Download
1 / 7
E N D
Sestinas Sestina comes from the Latin for sixth. A sestina is a repetitive form of poetry that consists of seven stanzas. The six lines of each of the first six stanzas end in one of six words, repeated in a very specific order. The seventh stanza, which has only three lines, is called the envoy. It includes two of the six words in each of its lines. Tritinas Tritina comes from the Latin for “three.” It’s a repetitive form of poetry that consists of three stanzas, plus an envoy. Like the sestina, the three lines in each of the three stanza ends in one of three words, repeated in a specific order. The envoy is one line that contains all three words. Pantoums The pantoum started out in Malayan literature as an oral form called a pantun. The version that we read and write today was first described by Victor Hugo, author of Les Miserables and The Hunchback of Notre Dame, in the 1820’s. A pantoum consists of four line stanzas, with entire lines repeated in a set pattern. The second and fourth lines of each stanza reappear as the first and third of the next. The length of a pantoum—the number of stanzas—is up to the poet.
Sestinas Stanza 1: 1 Stanza 4: 5 2 3 3 2 4 6 5 1 6 4 Stanza 2: 6 Stanza 5: 4 1 5 5 1 2 3 4 6 3 2 Stanza 3: 3 Stanza 6: 2 6 4 4 6 1 5 2 3 5 1 Stanza 7: 1-2 3-4 5-6
Tritinas • Stanza 1: 1 • 2 • 3 • Stanza 2: 3 • 1 • 2 • Stanza 3: 2 • 3 • 1 • Envoy: 1 line that uses all 3 words
Pantoums • Stanza 1: Line 1 • Line 2 • Line 3 • Line 4 • Stanza 2: Line 5: same as Line 2, above • Line 6 • Line 7: same as Line 4, above • Line 8 • Stanza 3: Line 9: same as Line 6, above • Line 10 • Line 11: same as Line 8, above • Line 12 • Repeat the pattern for as many stanzas as you wish.
Sestina at 3 AM by Linda Pastan In the imperfect dark no hope of either love or sleep, I listen to the wind and water’s long bewildering dialogue, under the common stars. Tonight the stars abrade the dark. If I could under- stand why you left, then I could sleep. How long until you call? No message in the wind, not in the wind. Braided with stars the sky’s long awning shelters the world. And now the dark— that first mother of sleep— coaxes: “Go under Let yourself go under, let the wind whisper you to sleep and the stars will go out, the dark surf will rock you in its hammock all night long.” The night is very long. Far under the surface of water, dark fish swim deaf to the wind, only coral reefs for stars, no need of sleep. I want so much to sleep. It is what I long for, more than love. I want these tallowed stars snuffed out under clouds of fog. Why can’t the wind just blow then out and leave me to the dark? sleep and sleep... I am going under long and under and wind and under... your face... the stars... the dark
Early Evening Tritina by Ruth Langton The sun was low in the sky. We were going to watch for deer. It would be dark soon. We had only a little time, but I was with you. I climbed the ladder of your tree stand and glanced down at the pond. You Followed and said, “We might not see a deer.” I nodded. “But if we’re going to, it will be soon.” Your words were magic. Soon Was an understatement. I gazed down at the clover-covered field. So did you. As if on cue, out of the woods stepped two majestic deer. They ate and left, too soon. That evening, you gave me a miracle in the shape of the deer.
A Pantoum for Blue by Bailey Irving I gaze into blue. I taste salt in my mouth: my hand meets the bottomless ocean indigo as it douses my greedy fingers I taste salt in my mouth as I suckle my greedy fingers. I live in colors as I suckle the blue from this moment. I live in colors as I wrap myself in blue: the blue from this moment. The sky blazes the brightest cobalt. As I wrap myself in blue, I live in colors. The sky blazes the brightest cobalt: so blue it hurts to look. I wrap myself in blue, and I imagine your eyes: So blue, it hurts to look. And I imagine your eyes, deep as the salty-sweet ocean: I gaze into blue.
