Roma!

All right, I have barely any time, but I thought I'd give my faithful readers a few pictures from bella Roma.

The SPQR manhole covers . . . I love 'em. It stands for Senatus Populusque Romanus, the old motto of the Roman empire. (The Roman Senate and People.)

A blurry St. Peter's, on the way back from our classroom.

Mama mia, I'd better go before this internet cafe charges me for another hour. I promise more pictures soon!

Nainie nilden

by me

Atanen amárien Endoressë,
ar sí avánies,
lá nanyë nútina sinomë.

A nildenyë! Cuilelya ná sinta
úmel polë márë as inye.
Sí vanwa nalyë inyello,
Umin ista yanna oantiel.

Alantiel ve lassë aldallo,
úmel mahta fairelya.
Lá sinten fairë ve sintelyes,
lá cennenyes ve cennelyes.

Túlel cuilenyanna
ve vinya elen menelenna,
ve Anar mornë taurenna.
Sí mornië enutúlië ar Endor ná sindë.

Lá hilyuvanyel, melda vendë,
lá hiruvanyel.
Rato ve alqua ramyuvan,
ciruvan linta ciryassë i háya falassenna.

Nai cenuvanyel
Andúnë pella, Arda pella,
aurë entassë yassë Eldar ar Atani
liruvar as i Ainur alcassë Ilúvataro.

"Lament for a Friend"

For a mortal I abode in Middle-earth,
and now she has gone,
I am not bound here.

O my friend! Your life is short,
You could not abide with me.
Now you are lost to me,
I do not know where you have gone.

You departed like a leaf from a tree,
you did not fight your death
I did not know death as you knew it,
I did not see it as you saw it.

You came into my life
like a new star into the sky,
like the Sun into a dark forest.
Now darkness has returned and Middle-earth is grey.

I will not follow you, dear maiden,
I will not find you.
Soon I will fly like a swan,
I will sail in a swift ship to the far shore.

May I see you
Beyond the West, beyond the world,
on that day in which Elves and Men
sing with the Ainur in the splendour of Ilúvatar.

* * *

Here's my other Quenya poem. (This and "Linde Noldova" are my only really decent ones.) This was inspired by the idea of Elves making friends with mortals, as they did sometimes. Legolas and Gimli are the probably most famous example, but I was more inspired by the story of Finrod and Andreth from Morgoth's Ring (a collection of previously unpublished work of Tolkien's). Finrod could not understand the idea of death. Andreth gives a very good explanation of it, and mentions some prophecies Men have had for the mending of their fate by Iluvatar Himself. There is a hope that at the end of time, Elves and Men will be reunited and both will dwell together with Iluvatar. (For non-Tolkienians, Iluvatar, "All-Father," is a name for God.)

I would encourage even those who don't understand Quenya (which is probably everyone) at least to try reading the original out loud. Tolkien put a lot of music into his creation of that language. In the movies, Sindarin is spoken pretty much exclusively, but Quenya is the more beautiful in my opinion. It is supposed to be "high" Elvish, kind of like Elven Latin. Is it any wonder it appeals to me?

I chose to post this today because soon I will take flight like a swan. That is to say, I'm taking a plane, and then another plane, and then another plane, and then another plane, and will be in Rome Thursday morning.

Linde Noldova

by me

Cenin i laurië lantala lassi
ar istan lassalantë tuluva
apa ya úvin cenë coirë.
Úvan marë oialë sinomë.

Enyalin Valimar ar i cálala Aldu
ar Varda yo henduva eleni nar nalta.
Mal Lórien yando ná vanima,
ar alassi Endorwa nar úvië.

Nanyë linyenwa, lá yéni ataníva;
i malinorni nar sindë hendunyassë
yétala oialë Númenna.
Yulmanya yeníva ná lusta.

Umin cenë i metta.
Tienya palya oialë.
Mana lúmessë ciryanya ciruva?
A mannë Atani! An firuvalyë.

Song of the Noldo

I see the golden falling leaves
and I know an autumn will come
after which I will not see the spring.
I shall not remain here forever.

I remember Valimar and the shining Trees
and Varda, of whose eyes the stars are a glittering reflection.
But Lórien also is fair,
and the joys of Middle-earth are abundant.

I am old, beyond years of Men;
the mallorn trees are grey in my eyes,
looking always Westward.
My cup of years is empty.

I do not see the end.
My path stretches forever.
When will my ship set sail?
O blessed Men! For you shall die.

* * *

All right, there it is: my first original poem to be posted on this blog. It was easier somehow to start with my Quenya poetry, with the idea that maybe you'll think it's only stilted because it's not my native language. Of course the framework as well as the language is taken from Tolkien.

It's not very original; it's basically what Galadriel's thoughts might have been around the time of The Lord of the Rings, or another Noldo in Middle-earth at the same time. I wanted to convey the ambivalence that might be felt by someone both eager to go and a little bit sorry to leave. Tolkien somehow manages to give you that sense so well every time we see Elves. They sometimes thought of death as a gift men had been given, instead of as a curse.

i carry your heart with me

by E.E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

* * *

More Cummings. Sorry Chestertonian. And Meredith may copy-edit this too if she pleases. I got this anthology as a gift yesterday, and I'm finding lots of things I like by poets I don't often read or have never heard of. It's a good change to read something besides Hopkins and Tennyson and Chesterton every once in awhile, even if those are my favorites.

