This long poem (134 lines), the lead and eponymous poem of J.R.R. Tolkien's best-known collection of poetry, now available chiefly in the collection entitled The Tolkien Reader (New York: Ballantine, 1966), offers a number of points of interest to the student of poetry.
To my mind, chief among these is the overall structure of the piece. The poem is episodic, featuring an introduction of the main character, Tom Bombadil (lines 1-10), and then a series of encounters with increasingly dangerous adversaries: Goldberry (11-24a), Willow Man (27-41a), Badger-brock (51-68), and Barrow-wight (77-92). This is followed by a reversal of action, in which Tom successfully "woos" (some may read "rapes" -- at any rate marries) Goldberry (106-122) and a denouement or finale in which all the major characters of the poem are referenced again (123-137).
In each of the encounters, a strict formula is followed. Although the poem is not precisely a ballad, it has a strong ballad-like quality in the strong structuring of the episodes. In each, Bombadil is first confronted by some natural spirit: a spirit of water (Goldberry), a spirit of wood (Willow Man), a spirit of earth (Badger-brock), and a spirit of death (Barrow-wight). This, at any rate, is I think a plausible reading. Each of the first three spirits captures, and the fourth threatens to capture, Bombadil. Each spirit taunts Bombadil with an address beginning invariably with an aspirated vowel (hey, ha, ho, hoo, respectively): Tolkien certainly was aware of the mechanics of these vowels: each is "deeper" in the throat, and this relates to Bombadil's increasing danger. But Bombadil is more than equal to each of the threats; his voice alone is sufficient to effect his release and either the sleep or flight of his adversaries.
Before delving into the content in more detail, a few comments about the general structure of the poem are useful. As often, Tolkien builds on Anglo-Saxon tradition, but without slavish adherence either to A-S metrics or phonic structures. Here, he employs rhymed couplets (not a device of traditional Anglo-Saxon verse), but with what is essentially the Anglo-Saxon split line, often indicating the break with punctuation, as in line 5: "He lived up under Hill, where the Withywindle", or line 25 "swam young Goldberry. But Tom, he would not follow;" and not infrequently alliteration is present and apportioned in classic A-S style, as in line 2: "bright blue his jacket was and his boots were yellow."
Again, none of this is slavish or forced. The metre is free overall, but there are close parallels (not always exact equivalences) between the metres of the couplet lines, for example lines 1-6:
x x x - - x - x - x -
x x - x - - x - x - x -
x - - x - - - x - - - x -
x x - - x - - x - x -
x x - x - x x - x - x -
xx - x - xx- x- x-
To be continued...
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Burial
The woman's shield is edged in black
its center coloured by the glow
the dance she weaves moves in and out
of pillars of smoke and flame
she sings to no-one and to all
she dances to the rattle's pitch
her arms outstretched, she calls the earth
and sky to be her witnesses
the dim-lit shapes beyond the fire
of bear, of fox, of toad, of crow
in pine-like chorus moan reply:
her spirits watch her sorrowing
the dead man's corpse lies still and cold
upon the scaffold hardening
no spell recalls her lover's eyes
his smile is only memory
coyote, vulture, now will bear
his body to the quiet place
her spirits also now depart
and she alone is dancing there
her shield now too is cold and hard
the frost is beaded on its rim
she slings it on her back and goes:
the burial is finished.
-- 16.xi.90
Commentary: A test of the principle of linguistic purity
A literalist may argue that what is happening here is not strictly a "burial", since the corpse has been placed on a scaffold. "Funeral" could of course be used, and might indeed be more correct, for that refers to the ceremony attending the dead prior to inhumation or cremation, for example. But I have often striven to use Germanic roots rather than Romance. Here I suppose I fail mightily, so the objection to "funeral" (a word derived from Latin) is weakened:
center, coloured, dance, moves, pillar, flame,
chorus, reply, spirit,
corpse, scaffold, memory,
coyote, vulture, quite, place, depart,
finished:
All of these words come from sources other than the Germanic languages, although today they are common enough. The most outlandish, I suppose, is "coyote", which comes from the Meso-American language Nahuatl. I did wonder about that as I wrote the piece. A more "pure" version might be:
The woman's shield is edged in black
its middle by the glow is hued
the step she weaves goes in and out
of clouds of smoke and fire
she sings to no-one and to all
she steps out to the rattle's pitch
her arms outstretched, she calls the earth
and sky to be her witnesses
the dim-lit shapes beyond the fire
of bear, of fox, of toad, of crow
in pine-like ringing moan reply:
her soul-mates watch her sorrowing
the dead man's body still and cold
upon high gallows hardening:
no spell recalls her lover's eyes
his smile now only in her mind
the wolves and ravens now will bear
his body to the sighing ground
her soul-mates also now go forth
and she alone is standing there
her shield now too is cold and hard
the frost is beaded on its rim
she slings it on her back and goes:
the burial is over.
