poems in process: a pantoum with guest writer patricia f. anderson
Here’s a new writing prompt and poem in process, brought to you by me and a pal I made over on identica, Patricia F. Anderson. We’re going to attempt something daring, something never before tried here at The Poetry Collaborative: We’re writing a pantoum together. That’s right! We’re co-poeing and writing in form, which is like walking a tightrope without a net. (And without a rope.)
We have no idea if this will work. We could very well fall and sustain great injury, but we’re going for it anyway. And you, the ticket-holders, get to watch the whole thing play out. Please refrain from clapping if anyone trips over a line and can’t get up, k?
We’re going to write this in the comments section of this post.
This should be interesting.
Oh, and here’s the skinny on how to write a pantoum:
- Start with a four-line stanza.
- Repeat lines 2 and 4 of the first stanza as lines 1 and 3 of the next stanza.
- Finish the second stanza by creating new lines for 2 and 4.
- Repeat the pattern. Take lines 2 and 4 of the second stanza and make them 1 and 3 of the third.
- Do this over and over until you think you got yourself a complete poem. (But don’t prattle on for too long or the poem will devolve into a repetitive nonsensical mess that will send readers heading for the hills.)
- For the final stanza, you’ll need lines 1 and 3 of the first stanza. Make line 3 the second line of the final stanza, and make line 1 the final line of the poem.
And here’s some cool information about Patricia:
Patricia F. Anderson is the emerging technologies librarian for the Health Sciences at the University of Michigan and was the senior author of the Medical Library Association Encyclopedic Guide to Searching and Finding Health Information on The Web. In a previous life, she had a quilting business designing custom patterns and helped paint murals. Her main activities outside of work are: single parent, singing and Iaido (Japanese sword). When to comes to poetry, she tends to be a formalist and is especially fond of sonnets and villanelles. Want to see what she does? Visit this site. Want to see what sort of poems she likes? Visit this site.
This is a fantastic idea! I can’t wait to watch the fun unfold!!!!
PS, I just announced to this to my dinner/computing partner for the evening (who asked me when we sat down and got out our computers, “does this still count as a date?” how cute)
I said to her, “They’re bad ass!”
Hey, Patricia, I’m looking forward to reading your poems and stuff. I have a weakness for pantoums and villanelles too, but I’m wicked and I like to mess with them.
You must be a braniac, with all your medical knowledge, and technology too. No wonder you like forms.
I’m excited to watch this unfold.
PANTOUM STARTS HERE
It all began with an onion skin
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal
{Patricia, so you will copy those lines into your next comment and then add your own. If you don’t like my line at any point, just tell me. And, with all pantoums, we might write ourselves into a corner and have to do some backtracking. Also, people might peek in here from time to time and leave comments about how the piece is shaping up. Don’t be alarmed. They are not meanies.}
what a great idea. i can’t wait to see the poem.
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability and touch
{I am forging ahead with the syllabics. This is wild! Pantoum plus syllabic verse? If we get through this thing, we deserve some kind of reward or gold ribbon. I interpreted sheer in the sense of “absolute.” What do you think? And I wanted to keep the sense of touch in there, since we’d established the sense of touch in line two. But if you want to go in a different direction, that’s cool. We can also abandon the pantoum if you want and just go with syllabic verse. Or we can try both. Whatever you want.}
You’re right, Patricia. I can’t count. Lemme try again:
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability and tactile
{I’m guessing tactile will have to be changed, but I can’t see what it will need to change to until we get rolling into the repetition part of the pantoum. So back to you. Hi.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer —
vulnerability and tactile.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
{I like having the sense of touch dominate. I test as a touch-dominant, so I *really* like it!
I agree something about the ‘tactile’ line seems to not scan, but it is your line to play with, in both repetitions, so up to you. 
I am trying to keep this dancing around our core (secret) theme. Wondering if folks will guess our theme before we finish the poem. What a great game this is!}
{I took the dash out after sheer because I was intending it as “sheer vulnerability,” as in “complete vulnerability.” Does that work for you? Also, how do I find out if I am touch-dominant?}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection for what holds
{Here is a good book on touch dominance: http://tinyurl.com/3tlpcn
It is fascinating how much of it has to do with language and vocabulary choices, but I guess that is because the author is a philologist/linguist.
