted writer) or if it is, perhaps, as Anna suggested, a character from a novel. For a husband and father to die at twenty-four is utterly tragic; your repetition of “merciless viral assault” personifies the cause, giving me a source for my mourning of this lost life. I am sorry for the spouse and child/children who will not know this man.
Sarah
This is such a devastating piece. If my interpretation is correct, he is just a young man. Its heart wrenching to think that a family is now without their loved one. At such a young age you believe to be invincible, but it could not be farther from the truth. Sometimes we get sucked into that illusion, and this poem is a wake up call. Always cherish the moments you have with those you love, cause in the blink of an eye they can vanish. Great poem, great word usage, great emotion.
My heart is breaking reading all the poems about death. Twenty-four is far too young, and not loss is the tragic “Merciless, viral assault.” ?
That’s No Bargain
He believed I could do anything,
even cut hair
on a chair in the garage
with a pair of clippers.
Even cut hair
as well as a barber with a license
with a pair of clippers,
sporting a broken guard,
As well as a barber with a license,
but for less than ten dollars–
Sporting a broken guard,
That fell to the floor at an inopportune time.
But for less than ten dollars–
on a chair in the garage
That fell to the floor at an inopportune time.
He believed I could do anything.
Gail,
I am so enjoying the rhythm of pantoum, and you have done a wonderful job choosing images, moves in the repeating lines. Your poem is a nice companion to mine, and I think it would be great to have a little anthology of “hair” poems — or is that weird.
I enjoyed your poem as well. It is so nice to capture the good in the world through poetry. Your poem made me hopeful, and I’m sending up a prayer for that gentleman.
Gail – Cutting someone’s hair at home in the garage is a very intimate act of trust. It makes me smile. The “less than ten dollars” is an amusing piece of this. Totally enjoyed your poem. Susie
I don’t know whether you meant to have a lot of humor in this poem, but I felt all of it. From the title to the first two lines….I couldn’t stop feeling the sense of humor like a kid with an older brother or sister who messed up a head of hair – – which happens to all of us, whether we do it ourselves or a classmate or relative does it (or a professional). That first line – He believed I could do anything – – it makes me smile.
I’m smiling at the image of a lay person as barber. It’s good that someone had such faith in you, but sometimes faith can be misplaced. Your title is wonderful!
On the first day of school
I lied about where I was from
It felt good to be someone else
To make someone up, starting from scratch
I lied about where I was from
And another kid caught me in the lie right away
To make someone up, starting from scratch
Made myself disappear for years
And another kid caught me in the lie right away
“Which part of Rochester are you from?” he asked with innocent malevolence
Made myself disappear for years
Didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing
“Which part of Rochester are you from?” he asked with innocent malevolence
It felt good to be someone else
Didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing
On the first day of school
I have often wanted to “make someone up, starting from scratch”. The innocent malevolence is recognizable too. There always seems to be one kid! I’m curious how old you were at this time.
I was 14, first day of high school…
Alex – This form really layered in fascinating reactions that I experienced while reading this. I loved the boldness of a kid who would take on a new identity even if it came back to bite him. Such an innocent moment of pretending and such a cringing slap of reality as he is “caught in the lie.” Growing up is such a bag of cringe-able acts, but the boldness is a deep strength in the kid that will yield wonderful stations in a life journey. It made me root for a kid who momentarily “disappeared.” Cool piece! Susie
We’ve all been there – – all wanted to be somebody else with a clean slate, somebody we made up starting from scratch. It reassures us all that we are not alone in that feeling. Starting over feels good until you get caught in the lie. I couldn’t help thinking of the movie where (I believe Adam Sandler and Wynona Ryder) the girl makes up a lie that she is from Win-Chester-ton-field-ville and then he ends up finding a real town with this name and taking her there and people are trying to remember her – – when I read the line “Which part of Rochester are you from?” I enjoyed your poem and the memory of the traps we feel when we don’t quite tell the whole truth……
“It felt good to be someone else.” This line makes me think about fresh starts and the way kids mask their identity. Is there such a thing as “innocent malevolence.” I’ll have to think about that.
Appointments
Racing home for your last breath
Choosing your burial plot at Christ Church Cemetery
Dodging traffic on Frederica Road
Sprinting to your bedside, car still running
Choosing your burial plot
Deciding – historic section or new?
Sprinting to your bedside
Expecting an angel to fly
Deciding – which section?
Asking for a sign the choice was right
Expecting an angel
Rejoicing your suffering was over
Asking for a sign
Dodging traffic
Rejoicing
Racing home
-Kim Johnson
Kim — This is so incredibly touching and real. It resonates with me so clearly, having had such a “race” myself. The juxtaposition of the race and the finality of a life ending is very poignant. The sense of urgency and finality all at the same time. You’ve taken my hand and walked me back to that day that I remember so well. Thank you for sharing something so personal and so very real. Susie
I like how you shortened each repetition, it draws you smoothly into the climax of the poem
Kim, Your pantoum is incredibly moving. I so sorry for your loss and for the pace of it all — sprinting and racing. It is hard to stop, to feel so that we can heal and grieve. The line “rejoicing your suffering was over” is a tender line.