"Scaffold" non est "gallows", but I thought of "upon the high ground hardening" and rejected that. The basic notion of the poem is, in fact, not particularly "Germanic": I can't recall reading of any German group that exposed the dead, rather than practicing immediate inhumation or cremation. Still, I think the piece works well enough as it stands. The altered version alters too much of the meaning as a sacrifice to language. I have no plans to change the title to "Funeral", nor to propose as definitive the "pure English" version given just above.
its center coloured by the glow
the dance she weaves moves in and out
of pillars of smoke and flame
she sings to no-one and to all
she dances to the rattle's pitch
her arms outstretched, she calls the earth
and sky to be her witnesses
the dim-lit shapes beyond the fire
of bear, of fox, of toad, of crow
in pine-like chorus moan reply:
her spirits watch her sorrowing
the dead man's corpse lies still and cold
upon the scaffold hardening
no spell recalls her lover's eyes
his smile is only memory
coyote, vulture, now will bear
his body to the quiet place
her spirits also now depart
and she alone is dancing there
her shield now too is cold and hard
the frost is beaded on its rim
she slings it on her back and goes:
the burial is finished.
-- 16.xi.90
Commentary: A test of the principle of linguistic purity
A literalist may argue that what is happening here is not strictly a "burial", since the corpse has been placed on a scaffold. "Funeral" could of course be used, and might indeed be more correct, for that refers to the ceremony attending the dead prior to inhumation or cremation, for example. But I have often striven to use Germanic roots rather than Romance. Here I suppose I fail mightily, so the objection to "funeral" (a word derived from Latin) is weakened:
center, coloured, dance, moves, pillar, flame,
chorus, reply, spirit,
corpse, scaffold, memory,
coyote, vulture, quite, place, depart,
finished:
All of these words come from sources other than the Germanic languages, although today they are common enough. The most outlandish, I suppose, is "coyote", which comes from the Meso-American language Nahuatl. I did wonder about that as I wrote the piece. A more "pure" version might be:
The woman's shield is edged in black
its middle by the glow is hued
the step she weaves goes in and out
of clouds of smoke and fire
she sings to no-one and to all
she steps out to the rattle's pitch
her arms outstretched, she calls the earth
and sky to be her witnesses
the dim-lit shapes beyond the fire
of bear, of fox, of toad, of crow
in pine-like ringing moan reply:
her soul-mates watch her sorrowing
the dead man's body still and cold
upon high gallows hardening:
no spell recalls her lover's eyes
his smile now only in her mind
the wolves and ravens now will bear
his body to the sighing ground
her soul-mates also now go forth
and she alone is standing there
her shield now too is cold and hard
the frost is beaded on its rim
she slings it on her back and goes:
the burial is over.
"Scaffold" non est "gallows", but I thought of "upon the high ground hardening" and rejected that. The basic notion of the poem is, in fact, not particularly "Germanic": I can't recall reading of any German group that exposed the dead, rather than practicing immediate inhumation or cremation. Still, I think the piece works well enough as it stands. The altered version alters too much of the meaning as a sacrifice to language. I have no plans to change the title to "Funeral", nor to propose as definitive the "pure English" version given just above.
As The King Has Fallen
Fire crowns the holly birth
thunder lingers long on the edges of the sky
where oak has fallen overnight
before her returning lightning
as the king has fallen
so may we all
so may the iron-lords speedily
may the water, sun, and earth arise
and may vain towers crumble
the holly king, the harvest king,
the new king to rule in the dawning age
where fools have soiled the hallowed lands
before her returning lightning
as the king has risen
so may we all
so may the tree-lords speedily
may the water, sun and wind arise
and may vain towers crumble.
-- 1987
thunder lingers long on the edges of the sky
where oak has fallen overnight
before her returning lightning
as the king has fallen
so may we all
so may the iron-lords speedily
may the water, sun, and earth arise
and may vain towers crumble
the holly king, the harvest king,
the new king to rule in the dawning age
where fools have soiled the hallowed lands
before her returning lightning
as the king has risen
so may we all
so may the tree-lords speedily
may the water, sun and wind arise
and may vain towers crumble.
