~*~

Patterns (untitled)-700



In a little over a day, countless fans will be lining up at theatres across the United States to see the premiere midnight showings of The Hobbit. I hope it's huge. But before the celebrating begins, let's pause to savour the beauties of two particular hobbits, Bilbo and Frodo Baggins.

Theirs is a beauty of spirit and intellect and imagination, of heart, and, for those who recognize such realities, of soul. To my mind, no one better lifts up these qualities than jan-u-wine. I am pleased to the marrow that she has written two new pieces from the points of view of these characters. I have accompanied them with screencaps from Bilbo and Frodo's reunion scene in Rivendell, and with drawings by J. R. R. Tolkien, who had a great deal of Bilbo in him, including Bilbo's love of letters, drawing and the making of books.

How I love these two poems, individually but also as a complementary pair. In the first, 'As Shall I', Bilbo is in Rivendell. The Fellowship has departed on the Quest and he is left to reflect. In the second, 'These Were His', Frodo is across the Sea and Bilbo has departed, and Frodo reflects.

Although the times and setting are dissimilar, in both poems the protagonists handle and contemplate physical objects that remind them of the other. But what a difference in how they feel about the these objects. Bilbo reflects upon treasured items, things Frodo has left behind or that Bilbo intends to give to Frodo on his return. "This, this, this ... these I will keep ready for him, for he will want to have them, surely". Bilbo envisions a Frodo returned holding each thing, regarding it, making use of it. The things are tokens that connect Bilbo to the one with whom he hopes to be rejoined. Frodo is also contemplating items Bilbo has left behind, but Frodo envisions no reunion. He looks at them knowing he will never see Bilbo hold or use them again, at least not in this world. But in Tolkien's tale in the Appendices, Aragorn, dying, says something relevant to Arwen. While Aragorn acknowledges Arwen's distress and grief, he declares this to her:

“In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold, we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory.”

That there is "more than memory" for Frodo and Bilbo, too, is my hope.




~*~








Bilbo's Book 09


Bilbo's Book 11


Bilbo's Book 13


Bilbo's Book 34


Bilbo's Book 20



As Shall I

We are not lads
anymore,

either of us.

Still,
it is he, now,
departing upon an

Adventure

(my Adventure, truth be told)

and I who must remain,
(tucked up,
like a parchment within its
close envelope),

behind.

Two months.

Two months
were we granted
to say our farewells,

silences and sudden
words

dealt out between
councils and map-gathering,

songs and secrecy.

Now it is winter.

They have gone,
and taken the Sun with them.

The Elves have left the tidying of his room to me.

Grey light,
pale as a fog-misted moon,
lives within it.

There are leaves upon the floor,
crook-spines rusty with departed
Autumn,

the warm tea-scent of them
faded to naught
by Winter's breath.

He is a careful traveler,
my nephew.

And yet, perforce,
one who may not take
all that he had brought.

This is not, after all,
the light holiday
he imagined,

this is not the tra-la-la
of Elven tales beneath
a night-star'd sky.

There is much that he has
left behind.

He shall want these things
when he returns:

he shall want his Da's
pipe,

the bowl fashioned
as an Oliphaunt's trunk....

he shall want his best quill
and the pot of green ink

(gifted by me, as solemn
reminder that ....he need

not always be.....
so....
very
solemn).....

he shall want the flower-journal
he had of his mum,

mithril-runes dancing like opal stars
upon the cover,

green-spined herbs and fragile-petall'd
flowers pressed within.


He shall want all these things
when next he walks within this
hidden valley.

Like a cloak,
gathered against the darkest
cold of night,

I hold them to me.

These small things....
they shall be here,

waiting upon his return.

As shall I.

As ever
shall I.



~*~










Patterns 1 (untitled)-RED



Flowers-RED



Floral Alphabet (untitled)-RED




These Were His

These
were his.

Oh,
nothing of worth,
perhaps,

to anyone else.

Nothing of greater worth
to me.

Disordered bits of parchment,

ragged with his
anxious scrawl,

wax drips,
like a rainbow of errant
thought......

flowers,
heads drooped and dried
with neglect,

within a dark-watered vase.

The smell of pipe-weed lingers yet
where last he set pipe and pouch to rest.

A quieten'd quill, nib worn to ruin,
lies cross-wise upon his journal.

The over-sewn riot of his favorite
waist-coat,

red as fire,
buttons brass'd with bold initials.....

the......

silence

of his walking stick,

quietly awaiting
an evening ramble.....

This was my uncle,

traveler with dwarves
and wizards,

maker of songs,
teller of tales.

Elf-friend.

Mortal in the land of immortals.

These were his.




~*~








Previous Frodo entry:

Young Gardener-ICON by Kiprensky ~ "The Young Squire", with painting by Kiprensky.

Other Links:
Nan's Reunion-ICON ~ All entries featuring jan-u-wine's poems.

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