I figure punctuation tweeks are part of the process. Thanks for clarifying - I was not catching the intended meaning, but love the way it bends the words.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection for what holds
the laundry shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving. My hands flip back and forth
{Thanks for the book linky! I *love* that you are a librarian. You know all about the books and whatnot. If we are both touch-dominant, this should be a pretty interesting poem. It already is interesting, actually.
OK, this is getting hard. I am going in … }
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
{I’m going inside now, to talk about the other type of secret thing this poem is about. Are you with me? Is it a weird move?}
{Dance, and I will dance with you. Lead, and I will follow, until my following becomes leading, outside becomes inside, inside out, breath becomes bigger than the hollow rib, and exhaled becomes your air, air we pass back and forth, tentative, a waltz of words.}
{That means I am enjoying the process and yes, the ideas pass back and forth, all is good.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
{Hi. *waves* I am eating angel food cake. It is so good. I will be back in the morning to make a new piece of the poem. It’s looking really good so far. Aren’t you glad it’s not a train wreck?}
{Hi Patricia! Here’s mine. I’ve added a little edge. Don’t know if you will like it. I can write a different line if you like.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion
{I *am* really pleased with how it is taking shape. Finding the delicate dance / game of words / images / concepts also delightful and engaging. Here I was just thinking we were winding back to the beginning in apt and elegant fashion, but your new twist takes it off in a different direction entirely. Pondering how this might resolve.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
{I wandered off! I am so sorry. I wasn’t feeling well, and now I am trying to make a website, so I have been overwhelmed a bit. Hi. I am back now.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
{I have no idea now where things are going. That’s good! I love love your line, by the way. Nice.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeroing in on
{We need to start moving towards the final stanzas, looping back to the beginning. Microscope ties back in with microscopic, but we don’t want to have those two too close to each other. Anyway, shifting things in that direction … I hope.
}
{Oh my! This is the hard part! The end!!! I changed your line a little so it would lead into mine. Am I doing this at all right? I am starting to feel confused. Pantoums do this to me.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter
a microscope zeros in on what
xxx
like a benign tremor or stutter
xxx
xxx
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
xxx
It all began with an onion skin
{I mapped out a possible escape route. This is how I get when a poem overwhelms me. And, I am trying, in my last line, to get at the actual movements cells make, but my science is fuzzy. I feel like cells sort of jiggle around, shudder, almost move with stuttering motions, but is that right? You have an amazing medical background, so tell me if I am totally wrong and I can change the line.}
[Holy moly, wimmin. This is magical. It transforms me into the space, gathering me into shifting spaces. Cool. keep it up.]
[Pondering. Actually, what I find most fascinating is cell-to-cell communication and the self-organization of cells into structures. Did you know that they talk to each other with very subtle shifts of heat and scent, declaring friendship, forming partnerships, predator/prey relationships, masquerading as something they are not ... many of the behaviors attributed to more complex organisms. Makes me wonder if we are cells in a galactic intelligence ... ]
Patricia, since I was a teenager I have ALWAYS pondered whether we are cells in a galactic intelligence!
My kindred spirit! My poetry complement!
Do you want to do in a different direction than my line? I would be totally cool with that.
Hi.
[a line added to shift things in the direction of our discussion. A certain elegance to how this is shaping up - very nice! Thank you.
