Kevin's Watch

30th Anniversary of Tolkien's Death
9/02/03, 2:53 pm EST - Pippin_Took



Today marks the 30th anniversary of the death of JRR Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings.

Don't know what to say, really. Thinking back, he was the man who made it possible--for all fantasy authors, you know. Even science fiction, I'd guess. Books like Dune, and so on. SRD always called him his greatest inspiration, too. I suppose that with The Return of the King coming out in theaters, it makes it all the more apparent what a great man’s been lost--even if it was 30 years ago. Had he lived longer, we'd probably be reading a much better copy of the Silmarillion. Maybe something more. Who knows?

I suppose the thing that's best about Tolkien these days are in fact the movies. But I don't enjoy them half as much as the book, but that's not the point. The best thing about the movies is that I can now share a beautiful slice of LOTR with people I know who will never read it. Like my grandmother, for instance! She loves the movies! Ah, and I thought I'd only be describing it to her in words, but now, come December, she too will see the Battle of Pelennor Fields. *Shudders with excitement*

Well said, Foul!

And without cynicism!

All that is gold does not glitter
Not all those who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not reached by the frost

From the ashes, a fire shall be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
The crownless again shall be king







*bows head*

And to him I say this:

Out of doubt, out of dark, to the days rising
He rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended;
Over death, over dread, over doom lifted
out of loss, out of life, unto long glory.
--JRR Tolkien, The Return of the King

We shall always remember the Master.

Peace,
Furls Fire

He always had a way with words:


Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.

His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven's field
were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star,
in Mordor where the shadows are.

Thus befell the contest of Sauron and Felagund which is renowned. For Felagund strove with Sauron in songs of power, and the power of the King was very great; but Sauron had the mastery, as is told in the Lay of Leithian:

He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of piercing, opening, of treachery,
Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in answer a song of staying,
Resisting, battling against power,
Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
Of changing and of shifting shape,
Of snares eluded, broken traps,
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
And all the magic and might he brought
Of Elvenesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
Singing afar in Nargothrond,
The sighing of the Sea beyond,
Beyond the western world, on sand,
On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn-
And Finrod fell before the throne.

Farewell sweet earth and northern sky
forever blest, since here did lie
and here with lissom limbs did run
beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun
Luthien Tinuviel
more fair than mortal tongue can tell.
Though all to ruin fel the world
and were dissooved and backward hurled
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making, good for this-
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea-
that Luthien for a time should be.

The literary world was blessed with the man's unique and incredible genius.

"At last the wizard passed into a song of which the hobbit caught the words: a few lines came clear to his ears throught the rushing of the wind:

Tall ships and tall kings
Three times three,
What brought they from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea?
Seven stars and seven stones
And one white tree. "

"Sam stood up putting his hands behind his back (as he always did when 'speaking poetry'), and began:

Grey as a mouse
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth
I walk in the south,
Flapping big ears.
Beyond count of years
I stump round and round,
Never lie on the ground,
Not even to die.

Oliphaunt am I,
Biggest of all,
Huge old and tall.
If you've ever met me
You wouldn't forget me.
If you never do,
You own't think I'm true;
But old Oliphaunt am I,
And I never lie. "

I used to teach this poem to my grade 1 and 2 students every year.

In western lands beneath the Sun
the flowers may rise in Spring
the trees may bud, the waters run,
the merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
and swaying beeches bear
the Elven-stars as jewels white
amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie
in darkness buried deep,
beyond all towers strong and high,
beyond all mountains steep,
above all shadows rides the Sun
and Stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
nor bid the Stars farewell.

Then there is this, one of many variations. This one seems appropriate as the Master went to his final rest.

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet!

This is probably the last song Tolkien wrote.

Bilbo's Last Song

Day is ended, dim my eyes,
but journey long before me lies.
Farewell, friends! I hear the call.
The ship's beside the stony wall.
Foam is white and waves are grey;
beyond the sunset leads my way.
Foam is salt, the wind is free;
I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,
the wind is east, the moorings fret.
Shadows long before me lie,
beneath the ever-bending sky,
but islands lie behind the Sun
that I shall raise ere all is done;
lands there are to west of West,
where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,
beyond the utmost harbour-bar,
I'll find the heavens fair and free,
and beaches of the Starlit Sea.
Ship, my ship! I seek the West,
and fields and mountains ever blest.
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!

And here's another one Bilbo sang. It's probably my favorite, too!

I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.

Tolkien truly paved the way for modern fantasy. I'm sure Danlo will will to differ with me but that is what I think. He did this by putting epic fantasy into mainstream readers' libraries. I loved LotR. Bilbo is one of the great heroes of fantasy.

Why in the worlds should I differ?

I remember you called another author the great-grandfather of Fantasy if Tolkien was the grandfather. Or something like that

Maybe the Kalevala or Beowulf, but nobody knows who wrote them . . .

I have boundless respect for J.R.R. Tolkien and his work. He single-handedly defined modern fantasy. And the world he created is so complex and multidimensional that you can read all the LOTR books, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, and the History of Middle-Earth series and still not know all there is to know about Arda. Tolkien's world has its own history, its own mythology, its own languages - different languages for each race and people! There's something there for everyone. And the really cool part is that Arda's history reads almost like that of Earth in some distant, long-forgotten past. You can just imagine how Earth's mythology rose out of that of Arda, and at times you even think that some day, if you happen to be in the right place at the right time, you might spot a hobbit hurrying past...

Furl's poem fits perfectly, and I wish I'd thought of it first. But here are a few more:

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
Yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
mi oromardi lisse-miruvóreva
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë,
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
i falmalinnar imbë met, ar hísië
untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!

Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar.
Nai elyë hiruva. Namárië!

Namárië...I haven't read that poem since I started studying Quenya, and to my delight I actually understand whole phrases! It's so tragic that we don't know more about that beautiful language. If only Tolkien had been able to work on it more!

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

And of course, that song of lament for another great wizard:

When evening in the Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.

From Wilderland to Western shore,
from northern waste to southern hill,
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.

With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tongues he spoke.

A deadly sword, a healing hand,
a back that bent beneath its load;
a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,
a weary pilgrim on the road.

A lord of wisdom throned he sat,
swift in anger, quick to laugh;
an old man in a battered hat
who leaned upon a thorny staff.

He stood upon the bridge alone
and Fire and Shadow both defied;
his staff was broken on the stone,
in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.





*moment of silence*

Sometimes I wish SRD had been a linguist like Tolkien. Maybe we'd see a Giantish language! We could even learn how to speak it! Eh, then I'd feel like a Star Trek geek--I mean, dude--trying to learn Klingon. Just joking! They're not geeks. I mean, I learned how to speak German--somewhat. Klingon's probably cooler. Yeah . . .

LF wrote that learning Klingon would be cooler and everyone knows

That had much clearer transitive and intransitive rules, OK

refering to Klingon