The triolet is a fabulously compact repeating poem form, where the first two lines make up most of the poem. If you've got two good opening lines, why not make the most of them?! Part of the fun, too, is seeing how much you can shift their meaning around each time they're repeated, by using words with two meanings, or with the different lines that lead in, or by punctuating them in different places. That said, the lines can also be repeated for the sheer force of repetition, the insistence of it.| FIRST LINE | a |
| SECOND LINE | b |
| new line, rhymes with first line | a |
| FIRST LINE | a |
| new line, rhymes with first line | a |
| new line, rhymes with second line | b |
| FIRST LINE | a |
| SECOND LINE | b |
The rhyme scheme is a-b-a-a-a-b-a-b, but because of the repetition you actually only need 3 a-rhymes and 2 b-rhymes. For the metre, people often use iambic pentameter, but you don't have to.
As always with a new form, it's helpful to see an example, and also take it out for a few spins with doggerel, to get a feel of it. So here are three examples. The first is the very first one I wrote, taking it out for a spin with some doggerel, using what I had around me:
Afternoon wine at the PloughHere's one I wrote in May 2020, which plays with the repeating lines more. You can see how I've changed up the punctuation on the repeating lines to play with the meanings:
in the chilly new warmth of the sun
and the first leap of laughter is now
afternoon wine at the Plough.
The canal parts, a narrowboat prow
pushes forward, and summer’s begun:
afternoon wine at the Plough
in the chilly new warmth of the sun.
We’re used to the daily death tollAnd as that's a glum note to end on, here's a cheerier one, of flirty birds in April, which plays with the repetition's meaning a little, but mostly uses it to echo the birds' repetitive movements:
now. The government is vague
on why, but we’re to blame – a role
we’re used to. The daily death toll
rises. Just show some self-control
and return to work despite the plague.
We’re used to the daily death toll
now the government is vague.
A sudden flapping leap – the blackbirds part.
If one has flown too far, the game is done.
The branches bounce. A haughty tail – a dart –
a sudden flapping leap. The blackbirds part
and settle, back to back – by turns, restart
their line-dance, left then right. One takes a run –
a sudden flapping leap. The blackbirds part
and one has flown too far. The game is done.
If this is your first-ever triolet, absolutely take it for a spin with doggerel first, using whatever you've got around you as content: the weather, the view from the window, anything at all. The first go is just to get the hang of it.
If you've written a triolet or similar repeating forms before, or you want to try another after your first go, think of things that repeat across your own life or days, and pick one of them to play with in a triolet.
The triolet is also known as a French medieval rondeau, and it's part of a group of repeating forms that all have almost the same name and slightly different lengths and patterns: the rondeau, rondine, roundelay, roundel, rondeau redoublé...! So if you find repeating lines fun, there's a ton more out there to play with.
If you want to explore writing poems more, the Meddling with Poetry course this Oct–Nov will introduce you to heaps of different poetry forms, approaches, and facets of language, all through playful workshop-style classes.
Join online from anywhere (Thurs evenings UK time) OR in person in Oxford (Wed evenings). Plus each week’s Poem-A-Day booklet gives you everything you need if you want to try the transformative poem-a-day practice, during the course or afterwards.
Click here to find out what you'll explore and to book your place.