]
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
xxx
xxx
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
xxx
It all began with an onion skin
{I am scared!!!!!! The endings of poems always scare the crud out of me! I really like your line, and again I have no idea if my line works. I really don’t know how we’re going to get back to that onion skin. Do you see it? Hi.}
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
from movement into meaning teased out
xxx
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
xxx
It all began with an onion skin
{I’m stuck. I need to think about this for a bit. Maybe let’s brainstorm a bit? Let it sit and ferment? I see a very nice shape here, but it needs a little something to tie up loose ends. Pondering … }
{see the movement of the poem onion >hands > skin > multicellular structures > cellular structures > subcellular structures > … I think we’re headed for molecules, don’t you? Perhaps amino acids combining into proteins … }
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
from movement into meaning teased out,
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
xxx
It all began with an onion skin
oh my goodness. a fascinating process. a very interesting poem. i can’t wait to see what the last line–xxx–will be…
Eek! I have to finish it. I am so so scared. Patricia, what if we throw it open to the whole group to come up with potential second-to-last lines and we select the one that we think is the best fit? I could post this as a new post and ask people to submit lines for our consideration.
P.S. “calipers stretch molecular strings — ” is a GREAT line. Thank you.
Also thank you for your little diagram showing how the poem moves. I like that. I need to think like that when I write. I usually just go in all blind and muddle my way through.
I would never have gotten the multicellular structures part. I would not have differentiated that from cellular structures.
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
from movement into meaning teased out,
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to [(sheer
(infinity) equals space between)].
It all began with an onion skin.
========
OK - not sure if this works. The idea of the brackets is partly to simulate scientific notations as a stylistic touch, and partly to “cheat” by using a word twice without repeating it. Like this:
shredded to sheer infinitity / infinity equals space between.
Whaddya think?
Patricia, I think this is a really great and clever way of turning that line. I do wonder, though, if it excludes most readers, since most people won’t understand the notation and what it means. Also, I wonder if it pulls the reader out of the feeling, the moment, of the poem by being so different from the rest of the piece and also by being overtly cerebral. What do you think?
It’s tough for me, though, because I really really like the line and how it connects everything in the poem together.
I was wondering about that myself. What if we just take out the notation? Does it read ok? Or simply, more like normal notation. Perhaps like this …
(1)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
(infinity equals space between).
It all began with an onion skin.
or this:
(2)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity (equals space between).
It all began with an onion skin.
Or, mooshing things around a bit …
(3)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity (space equals between …).
It all began with an onion skin.
Further pondering / playing.
(4)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity. Space between equals … ?
It all began with an onion skin.
(5)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity. Between, space equals
space, beginning with an onion skin.
(6)
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity, so interspatial.
It all began with an onion skin.
Dana?
Hi! I didn’t see those earlier comments. Sorry I missed them.
Let’s see … I like option #2 for sure. (This is a fun game, by the way — getting to sit back and pick out optional endings.) I also really like #5 and #6. I love “space equals space” because it’s so unexpected. It does break the form a little in the last line, but I can live with that.
What is your pick?
OK, how about this for the final?
CELLS
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
from movement into meaning teased out,
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity. Between, space equals
space. It began with an onion skin.
I can’t stop!! Seems to awkward and jerky to end that way. What if the last line is:
space, that began with an onion skin.
OK, I guess this is what we’ve got.
Final version.
CELLS
It all began with an onion skin
rolled in the palms after removal —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
vulnerability with a touch.
Rolled in the palms after removal,
the laundry sheds dead skin, dust to dust,
vulnerability with a touch
of misplaced affection. For what holds
the laundry’s shedding skin, dust to dust,
dissolving? My hands flip back and forth
with misplaced affection for what holds
fast inside them, admitting only
dissolving. The hands flip back and forth,
fingers work, creating compartments
fast inside them, admitting only
what moves through by force and persuasion;
fingers work, creating compartments,
viral spaces exploding with guile
what moves through by force and persuasion
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
(that viral space exploding with guile),
a microscope zeros in on what
can’t be named, only felt — a motion
like a benign tremor or stutter;
a microscope zeros in on that
stumbling heated communication.
Like a benign tremor or stutter
from movement into meaning teased out,
calipers stretch molecular strings —
microscopic veil, shredded to sheer
infinity. Between, space equals
space, that began with an onion skin.
Oh, hi Patricia! *waves* I can pull this up and make it its own post tomorrow.
It was *great* writing with you. A real treat.
[...] cells December15 This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series pantoumsPatricia F. Anderson and I wrote this piece together. You can see it in progress over at this post. [...]