-- 1987
She stands (by the white wall of wave)
She stands by the white wall of wave
a dune never swallowed
she stands and is the sea which does not stand
she moves through the dark cloud of night
unbroken light in darkness
she moves and is the dark which does not move
she cries in the burnt heart of earth
a tear never withered
she cries and is the earth which does not cry
standing, moving, crying ever
wave and light and earth respond
she hears in the blue caves of ice
a song without an ending
she hears and is the ice which does not hear
she feels the glistening air of dawn
a finger never calloused
she feels and is the air which does not feel
she turns in the grey face of rock
a dance never mastered
she turns and is the rock which does not turn
hearing, feeing, turning ever
ice and air and rock respond.
-- ? 2000
Commentary:
Why suppose for a moment that God should be symbolized only with the grammatical masculine?
a dune never swallowed
she stands and is the sea which does not stand
she moves through the dark cloud of night
unbroken light in darkness
she moves and is the dark which does not move
she cries in the burnt heart of earth
a tear never withered
she cries and is the earth which does not cry
standing, moving, crying ever
wave and light and earth respond
she hears in the blue caves of ice
a song without an ending
she hears and is the ice which does not hear
she feels the glistening air of dawn
a finger never calloused
she feels and is the air which does not feel
she turns in the grey face of rock
a dance never mastered
she turns and is the rock which does not turn
hearing, feeing, turning ever
ice and air and rock respond.
-- ? 2000
Commentary:
Why suppose for a moment that God should be symbolized only with the grammatical masculine?
Flocks
On the great water the flocks are gathered
white wings, brown wings, black wings mingle
on the ice an on the islands
the flocks sit crying through the night.
Follow each stream-mouth, follow each brooklet
smaller flocks have come to feed
in the meadows, in the thickets
red wings, yellow wings, green wings slide.
Over the fields the dense flocks flutter
shining wings, dull wings, whirring wings bend
trees turn white beneath their weight
the close flocks twitter through the night.
The great river and the smaller streams
ice-blue now and reed-beds golden:
in the shallows, standing, watching
blue wings, grey wings, folded wings wait.
-- ? 1990
white wings, brown wings, black wings mingle
on the ice an on the islands
the flocks sit crying through the night.
Follow each stream-mouth, follow each brooklet
smaller flocks have come to feed
in the meadows, in the thickets
red wings, yellow wings, green wings slide.
Over the fields the dense flocks flutter
shining wings, dull wings, whirring wings bend
trees turn white beneath their weight
the close flocks twitter through the night.
The great river and the smaller streams
ice-blue now and reed-beds golden:
in the shallows, standing, watching
blue wings, grey wings, folded wings wait.
-- ? 1990
If I Were
If I were the grain in the ear
you would be the mill and grind me down
or a pebble in the sea
you would be the wave and wash me down
or the stone of the grave
you would be the moss and melt me down:
you are the mill and the wave
you are the moss and the sun
and I am ground and worn and broken
and melted.
If I were the sweat of the brow
you would be the hand and fling me away
or the troublesome lace
you would be the finger and pull me away
or the challenge to the sameness
you would be the thought and put me away
or the cause of it all
you would be the mind and laugh me away:
you are the hand and the finger
you are the thought and the mind
and I am flung and put and pulled
and laughed.
-- ? 1991
you would be the mill and grind me down
or a pebble in the sea
you would be the wave and wash me down
or the stone of the grave
you would be the moss and melt me down:
you are the mill and the wave
you are the moss and the sun
and I am ground and worn and broken
and melted.
If I were the sweat of the brow
you would be the hand and fling me away
or the troublesome lace
you would be the finger and pull me away
or the challenge to the sameness
you would be the thought and put me away
or the cause of it all
you would be the mind and laugh me away:
you are the hand and the finger
you are the thought and the mind
and I am flung and put and pulled
and laughed.
-- ? 1991
Fictional Epigrams: But Are They Poetry?
In all of this need be no fear
for all moves as it has this seven month.
Lior Rhonh in Searhawk Mountain (Anaysavaskara), Act II, scene ii
The Udhivaean equivalent of Shakespeare's Macbeth's "I will not be afraid of death and bane,/ 'Til Birnam forest come to Dunsinane" (V.iii.59-60) -- the height of hubris. The aey speaking this line is about to be overthrown by an unforeseen strategy.
Armed as she is with aunties
who would teach her the all of womanhood.
Lior Rhonh's Parfyghyd ("The All of Womanhood"). Parodized by Alaf Mor, replacing "womanhood" with "widowhood" in a piece extolling murder of "excessive" spouses.
