Lovely! I’ve never heard of pantoums, so I thank you for introducing them. Some of my writing is often repetitive, so this form might work well for me. I love your two poems.
I love pantoums, and really enjoyed reading yours! Here's one I expect to include in my chapbook -- many of my poems deal with my growing up in a radical leftist household in the 1950s USA.
First Taste
a pantoum
Baltimore, Maryland (1952)
two men in trench coats and fedoras at the front door
Oh my, this works so well. Those powerful lines "I have nothing to say to you," and the slaps to the face, then a slap to the door, make me put a hand over my mouth. Thank you so much for sharing this remarkable piece that fixes an era - with the fedoras - and a situation - hidden bookcases and a baby in pink flannel on the mother's hip. Wow.
Lovely! I’ve never heard of pantoums, so I thank you for introducing them. Some of my writing is often repetitive, so this form might work well for me. I love your two poems.
I'd love to hear what you come up with. It may seem a bit mechanical but the results often surprise the poet with their power.
Hi, Deepam,
I love pantoums, and really enjoyed reading yours! Here's one I expect to include in my chapbook -- many of my poems deal with my growing up in a radical leftist household in the 1950s USA.
First Taste
a pantoum
Baltimore, Maryland (1952)
two men in trench coats and fedoras at the front door
mother in bib apron coming in from the garden
baby pink flannel astride her hip
FBI badges flash “May we come in?”
mother in bib apron coming in from the garden
pulls me closer, muscles tensing
“May we come in?” (one foot in the door)
she backs up to hide the bookshelves
pulls me closer, muscles tensing
I reach a hand forward, smiling
she backs up to hide the bookshelves
says to the hats: “I have nothing to say to you”
I smile, reach a hand forward
she slaps the door shut
“I have nothing to say to you”
like a slap to my face, I startle
the slap to the door
my face in her bosom acrid n my throat
like a slap to my face, I cry
she sinks into the armchair, hand on her mouth
My face in her bosom acrid in my throat
she in bib apron, me in baby pink flannel
her hand over her mouth
men in trench coats and fedoras at the front door
Oh my, this works so well. Those powerful lines "I have nothing to say to you," and the slaps to the face, then a slap to the door, make me put a hand over my mouth. Thank you so much for sharing this remarkable piece that fixes an era - with the fedoras - and a situation - hidden bookcases and a baby in pink flannel on the mother's hip. Wow.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Deepam!