Elegy in 5 Lines

Poems don’t need to be long to be impactful. My elegy in 5 lines shows how much a poet can do with just a few well-chosen words.

But first, let’s answer this question: what is an elegy?

In modern English literature, the elegy is a poem dealing with death and grief, but that wasn’t always the case.

Have a look at this quote from the from the Encyclopædia Britannica:

‘In classical literature an elegy was simply any poem written in the elegiac metre (alternating lines of dactylic hexameter and pentameter) and was not restricted as to subject. Though some classical elegies were laments, many others were love poems.’

An elegy in 5 lines

My poem elegy, from DAAN! Poems without pretence, probably lives somewhere in-between. While it is a lament, it doesn’t mourn anyone’s death—not directly, anyway—but instead expresses the misery of getting up when it’s so cold you feel like your breath freezes the moment it leaves your mouth.

elegy

eyes closed
enshrouded in
warm embrace of soft sheets
I hide as tendrils of cold kiss
my face

I wrote this poem on a frosty winter morning, when getting out of bed was torture. That’s how this little lament was born. No hidden symbolism. Just a physical reality that demanded to be written down.

Though, if we were looking for symbolism…

Nobody gets through life unscathed, and the stereotype of the tortured artist exists for a reason. I’ve certainly had my share of suffering—and turned it into art. (Most of it bad, I hate to admit.)

But back to my elegy in 5 lines: could there be a deeper layer to it? A hidden meaning?

My niece’s baby had died maybe a week or two before I wrote this poem. That alone would have been sad enough already, but it also brought back memories of my own little girl Sarah, who died on January 16, 2002.

Could grief have influenced my word choice?

Absolutely.

A wintry cinquain

Winter has come again. Snow has fallen, and tendrils of cold creep into my bedroom once more. Their unwelcome caresses make me shiver as I leave the warm protection of the sheets.  

Grief has knocked on my door—for the umpteenth time. Still not fully recovered from my father’s passing last September, I now received word that my aunt died. She was the last of my parent’s generation. 

Though I hadn’t seen her since my uncle’s death in 2010, the uncomfortable truth hits hard: next time, it could be me.

How apt this wintry cinquain American cinquain feels today. As if I wrote it just this morning.

Wait. What? 

Cinquain? I thought you said elegy…

You’re right. This little lament is actually both. The sorrowful atmosphere it breathes makes the poem feel like an elegy. The form, however—5 lines—is a cinquain. 

An American cinquain

Just in case you’re not familiar with the American cinquain, these are the rules:

The American cinquain is a five-line poem, that follows a syllable structure of 2, 4, 6, 8, and 2 per line, in that order.

If you count the syllables of my elegy, you’ll see it adheres strictly to this structure.

But why did I choose the American cinquain for this short poem? Why not some other form?

Honestly?

I don’t know. A poet’s mind is a mystery—even to the poet themselves. I guess the truth is that the poem chooses its own form, and the poet just follows its lead. 

At least, that’s what it feels like for me.

Discover More Poetry

Elegy is published in DAAN! Poems without Pretence.

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