Kim, what a hard poem to write (and to live). “Asking for a sign the choice was right. Expecting an angel” were lines that resonated with me. Thank you for sharing!
First thing I notice is the way you clip the first line to emphasize the inevitability of life’s end. I also notice the complex irony in “rejoicing your suffering was over” and the sense of loss. The image of dodging traffic speaks to me as a metaphor for the way we humans try to escape death. This poem makes me sad, but it also–somehow–comforts.
Though the topic is a difficult one to write about and for us to read, your writing demonstrates the freedom poets have to adapt a pattern to fit the purpose. Typically the pantoum calls for repeated lines, instead you repeat words and phrases from previous lines portraying the shortened life of the person about whom you are writing and the shortness of breath trying to do what needed to be done so quickly. Effective poem.
Burning of Notre Dame
Eight hundred years of gargoyles’ fiery tears bleed to the Seine,
as acrid smoke rises in leadened plumes,
and Paris gapes through rose windows stained in orange flames;
a piercing crown of thorns left on the Île de la Cité,
as acrid smoke rises in leadened plumes,
robbing the skies of Paris;
a piercing crown of thorns left on the Île de la Cité
and across the lands
as acrid smoke rises in leadened plumes,
we choke on our sorrow.
Robbing the skies of Paris,
a piercing crown of thorns left on the Île de la Cité,
and Paris gapes through rose windows stained in orange flames
and across the lands;
eight hundred years of gargoyles’ fiery tears bleed to the Seine.
by Susie Morice
This definitely emulates the feelings I think a lot of us are having today. Thanks for sharing!
Susie, what a way to honor this tragedy. I’m set to take a group of students there in June, and I found myself near tears yesterday thinking that we ALMOST saw Notre Dame Cathedral. But now we won’t. “Acrid smoke rises in leadened plumes….orange flames” I love your choice of words with plumes and flames – – robbing the skies, piercing crown of thorns. Your poem succinctly captures the sadness and then ends with 800 years of gargoyles’ fiery tears bleeding to the Seine. I need my Kleenex.
I’d love to have permission to share this with a group of teachers if you would consider it. I just love the gargoyles’ tears.
Kim – Thank you for the kind words. Yes, as we are teaching colleagues now, a teacher-to-teacher share sounds fine. Let me know what they say, as of course, I’ll be curious. Susie
Susie —
Thank you for writing the words that have escaped my tongue since hearing about then seeing the images on the news. My godmother lived a block away from there for a year, and we visited during Christmas — magnificent. And you show the being that is Notre Dame with its “piercing crown” and “rose windows stained.” Indeed, Paris and the world “gapes” as “gargoyles’ fiery tears bleed to the Seine.” My heart breaks.
Mine too, Sarah. Thank you. Susie
You capture the iconic imagery of Notre Dame so well w/ images of the “crown of thorns,” “gargoyles’ fiery tears,” “rose windows.” Certainly, Paris’s sorrow is shared world-wide as many recall their encounters with Notre Dame, both in a visit and in literature. How do we recover “eight hundred years of gargoyles”?
Haircut Voucher
He sat just two chairs away,
a job interview this morning,
a meal at the church last night.
“This is just temporary,” he says.
A job interview this morning,
needed someone to watch his bag.
“This is just temporary,” he says.
“I fell on hard times,” he says.
Needed someone to watch his bag.
Can’t bring what’s left of his life inside.
“I fell on hard times,” he says.
“How short do you want it?” she asks.
Can’t bring what’s left of his life inside.
A meal at the church last night.
“How short do you want it?” she asks.
He sat just two chairs away.
* I went to Hair Cuttery yesterday to get my hair cut. This pantoum was inspired by the conversation I overheard between a man who had just become homeless and his stylist. He received a voucher for a free haircut from PADS, and the woman who cut his hair was incredibly patient, compassionate, and professional. She listened, asked questions, and treated him with dignity, and I learned a lot about how my community cares for people.
This is both heartbreaking and hopeful. The pantoum form w/ its line repetition emphasizes the compassion of the stylist and the social structures that have left so many behind during the economic recovery. I’m thinking about the way a pantoum can function as argument, too. I like your use of dialogue. It reminds me of all the conversations I’ve heard while getting my hair done. It makes me feel as though I’m there, too.
Sarah — Dang, girl, you are so good at this! That you pulled so much from those four lines is very cool. I especially likes the “Can’t bring what’s left of his life inside.” And the first/last line… even “just two chairs away” renders so much closer a sense of the man. I have to play with this form some more… it was a very interesting experiencing messing with meaning and format for me. Your poem and Anna’s are both fascinating wordplay. Whoohoo! Thanks! Susie
How touching! That’s a perfect example – one I greatly need – of how a poet observes the world so differently and preserves the pieces of perception throughout the day. Noodles that stick the the wall and matter in words. “Can’t bring what’s left of his life inside.” That’s what haunts me.
Very touching story. Every line feels poignant in this form!
Thanks for sharing that people can be kind! We need to know this and to model it. Your poem does both.