Perceptua

"Pantoum is the western word for the Malayan pantun," I read in book on poetic forms in the summer of 2023. It first appeared in written form in the fifteenth century, when the oral traditions of the Malay were set down in ink. In the westernized pantoum, stanzas are of four lines repeated in the following pattern: the second & fourth lines of each stanza become the first & third of the next. In this way, each stanza after the first consists of two repeated & two new lines. Often, the third & first lines of the initial stanza are repeated as the second & fourth lines of the final one, so that every line is used twice & the last line of the poem is the same as the first.

When I read about the pantoum I began right away to experiment. I did not read (& I confess I still have not read) much of what had been done with form to date, but set to work writing pantoums of varying length & style. Four trials were enough to inspire a deeper interest; alongside the writing of pantoums, I began to analyze their structure—to contemplate their merits mathematically, so to speak. Though I continued to compose in the usual way, I discovered that the essential feature of the pantoum—repeating lines—could be used to generate innumerable poetic forms. I pressed on by both paths, composing & analyzing, until the contents of this post came into view.

Collected here are the twelve pantoums I have written up to this point, presented in a seasonal arrangement. This cycle of poems is followed by a treatise on the structure of the pantoum, written in a mottled dialect combining poetry & mathematics which the mathematician will find unenlightening & the poet will find quite tedious. Yet the mathematician should recognize that the core of his work is poetry, & the poet should unstop his ears to the music of number.

Hamburg, New York
April 2024

Pantoum № 11

Dropped from living ash,

sticks of ash arranged on husks & grasses—

an orthography hiding sense,

a body feigning nakedness.

Sticks of ash arranged on husks & grasses,

their bark undone like a strap—

a body feigning nakedness

disclothing in the fire.

Their bark undone like a strap,

the twigged words of poems

disclothing in the fire,

in the curl & blotting traces.

The twigged words of poems—

an orthography hiding sense

in the curl & blotting traces

dropped from living ash.

Pantoum № 2

Spear of the firmament,

marionette of the

cloud-gathered fisherman

diving for suckerfish.

Marionette of the

hour-spun madrigal

diving for suckerfish,

singing & terrible.

Hour-spun madrigal,

cloud-gathered fisherman,

singing & terrible

spear of the firmament.

Pantoum № 7

In the body of the afternoon

the treebark lines my back, the grass my legs;

the weaving of the net is pressed in flesh. So

graves cry out their names through carving's scars.

The treebark lines my back, the grass my legs;

the day grows on but I sink into dreams where

graves cry out their names through carving's scars

& virgins burn like torches for the nearing.

The day grows on but I sink into dreams where

God draws in the dark that holds the stars

& virgins burn like torches for the nearing

fall, the missiles of the choking night.

God draws in the dark that holds the stars,

the weaving of the net is pressed in flesh. So

fall, you missiles of the choking night,

in the body of the afternoon.

Pantoum № 4

The cable guy is coming—

O, this tired day!

the shadows stir & stretch

toward form-annulling darkness.

O, this tired day,

languid in god-dug rut;

toward form-annulling darkness

the van rolls down the hour.

Languid in god-dug rut—

what are the odds, as I write,

the van rolls down the hour,

two lights break yonder window?

What are the odds? As I write

the shadows stir & stretch;

two lights break yonder window—

the cable guy is coming.

Pantoum № 12

Where love has made them meet

the hills are shaped a streambed;

the clouds are gathered in,

the rains bring forth a stream.

The hills are shaped a streambed

clothed in untoiling riches;

the rains bring forth a stream

chemically to be wed.

Clothed in untoiling riches

the clouds are gathered in,

chemically to be wed

where love has made them meet.

Pantoum № 9

O ye whose names cling round me

like my great grandfather's jacket,

clothe me now in recollections,

weave in the untold thread.

Like my great grandfather's jacket,

tell his coming by your colors;

weave in the untold thread

that I will know him from a man.

Tell his coming by your colors—

the road is only time.

That I will know him from a man,

murmur softly in the folds.

The road is only time;

clothe me now in recollections.

Murmur softly in the folds,

O ye whose names cling round me.

Pantoum № 3

Death has come early to empty

her memories & her pain;

she calls me by another's name

because I remind her of him.

Her memories & her pain

are jars of water borne, & spilled

because I remind her of him,

the son, who died at my age.

Are jars of water borne & spilled,

& does the past still burn?

The sun has died to this age

& the sky is a graying urn.

And does the past still burn?

She calls me by another's name;

& the sky is a graying urn

that death has come early to empty.

Pantoum № 10

Animals in the woods this second winter—

more bitter because second than bitter—

hunger, scratch the earth,

nestle under throats of light-thrown chutes.

More bitter because second than bitter,

assassins of fruits being & to be

nestle under throats of light-thrown chutes,

death-practiced angels become.

Assassins of fruits being & to be

hunger, scratch the earth;

death-practiced angels become

animals in the woods this second winter.

Pantoum № 5

This night's not dark enough

to hide the windows' shapes,

each square of cloud-soaked moon

a cross dividing.

To hide the windows' shapes

I lay with shut eye—still

a cross dividing

spans the road to sleep.

I lay with shut-eye still

my hope & fear; this night

spans the road to sleep,

treads eyelids overlight.

My hope & fear this night,

each square of cloud-soaked moon

treads eyelids overlight—

this night's not dark enough.

Pantoum № 8

Still snows come down on March.

The flowers early sprung

have strown themselves upon

the death-arisen grasses.

The flowers early sprung,

the birds too early singing;

the death-arisen grasses

press with lamentations.

The birds too early singing

frost-choked threnodies

press with lamentations

the tomb of the twice-dead grass.

Frost-choked threnodies

have strown themselves upon

the tomb of the twice-dead grass.

Still snows come down on March.

Pantoum № 1

A catalog of trees

& the wind & rushes

speaking would fill a book

of poems I cannot read.

And the wind & rushes,

& the leaves in my hands

of poems I cannot read

would teach my hands to sing.

And the leaves in my hands

speaking would fill a book,

would teach my hands to sing

a catalog of trees.

Pantoum № 6

Compassed in the fingers of the sky,

a heron quill lights down upon the earth;

the seasons spin their pageant underneath—

another line draws out the wordspun world.

A heron quill lights down upon the earth

where lakeshores lap against the lake of trees;

another line draws out the wordspun world,

the tall spine of the letter that is you.

Where lakeshores lap against the lake of trees

the named & hero-trodden stars are watching

the tall spine of the letter that is you,

the maple coursing sweet upon the page.

The named & hero-trodden stars are watching;

the seasons spin their pageant underneath

the maple coursing sweet upon the page,

compassed in the fingers of the sky.

Click here to read my essay on the structure of the pantoum.