Lament

One of the most ancient kinds of poetry is the lament. Existing in many cultures, laments are rooted in funerary rituals and rites. Though originally expressing passionate grief over the death of a person, laments can also grieve any type of loss.

The Bible includes laments. Many of the Psalms lament. In II Samuel chapter one, King David laments the death of his predecessor to the throne and of his best friend, Jonathan: “How the mighty have fallen!”

The book of Lamentations contains a series of five acrostic laments mourning the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in 586 BC.

Modern poets have used this genre to express profound sorrow over a variety of issues. Edna St. Vincent Millay grieved a husband and father’s death: “Life must go on; / I forget just why.” In “Lines Written in Early Spring,” William Wordsworth groaned, “Have I not reason to lament / What man has made of man.” With vivid imagery, Gillian Clark mourned the destruction of wildlife and habitats during the Gulf War in her “Lament.”

My spirit used to darken as winter drained color from the frozen Michigan landscape. The season stretched on without end, it seemed. I fell into a gloomy slump, yearning for summer sun and foliage.

Years ago, I wrote my “Lament” about wintertime. When I shared the poem recently with my writers group, one gentleman commented, “I’d like to have heard something positive in your poem, something about how winter can be wonderful."

I replied, “Then it wouldn’t be a lament.“

Based on other suggestions the group shared with me, I did make some changes. Removed some heavy-handed repetition, adjusted the structure of the poem, and replaced a couple of words.

Perhaps next winter, I’ll compose a poem about the wonders of winter.

soft snow, a thick cozy quilt

covering the ground,

smoothed crisp yet plush,

sun sparkling it crystalline white …

See, I’ve started it already.

Lament

In the North Land, even and morn, there is weeping.

I wail for the House of the Sun that is not.

I wail for lilacs: their fragrance perfumes not

for tulips: their petals flower not

for squirrels: their young scamper not

for deer: its white tail flicks not

for the finch: his gold flashes not

for the white crane: he returns not –

                               his mate is no more.

I wail for the stiffened soil: its grass greens no more

for grey sky: its color cheers no more

for my barren garden: its lushness delights no more

for the empty field: its shafts of wheat wave no more

for the mighty oak: its leaves shade no more –

                               light sparkle-dances through its branches never.

I wail for the sun: behind thick clouds, it shines never

for the air: in frosty grip, it warms the flesh never

for my skin: incased in layers, it breathes never

for blue pools of water: in frozen crusts, they refresh never –

                               my thirsty Soul in dearth flourishes not – no more – never.

Return, O Spring!

To escape winter doldrums, several years ago I moved to Florida with its glorious sun and sand. How do you handle the dreariness and isolation of winter? Scroll to the comment section below and share your thoughts.