The Oak Tree Pantoum
Herbarium of the Heart #4
There are times when I want to dwell in places of the mind and heart, reminisce, and relive experiences that shaped me.
When this happens, I usually write poetry.
Poetry writing starts in an unmediated place inside me. Later, I devote time to revising and polishing. At first, though, an emotion (re)surfaces from within, some place where I have left something unsaid or unspoken, where I need to return to make sense of a bit of who I am.
In the poetry I pen from experience, I live multiple times, on various levels, at each re-reading.
A poem can make the reading experience multi-layered.
Here I offer a structured form of poetry: a pantoum.
A pantoum is written in 4-line stanzas, and the second and fourth lines of each stanza become the first and third lines of the following one, except for the last stanza, where the repetitions differ.
In the last stanza, in fact, the repeated lines are the second from the penultimate stanza, the third from the first stanza, the fourth from the penultimate stanza, and the first from the first stanza.
The interweaving of the preceding and new lines contributes to the development of the narrative and/or the mood, while also conveying a sense of intensity.
The giant oak stood on the hilltop. My cousins and I were sitting in its branches. Guarda, il mare è così azzurro. Look, the sea is so very blue. My cousins and I were sitting in its branches. Laughter and chuckles rolling down the hill Look, the sea is so very blue. We stayed on top of the hill, top of the world till evening. Laughter and chuckles rolling down the hill Fast forward, into a strange night in March We stayed on top of the hill, top of the world till evening. A blizzard came. Fast forward, into a straight night in March Wind, lightning, thunder, storm A blizzard came And then pitch black. Wind, lightning, thunder, storm Ominous silence hanging all around And then pitch black The oak burnt down to a stump. Ominous silence hanging all around Its branches scattered like disjointed bones The oak burnt down to a stump Tonight the sea is an old grey man with foam at his mouth. Its branches scattered like disjointed bones The sea howls, and rages and pounds against the fateful sky Tonight the sea is an old grey man with foam at his mouth And I, I close my eyes to be in the oak's branches again. The sea howls and rages, and pounds against the fateful sky. Guarda, il mare è così azzurro. And I, I close my eyes to be in the oak's branches again. The giant oak stood on the hilltop. Thank you for being here and reading Writing with Plants and Flowers and The Magic Fountain.
Much enjoyed this your Pantoum! I was sad that the oak burnt down.
It's a lovely poem BlueIris.
The structure fits it perfectly too, with repetition mirroring that of a trees growth and renwal, each stanza building on the last in an embodied way.