Tolkien Tribute: Gimli in Valinor

a monologue addressed to his axe


Was a time I thought
I could not get my boots soon enough
onto good firm rock again…
And yet,
here I sit,
upon a keg
once full of Middle Earth’s best ale,
with ye, my trusty Axe,
leaning here against my knee–
choosing the gentle rocking of a deck,
over the fair and solid land I see
shining just down the way
 at the far end of this dock.
Thee and me, old friend…
sitting here, a-wondering,
the twain of us,
what we’re doing here at all… ?
The captain, crew and every one,
they could not dash off quick enough,
once the ropes were tied off fast
Even the Elf has gone…
and we are left the last…

He will return for me,
he swore it would be soon,
whatever soon may mean
in such a timeless place as this,
but he could not linger while
I knocked off
the final dust of Middle Earth
from my reluctant soles…
from my hesitating soul…
Ah, well, and I cannot
begrudge him his impatience–
long indeed he’s hungered
for the true home of his heart…
In truth, he long delayed this passage  
to see of Middle Earth all
the wonders great and small–
I insisted, lest he never know
what it was he left…
And many his favorite wood and dell
I visited with him, besides,
even some I’d not have chosen
to ever see indeed,
left to my own desire…

Perhaps I hoped, old Axe,
that he’d recall another yet
that he knew without him,
I would also never see.
Or find some beauty,
some wonder I showed  him,
that he would never choose to leave.
Vain hope, that,
and I always knew it…
Loathe was I, in honesty,
to place an ocean for all time
betwixt the Elf and me.

Selfish of me, knowing
that the years I had before me yet
were dwindling,
though long as stone…
and in time
it was himself who’d be alone
in Middle-earth at last, 
no ship remaining
that would take him home…
Yet finally, he would not go,
’til I agreed to journey with him,
arguing such legendary friends as we
should not be
sundered evermore,
neither by seas nor by mortality.
And so we came: 
I, Old Axe, and thee…

True  is it also, in this latter Age,
Middle-earth’s passed
to the care of Men:
smaller and smaller the place in it
for you and me, old Axe; 
Ancient bonds of loyalty, respect
and not the least, 
of trust and rare affection
between  Dwarves and Men decreased, 
our kind have faded
back into our mountains,
deemed by all, despite, 
the best place for us…
There–
and in old legends told at night… 

And yet, old Axe,
yet how should such a one as I
dare set my foot on Valinor?

Legolas spoke for me where e’re he could,
and… see, look here…
(where is the thing…?
Ah…! )  See,
this sapphire of surpassing beauty, 
he gave me
as token of my welcome here…
(Blue as the sea itself, it is,
and deep as the Heavens,
and filled with a star that never pales…
look ye… When I hold it to the sun,
it only gleams the brighter!)
And so I was convinced the Elves
would not resent so very much,
a graceless Dwarf a-plodding 
through their halls and hallows,
and, at length, I came aboard…

Ah, well, my old friend Axe,
nor ’t is it in truth the Elves’ own land,
truly it is their’s:
 the Powers!
They, that made us all
and gave us life and skill…
Oh, aye, now, that’s
a dubious comfort to be thinking on!
The Valar! Lords of Arda–
Dwarves never were Their favorites…
Yet, our Father, too, dwells here… Aule…
I dreamt of Him,
just e’er setting foot on this grey ship…
Smiled, He did,
as I held up for Him to see,
the Crystal of The Gift… Galadriel’s…
(Ah, sweet, sweet remembrance…
Fairer than sunlight on a vein of pure truesilver!
Sweeter than the best ale ever brewed…! )
Galadriel… !
Yes! She’s here, too, after all…
(Does she remember me? Could she?
My head tells me I’m a fool,
but my heart says, 
She would not forget…! )

And bound to be somewhere about—
the Halflings! Frodo, Sam!
And the old fellow, Bilbo Baggins,
Dad’s and Thorin’s little burglar…
Merry it’ll be indeed,
to meet with them again!
For I have missed them sorely, 
more than ever,
since the young ones passed
out of Middle-earth…
Peregrin and Merry…
Drinking and singing now are they,
or so I must surmise, old Axe,
with their longfathers,
in perfect cozy tunnels,
flowered meads afar…
…
Perhaps Strider comes down from his star,
with his Lady hand in hand,
and they together share the cheer  
the remembrance
of old times and tears…

Ah… and Gandalf!
What a wonder it will be
 his wise old, long-bearded face
once more to see!
D’ye think, Old Axe, 
he still does fireworks?
Sam and the others praised them so!
Another thing that’s gone from Middle-earth…

Why, now I think on it,
there’s more in this vast bless’ed land
than rests still in Middle-earth,
for joy and gladness!
We’ll drink then,
to the ones who’ve gone, 
and wish them,
in whatever fields they walk,
no care or sadness!

