Hello everyone! Have you tried writing a paradelle? We did back then 10 years ago but let me bring this back to 2024 space.

The Paradelle is a modern poetic form invented by Billy Collins as a parody of the villanelle in 1998. Billy Collins claimed that the paradelle was a difficult, fixed form consisting of four six-line stanzas with a repetitive pattern invented in eleventh century France, and the press believed the story and ran with it. Due to the extensive publicity, the Paradelle has made its rounds in the poetic community. Even though the form was invented as a hoax, the Paradelle has taken on a life of its own.

Here is the poem that Billy Collins wrote, A Paradelle for Susan. You will see in the note at the bottom that explained the form to be a French form, first appearing in the langue d’oc love poetry of the eleventh century. And it fooled quite a few people. If you read his example, especially having to end the last line with “my into it was with to to” I think you will find a bit of tongue in cheek at form poetry and their rigid structures.

A Paradelle for Susan

I remember the quick, nervous bird of your love.
I remember the quick, nervous bird of your love.
Always perched on the thinnest, highest branch.
Always perched on the thinnest, highest branch.
Thinnest love, remember the quick branch.
Always nervous, I perched on your highest bird the.

It is time for me to cross the mountain.
It is time for me to cross the mountain.
And find another shore to darken with my pain.
And find another shore to darken with my pain.
Another pain for me to darken the mountain.
And find the time, cross my shore, to with it is to.

The weather warm, the handwriting familiar.
The weather warm, the handwriting familiar.
Your letter flies from my hand into the waters below.
Your letter flies from my hand into the waters below.
The familiar waters below my warm hand.
Into handwriting your weather flies you letter the from the.

I always cross the highest letter, the thinnest bird.
Below the waters of my warm familiar pain,
Another hand to remember your handwriting.
The weather perched for me on the shore.
Quick, your nervous branch flew from love.
Darken the mountain, time and find was my into it was with to to.

NOTE: The paradelle is one of the more demanding French fixed forms, first appearing in the langue d’oc love poetry of the eleventh century. It is a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. Similarly, the final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only those words.

Here are the rules:

The Paradelle is a 4-stanza poem, where each stanza consists of 6 lines.
First Three Stanzas:

The first two lines as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas must be the same (repeat). Where it begins to get difficult and become more of a poetic puzzle is when reaching fifth and sixth lines. These lines must contain all the words from the preceding four lines within the stanza using them only once to form completely new lines.

Last Stanza:

For the most difficult piece of this poetic puzzle, the final stanza of the paradelle does not repeat like the preceding stanzas, rather the final six lines must contain every word from the first three stanzas, and only those words, again using them only once to form completely new lines.

The Design is simple:

Stanza 1: 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 4
Stanza 2: 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 8
Stanza 3: 9, 9, 10, 10, 11, 12
Stanza 4: 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Here is a Paradille, A Harvest Quenched by Björn Rudberg

A Harvest Quenched

The harvest moon leaves silver filaments at sea
The harvest moon leaves silver filaments at sea
Braided in the tresses of your golden hair they shine
Braided in the tresses of your golden hair they shine
They harvest leaves – in the filaments of braided moon hair
At the sea your silver tresses – shine in golden

I am the anvil to lugubrious hammer thuds
I am the anvil to lugubrious hammer thuds
As oily hands are groping in your negligée
As oily hands are groping in your negligée
Your oily anvil thuds in lugubrious negligée
As I am the groping hammer to your hands

My wanton need is quenched by turning tricks
My wanton need is quenched by turning tricks
The path divide into the unmarked road
The path divide into the unmarked road
Divide by need is the wanton turning into
My unmarked road tricks, the path is quenched

Your oily tricks need is the golden negligée
In Lugubrious groping to the unmarked anvil
They divide the filaments by silver in thuds
My braided path at your wanton tresses shine
As the moon road is turning into hammer of the hair
I am your sea-leaves in the harvest quenched

Sources: dVerse Poets Pub       Shadow Poetry    

Here is the Poetry Challenge: Write a paradelle. Suggested themes are: All Hallows Eve, or Day of the Dead or cast a poetry spell or magical wishes on the readers. We cannot wait to read it.

New to dVerse? Here’s how to join in:

*Write a paradelle in response to the challenge.
*Enter a link directly to your poem and your name by clicking Mr. Linky below
and remember to check the little box to accept the use/privacy policy.
*You will find links to other poets and more will join so please do check
back later in order to read their poems.
*Read and comment on other poets’ work–we all come here to have our poems read.
*Please link back to dVerse from your site/blog.