Fussy Little Forms: Tritina

Hello, Toads! October being upon us, the first month of the last quarter of the calendar year. Which really has not much to do with the short poetry form I’m proposing that we try today, the TRITINA.

Tritina is the more compact step-sister of sestina and villanelle, two forms that I (you?) find difficult! But somehow in this shorter version it seems manageable. Could be I’m wrong, but let’s try anyway. Tritina was invented by the American poet Marie Ponsot, who says about strict poetry forms:

“The forms create an almost bodily pleasure in the poet. What you’re doing is trying to discover. They are not restrictive. They pull things out of you. They help you remember.”

I love this and feel the same--but it’s so good to be reminded as I’ve been a bit distant from my poems and my remembering lately.

So the rules of tritina are as follows. It is a ten-line poem with three tercets and a final line, featuring three repeating, non-rhyming line-end words, like this:  

1-2-3

3-1-2

2-3-1

The final line contains all 3 words as 1-2-3

The tritina does not have a required meter, but it is generally thought that tritina should have a consistent meter or rhythm throughout to emphasize the repetition and musical-refrain quality of the verse. The single end line is a conclusion, so tritina can be similar to a sonnet in that a turn can happen between lines 9 and 10.

Here is a wonderful example by David Yezzi: Tritina for Susannah

And here is a tritina by Marie Ponsot, so beautiful, called “Roundstone Cove.”

The wind rises. The sea snarls in the fog

far from the attentive beaches of childhood—

no picnic, no striped chairs, no sand, no sun.

Here even by day cliffs obstruct the sun;

moonlight miles out mocks this abyss of fog.

I walk big-bellied, lost in motherhood,

hunched in a shell of coat, a blindered hood.

Alone a long time, I remember sun—

poor magic effort to undo the fog.

Fog hoods me. But the hood of fog is sun.

--Marie Ponsot, from Springing, New and Selected Poems

Marie Ponsot, American poet, born 1921

Ready? Let’s try tritina! 1-2-3 and go!

The Tuesday Platform

It’s Tuesday, your free-range day of the week here in the Imaginary Garden. Share with us, something old, something new, or your April 5 entry for NaPoWriMo. And then hop around to read what other pond-dwellers have shared.

For those who need a prompt today, or who just want to revel, I offer this *optional* extra challenge: VILLANELLE, a lovely form I have never attempted, let alone mastered. I know some of you enjoy writing villanelles--I'm thinking of Bjorn in particular. Check out Bjorn's villanelles for inspiration.

And here are my heroes They Might Be Giants with a SONG that is a villanelle. Showoffs!

From free to form - Personal Challenge for Björn

Hi there, dear amphibians of a virtual garden, here is Björn, a quite recent tadpole, unaware of consequences of signing up I got an email from the renowned and most skilled poet Hedgewitch. I had missed this slight drawback from signing up to be a toad, but at least one of you will have to expect an email from me the next few days. As many of you might have noticed I share the rare interest of actually write poem to form and meter.

The challenge was fairly straightforward: to take a piece of free-verse of mine that I think could gain from being elaborated to a form poetry such as a pantoum, sonnet, villanelle or terza rima. Often I write my  form poetry because they help me get inspired with the progression of the poem, the rhymes for instance help me to push the story ahead (a little bit like found poetry). On the other hand when I write free verse I’m often inspired to start with, so form come secondary. Therefore this was more of challenge than I thought to start with.

A while ago Marian wrote a prompt on the music of David Hidalgo. I saw some of the music as a kind of death-dance where the dawn was the end, and I used a refrain there “this night of sanguine hips” and thought that this would work in a villanelle. I thought I wanted to keep the dance in my poem so I went with tetrameter instead of pentameter to make it more in line with the origin of the rural dances that are supposedly the origin of the villanelle. I have reworked this a lot more than I usually do with my  form poetry but I hope it works for you.

This glowing night of sanguine hips

In glowing nights of sanguine hips,

we shed our last maracas tears;

and sway away when sun has slipped.

From burning cheeks, mascara drips,

but doom of dawn is not yet near,

this glowing night of sanguine hips.

With graveyard dust on blood-filled lips,

we’re dancing with the utmost care;

and sway away when sun has slipped.

We’re blessed by songs in sooty scripts

within this shroud the light is dear,

in glowing nights of sanguine hips.

Cause 6 feet under, worms will grip

our corazon of moonlit years.

We sway away when sun has slipped.

You gently let your eyelids zip,

to quench the dread of concrete fears.

Our final night of sanguine hips,

sashay below when sun has slipped.

There is no link-up today, but if you feel inspired to write something from this, put it on the comment section or link it up on an open link challenge.