What am I waiting for?

For Legolas?
to remember me a-sitting here
upon this joyless cask,
moping for the shores of Middle-earth?
Come, jump into my belt, old Axe!
‘Tis time to go ashore!
No more waiting for old Thranduil’s son,
let him find us when he will!

And thee, ye hollow keg, fare well!
Here’s a boost to ye…
Float back across the seas, 
and tell them there,
if any ask,
that Gimli Gloin’s son’s at home
among his friends at last!

Though their kind were generally estranged for long ages, Gimli the Dwarf and Legolas the Elf became fast friends and after the events of Lord of the Rings, they were much in one another’s company.  But Elves, the First Children of the Creator, yearn finally to return to their home, Valinor, across a Sea that does not bend with our Earth, but can only be gotten to by the Straight Way; and only their own ships know that way.  Dwarves, who were made by one of the Powers, of the stuff of Middle-earth, are not granted the grace to go to the First Home. But Legolas requested of the Powers a dispensation for his friend, and for the sake of Gimli’s valor and contribution in the War of the Ring, it was granted.  And so Gimli was the only Dwarf ever to follow over the Straight Way and come to Valinor.)

Tolkien Tribute: Blue Istar

So many ages he’s wandered, so many roads his footprints mark,
in lands of many men and few, of hottest sun and deepest dark,
He seldom speaks a word aloud, gives no greeting nor farewell,
sings not, nor prays in any language any living soul can tell…

Midnight-indigo, his old cloak is bound around him tight,
a shadow in the sunlit days; he blends, becomes one with the night.
Upon his ageless weary face, read exquisite poetry of pain;
Note, on the dragging hem of his soul, an everlasting stain…

He passes through the paths of healing, but never does he tarry,
nor finds he comfort in those ways, for ever does his own thought harry
him and prod and pierce, and drive him onwards, peace forsaking,
before his mind’s eye, ever himself, his every sacred promise breaking…

This one has never been a youth, so youth cannot excuse him
from willful, prideful, evil choices– his own life does accuse him.
There is no forgiveness in him, nor does he seek for it in others–
He was abandoned long ago, when he forsook his only brothers.

No redemption can there be for one so deep in fault bemired
no salvation for him who abandoned Light, who with evil Dark conspired.
He knows this truth, and daily wears it, ’round his neck like twisted rope,
and suffers it, for deeper yet, he bears the bitter curse of Hope.

The Istari were the Wizards who were sent to Middle Earth to contest Evil. One was White, one Grey, one Brown, and two, who never appear in any story except in vaguest reference, were Blue. This poem reflects Tolkien’s own stated supposition that the Blue Wizards went into the East and were presumed to have fallen under the influence of Evil or to it.

Tolkien Tribute: Melian’s Song

There’s magic
in the music
that dances on the air–
Melian is singing!
Maid and music,
both are fair!

A stranger,
in the greenwood
passing,
hears,
and pauses…

Enchanted,
Elf-lord reaches
for her hand…
and they
at once
are one.

There is magic
in the meeting
in the music
in the song…

The world
is changed
forever…
and
The Song
continues on…

Going Underground Again

The Subway Experience in New York City is, nowadays, quite different from the one I wrote about previously here. The cane-seated cars are gone, and I don’t think you can open the windows anymore as you could in those old cars. But they have air-conditioning in some cars. 

The outsides–well, graffiti has moved from vandalism to an art form on the subway cars. And there is art inside the cars, too. Some is theater like the violinist I wrote of before: musicians playing for tips. I have to consider as a kind of theater also the intricate stories woven by others in search of donations. There is also the parade of people who wear the unconventional like a badge in their clothing and hair-styles. 

And there are angry people: bullies and thieves. My dad was sitting by a door one winter day, wearing a Russian lambswool ushanka, a very elegant version of the traditional winter hat, and when the doors opened at a station, someone exiting grabbed the hat off my dad’s head, and was gone with it as the doors closed. 

There is courage, too, of people standing up to the bullies, of whole cars looking after the target of the bullying. There is simple kindness and generosity: I saw a report of a man taking off his own T-shirt and giving it to another man who looked homeless, who had no shirt at all.

There is connection between strangers on the subway: I was once rushing from home in freezing weather, late for an appointment. I had run out into the cold before my hair was dry from the shower, and by the time I was seated, my hair had frozen, and I sat there brushing ice out of my locks! More than one person smiled at the sight, which was odd and funny, and I also laughed. 

