February 24, 2010
In McSweeney’s #32, there was an attempt to revive dead or dusty forms of the written word. Among my favorites was the Pantoum:
PANTOUM
LIFE SPAN: C. 1400 AD-present; earlier in oral form
NATURAL HABITAT: Malaysia
CHARACTERISTICS: Repetitive, trancelike.
A western descendant of the Malay pantum, a pantoum is a poem composed in quatrains, in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza reappear (with small alterations) as the first and third lines of the next stanza, and the first and third lines of the first stanza return as the last and second lines, respectively, of the final stanza. There is no set length, rhyme scheme, or subject matter for a pantoum, and artful manipulation of the repeated lines is encouraged.
ex:
CRACKPOT ARCTIC OCTOPUS
a new pantoum by Nicky Beer
I want to show you my blueprints.
This is where I’m going to put up the pistons,
The silver horses. I’ve been dreaming of
Building a giant carousel underwater, you see.
This is where I’m going. To put up the pistons
Close by the sea-vents—risky, I know, but—
Building a giant carousel underwater! You see
Why it must be done. I try to keep calm,
Close by. The sea vents risk. I know but
Fucking and fighting in a green haze.
Why? It must be done. I try to keep clams
Quiet by drilling holes in their heads.
Fucking and fighting in a green haze
Will drive anyone quite crazy after a while.
Quite. By drilling holes in their heads,
The Eskimos released their demons into the sky.
Will drives anyone quite crazy. After a while
Down in the seabed it all became so clear to me.
The Eskimos released their demons. Into the sky?
Nonsense. They seeped into the ice,
Down in the seabed. It all came to me. So be clear—
This is not really what I wanted,
The nonsense they seeped into the ice,
Though I’ve made an amusement of it all the same.
This is not real: what I wanted,
The silver horses I’ve been dreaming of,
Though I’ve made an amusement of it. All the same,
I want to show you my blueprints.
I recently saw an amazing CD cover online for the band Six Gallery. The cover had an octopus holding two balloons, and I immediately thought of the Crackpot Arctic Octopus. I drew a picture:
I’d Catch My Breath If I Could Find It
a new pantoum by me
Seems like it’s street corners
where I white-out my weekends,
before I go downstairs
into the bars—into the basements.
While I wait out my weakness
I’d catch my breath if I could find it.
I search the bars—I search the basements,
I search weekdays that chase behind it.
In catching breath (if I could find it),
I picture: a spark on a gust of wind.
And in weak days that chase reminded
me: why don’t we dance? why don’t we sing?
You picture: a spark on a gust of wind.
A fire threaded in the breeze.
Me: Oh I don’t dance. You: Oh I don’t sing.
Oh all things tossed into the seas. . . .
Afire: threats. In the breeze—
and all those shaking ships are sinking.
After all the things I lost to the seas—
all those breaking blues are blinking.
And all those shaking ships are sinking
while I white-out my weekends.
And all those breaking blues are blinking
into the bars—into the basements.
Posts