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~*~
Happy Birthday, Professor Tolkien!
Jan-u-wine has delivered yet again, writing a beautiful personal reminiscence of the Professor in narrative verse. But before the poem, a few photographs....
I posted this photograph last year, but it's one of my favourites. He's standing in front of his favourite tree in the Oxford Botanical Garden. It was taken Aug. 9, 1973, a month before he died.
There are quite a few photos of Tolkien smoking a pipe, no longer an approved pastime (however cherished by hobbits, wizards and academics of previous eras). Two of my favourites follow. I regret I do not know who photoshopped the first of the two. Note how examples of Tolkien's writing and drawing are deftly included along two of the borders.
This, perhaps, is my favourite Tolkien portrait.
The following photo shows Tolkien and his son Christopher napping together in the garden behind their Oxford house. I have always loved it as a candid snapshot offering a glimpse of Tolkien as an ordinary person, not just a Great Writer. After reading jan-u-wine's piece I found the photo more broadly applicable. Looking again, thinking of the poem, I couldn't help seeing Jan, and all us fans, as the small sleeper, experiencing through art a sense of closeness to the man who created the books and secondary world we love, as though we could share his dreams.Mea Cuppa
Might I borrow a cupful of hours,
a tablespoon of minutes
a teaspoon of second-hand
seconds?
I promise I shall not return them.
From the hours shall be forged memories,
whip-stitched 'round the small commas of minutes,
held
at the last,
by the small 'period' of a second.
Might I borrow these things?
Might I have just a bit more
of that which you have already
so kindly given?
~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ .* ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~ . * ~
And so, we walk among the trees,
green and swaying in the wide winds of the world,
knees knobbled by unknown Ages,
roots buried in leaves-of-Autumn-past.
And so,
we walk upon the shore,
star-grist adamant between our toes,
a long-silent leaden dog rover-ing
amongst the sea-wrack.
And so...... we talk of smials
and stars,
of curly heads
and ageless wisdom,
of malice honed sharp
as any sword
of deeds of evil
overthrown
by the bright armour
of love.
Here,
within the sweet-fogg'd lands
of your home,
is the smithy of such dear
devotion,
here,
the kindly word-smith,
forging forever
of nighted curlicues
upon a pale field.
Forever.
Just a moment
in the great river of moments,
just a rounded half-note in
the grand music
of All.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And time runs out,
like the tide upon our life-shore,
and I lie here,
dreaming and alone,
tear-thankful that there have been
such people,
such places,
such.......
time(s).
And wishing that I might have just a
cuppa
more.
~*~
Tolkien's favourite tree today (pinus nigra in the Oxford Botanic Garden):
This more distant shot shows its great height and vast canopy. The wall behind is extremely high, much taller than any person. It makes me think of the tree Niggle spent his life painting, the one he could never finish it. Or, of course, the Tree of Tales.
Previous entry:~ 'The Desolation of Smaug' by jan-u-wine, with screencap from film.
Other Links:~ All entries featuring jan-u-wine's poems.
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Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix
-- would be not so much his great writing, but his enormous knowledge of English and his facility with so many languages, including those he created. What a mind!!!!!
The poem is a jewel of concise word-smithing (speaking of word-smiths), a perfect expression of gratitude for the dear man. I know Tolkien can see and hear us where he is now, enjoying himself mightily, and perhaps even making up more tales of wonder so that some day we might be able to sit round him like children and listen eagerly. (Think Bilbo telling the little hobbits about the trolls turning to stone in the sunlight.) God gave him such an immense talent.
The poem was filled with loveliness... sand made of star-grist adamant...
and
"...the wide winds of the world,
knees knobbled by unknown Ages,
roots buried in leaves-of-Autumn-past."
Sigh!! It really does make me sigh! The only thing that will make me happier right now is if this post really posts... I've not had good luck with Livejournal in the past, but I know it's operator error. Thank you, "Met" and Jan-u-wine.
Mary K.
From:
Re: Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix
From:
Re: Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix
From:
Re: Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix
Word smith? Well, I don't know if I am one of those, but if wanting to the utmost and trying to the utmost will do that....then i am working my way up those smitherly ranks!
I think often of the Holtby quote: When a person that one
> loves is in the world and
> > alive and well..then to miss them is only a new
> flavor, a salt sharpness in
> > experience.
He isn't in the world any longer, but i DO miss him as if he still were. And it IS a new flavor, a salt sharpness in the experience. But it is also an ache of longing, a yearning for so many things. I know it is silly to assume that our spirit selves would want the same things as our fleshly selves, but i do hope that one day i might have just one moment of whatever might pass for speach with him.....
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Re: Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix
You might enjoy these snapshots, too, of the Tolkien family as family. I found them a few years ago on the internet, unidentified. The garden tea one obviously was taken years before the strolling shot. The children by eldest are John, Michael, Christopher and Priscilla. The little girl has to be Priscilla, and Christopher is the youngest boy, but we'll have to guess John and Michael by apparent age.
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Re: Learning new things and lovely poetry -- a blessed mix