Basically, when you shove a batch of people together in a closed space for a time, human things happen, good and bad. It is, from one station to the next, a captive audience, and people will be people. 

Cult-Proofing

More and more parents & teachers are coming to understand this:

Kids at every age need two things: connection and education. Because they will find them, and follow whoever gives them a sense of connection, and they will believe whatever that person teaches them.

Cult recruiters know it. They have always exploited this dynamic: finding the disaffected, the lonely, the disconnected, the kids–of whatever age–who feel unloved,  unheard, unvalued, and inviting them to belong. Charles Manson knew it. The White Nationalists know it. Extremists know it.

So, cult-proof, radicalize-proof the kids in your life by not letting them isolate, not letting them believe they are not cherished, that they have no worth. 

And if the kid comes from a family that has been marginalized, a whole family disconnected from the community, the job is harder. The community must do for that family what the teacher must do for the child: Include; listen; value. There is no other way to get them to include the community in their lives, to listen, to value the community. 

It could be that the hardest part of this is to get past one’s own assumptions and judgements, one’s own prejudices against those who don’t fit in, who dress badly, who smell bad, who have visible ailments, who drink too much, who babble, who swear, who are angry, who are depressed…  But if we all do just what little we can, if we can care, and show that we care, that is a beginning. If we will see them, at least, acknowledge their existence and their suffering, that is not nothing.

A penny at a time, a nest-egg is built; a stitch at a time, a whole garment is made. 

Disconnection

I dreamed a house…
bright within and filled with folk,
their happiness and quarrels
and blessings and trials,
laughter and tears,
and all the things of life
as folk live it,
and though I sought around,
front and back and sides
seeking a door,
even a window left ajar,
no way in was there
that I could find.

A feast I dreamed,
lavish and bright with
shining goblets of gem-like drink,
aromatic steams arising
from fresh breads and meats;
fresh fruits arranged in pyramids,
dainties and desserts arrayed
like sweet fantasies…
an endless trestle filled
with gleaming dishes;
I reached out
but the feast fell back
and I woke hungry still.

It is as if I dwell,
with my own quiet company
in my own house
filled with things
particularly gathered there
yet on a different plane
just a bit removed,
a little sideways from
the world of feasts and folk;
I dream asleep or waking
of what I can see
but cannot touch
nor imagine how to shape.


2019




The Light in the Middle of the Tunnel

“You don’t have a soul. You are a soul, you have a body.”
“What if we behaved as if the God in all life matters?”
“You are special: And so is everyone else.”
“Youth delights in cleverness; Age, in kindness.”
“What you have is what you wanted most.”

There are words that suddenly turn lights on, that wake us up, that reframe the world and turn our ideas of Reality sideways, even flip it right side up.

Sometimes they are gifts, dropping suddenly, unlooked for, answers to questions we had not realized we were even asking. Or, maybe, revealing to us the questions we most need to ask ourselves.

Sometimes we ask, and it is our own inner wisdom that shines the light on the answer we had all along, but had lost it like a single toy in a darkened attic.

Sometimes it is the conclusion at the end of a chain of logic: inevitable, and made true by all the beliefs we’ve accepted along the way, not realizing where they led until suddenly we turn the corner, and there it is: the reward at the end of a treasure-hunt we followed, decyphering the way clue by clue.

I started this with some of those words that have been like that for me, simple lamps lighting moments of epiphany that changed how I understood the world, how I understood myself.

What words have changed your path, or suddenly enlightened it, suddenly showed you options you never realized before?

Tolkien Tribute: The Deep Wood Stirs

Dark, dark the rich earth where our roots sink deep.
Gloomy, the air where we reach towards the sky.
Long, long the years we have stood here asleep;
Diminished, our peace as the ages passed by.
But now we awaken to realize the creep
of tendrils of smoke, drifting bitter and dry:
Our borders are breached and our enemies walk
Under the shadows where the tree-shepherds talk.

Roused and awake now, we are turning our thought
From the depths of our dreams of dark woods and wild
To seek out the treasons and burn out the rot.
No more letting our domain be defiled
By the brief beings that maneuver and plot
and think by their blandishments, we are beguiled.
They shall be surprised to learn that they are wrong:
They shall learn to their sorrow that we are strong.

Windless, the long ancient mosses are streaming;
The dark soil rises as deep roots are unbound;
Limb-lithe are we, who once only stood dreaming,
And from the wood’s heart there arises a sound:
The still of the land is not what it’s seeming–
Once drowsy and silent, now our voices we’ve found.
Tremble, you creatures of the flame and the axe:
Your dominion is done: we are at your backs!