Commentary:
Epigrams and aphorisms have always fascinated me. The epigrams at each chapter heading in Frank Herbert's Dune were sufficient to carry me through that sometimes dry work. But epigrams themselves are fascinating. The sayings from Poor Richard's Almanack come immediately to mind: "He who drinks his ale alone / Let him catch his horse alone".
I find myself constantly referencing wise sayings, which may be something of a sign of weakness of thought. On the other hand, it is I who determines when the saying relates to the circumstance. And having a ready supply of wise sayings prepares one to cope with situations, one hopes, better than one would without.
Sometimes I have challenged my students to write some aphorisms as part either of a philosophy course or of a verbal communications course.
The first of the above epigrams from "Lior Rhonh" is an example of attempts at re-contextualizing in a secondary world wisdom from this primary world. So, in a world in which Birnam does not exist and the lopping of tree-limbs would be a most extreme stratagem, what might be an equivalent of Macbeth's lines?
The second works in the same vein overall but is an attempt more specifically to build a possible situation -- in the initial instance quite serious, but then parodized -- in a culture (paralleled by several traditional ones in our primary world) in which women have a leading role, and in which young women are guided in their education not by extra-familial institutions, but by an extended community of women elders.
Part of my fascination with epigrams is the way that they can be "unpacked": they are like mantras or seeds: all the genetic material is present in them to be something extensive, but it is in a very compressed form.
Now to the question in the title line: Are they Poetry?
Well, they are certainly compressed, so they may fit the "intensity" test, using LeGuin's definition of poetry. The degree of "pattern" they exhibit is harder to say. On that count, we might suppose that these are not poems.
The are intended to be taken as fragments of larger pieces. That those larger pieces do not exist is no obstacle to the imagination. Just as a potsherd can suggest any number of possible forms, so can these bits. If they are taken as fragments, how can we proceed to reconstruct?
I think we could fare as well or better with these than with what we have of Sappho.
for all moves as it has this seven month.
Lior Rhonh in Searhawk Mountain (Anaysavaskara), Act II, scene ii
The Udhivaean equivalent of Shakespeare's Macbeth's "I will not be afraid of death and bane,/ 'Til Birnam forest come to Dunsinane" (V.iii.59-60) -- the height of hubris. The aey speaking this line is about to be overthrown by an unforeseen strategy.
Armed as she is with aunties
who would teach her the all of womanhood.
Lior Rhonh's Parfyghyd ("The All of Womanhood"). Parodized by Alaf Mor, replacing "womanhood" with "widowhood" in a piece extolling murder of "excessive" spouses.
Commentary:
Epigrams and aphorisms have always fascinated me. The epigrams at each chapter heading in Frank Herbert's Dune were sufficient to carry me through that sometimes dry work. But epigrams themselves are fascinating. The sayings from Poor Richard's Almanack come immediately to mind: "He who drinks his ale alone / Let him catch his horse alone".
I find myself constantly referencing wise sayings, which may be something of a sign of weakness of thought. On the other hand, it is I who determines when the saying relates to the circumstance. And having a ready supply of wise sayings prepares one to cope with situations, one hopes, better than one would without.
Sometimes I have challenged my students to write some aphorisms as part either of a philosophy course or of a verbal communications course.
The first of the above epigrams from "Lior Rhonh" is an example of attempts at re-contextualizing in a secondary world wisdom from this primary world. So, in a world in which Birnam does not exist and the lopping of tree-limbs would be a most extreme stratagem, what might be an equivalent of Macbeth's lines?
The second works in the same vein overall but is an attempt more specifically to build a possible situation -- in the initial instance quite serious, but then parodized -- in a culture (paralleled by several traditional ones in our primary world) in which women have a leading role, and in which young women are guided in their education not by extra-familial institutions, but by an extended community of women elders.
Part of my fascination with epigrams is the way that they can be "unpacked": they are like mantras or seeds: all the genetic material is present in them to be something extensive, but it is in a very compressed form.
Now to the question in the title line: Are they Poetry?
Well, they are certainly compressed, so they may fit the "intensity" test, using LeGuin's definition of poetry. The degree of "pattern" they exhibit is harder to say. On that count, we might suppose that these are not poems.
The are intended to be taken as fragments of larger pieces. That those larger pieces do not exist is no obstacle to the imagination. Just as a potsherd can suggest any number of possible forms, so can these bits. If they are taken as fragments, how can we proceed to reconstruct?
I think we could fare as well or better with these than with what we have of Sappho.
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