Whatever else might be said of Cummings, he did know how to write a good love poem. I especially like the endearments scattered around: "my dear," "my darling," "my sweet," "my true."

if if have made,my lady,intricate

by E. E. Cummings

if i have made,my lady,intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind -- if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy--if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair

-- let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death" --
                                               you only will create
(who are so perfectly alive)my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul.

* * *

I came across this poem in an anthology the other day, and I've decided I don't detest everything Cummings ever wrote. (I capitalize him out of pure defiance. I deny that writing "E. E. Cummings" can be considered incorrect.)

Dr. Thursday might point out that this, like all good love poems, can be spoken to God. In honor of the day, I apply it to Mary -- "the lady through whose profound and fragile lips / the sweet small clumsy feet of April came / into the ragged meadow of my soul." She said "Fiat" and a new spring came to the earth.

Announcing the Winners . . .

Here goes: the winners of the 1st annual (biannual? centennial? millenial?) Triolet Contest!

*drum roll*

First Place: Furor with his trio of triolets

Second Place: Kevin O'Brien with "Have Mercy on Me, Lord, a Sinner"

Third Place: Dr. Thursday with "I Left My Verse Out in the Sun"

The Prizes:

Dr. Thursday gets 2 rosaries.

Kevin O'Brien gets 1 Mass.

Furor gets 2 Masses, prayers for his intentions at St. Peter's Basilica when I go there in less than a month, and a link on my sidebar. It's the blue ribbon.

Congratulations! And thanks to all who participated. Keep writing triolets -- because Chesterton wasn't the only one who can write them. Maybe some of you could try submitting your poems to Gilbert! I don't know if they'd print them, but they might, especially if they hold their own triolet contest. I really think they should.

Lend a dinen

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, translated by me into Sindarin

Lend a dínen, lend a dínen,
Sûl aearon Dûn;
Dínen, dínen, thuio na-dhîn,
Sûl aearon Dûn;
Bado or aearon hiriol
Tolo uin Ithil firiel,
Den thuio ad na nin
Ir tithen nîn, bain nîn, losta.

Losto mae, losto mae,
Adar telitha na le;
Vi rainc Naneth losto mae,
Adar telitha na le;
Adar telitha na laes hîn,
Cîr gelebrin pain e Dûn,
Di-Ithil gelebren:
Losto, tithen nîn, losto, bain nîn, losto.

Sweet and quiet, sweet and quiet,

Wind of (the) Sea of (the) West;

Quiet, quiet, breathe with silence,

Wind of (the) Sea of (the) West

Go over the flowing Sea

Come from the dying Moon,

Him blow again to me

When my little (one), my pretty (one), sleeps.

Sleep well, sleep well,
Father will come to thee;
In Mother's arms sleep well,
Father will come to thee;
Father will come to his child,
Silver ships all out of (the) West,
Under (the) silver Moon:
Sleep, my little (one), sleep, my fair (one), sleep.

* * *

All right, there's my translation. It was done with a little help by people on Council of Elrond, and it's still not as good as it might be. My translation wasn't exact, both because I was limited by my knowledge and because I wanted it to sound nice. The grammar's iffy, because there's only so much we know about Sindarin grammar. Tolkien never gave us a grammar text, just examples, so many things are a little bit speculative.

That said, it was a lot of fun to do. I like translations.

Sweet and Low

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

* * *

I sang this lulluby to my little sister, and managed to get her down for a nap. When "All the Pretty Little Horses" fails, it's time to go back to the old masters. I sing it to a tune which is half "Eidelweiss" and half my own ad-libbing, but the baby likes it.

I've always liked this poem, though. The images of the wind blowing from the dying moon, the rolling waters, and the silver sails all out of the west (very Tolkienesque) give a dreamlike tone. It makes me miss people who aren't with me.

(I translated this poem into Sindarin once. It fits, wouldn't you say?)

If anyone has any more votes for the triolets, submit them now, because I'll be announcing the winners in a day or two.

The Other Triolets

In response to popular demand, here are the triolets that were not posted as finalists. You can see what a hard choice I had to narrow things down at all -- they're all so good.

* * *

"Swing Triolet"

Istanbul
Was Constantinople
Istanbul
Went all uncool:
From Byzantine jewel
To Mohammedan opal.
Istanbul
Was Constantinople.

(by Meredith)

"She Ponders An Unexpected Love"

I love you and not less because
You're not the one I thought I'd love
(What eyes see not, blind Cupid does.)
I love you and not less because
You were in love before I was,
You saw it coming like a dove.
I love you and not less because
You're not the one I thought I'd love.

(by Leah)

Oh, come, oh come, oh enneagram
And save us from His precious love
We pimp ourselves for Fraud and Sham
Oh, come, oh, come, oh enneagram
We sell our birthright for flim-flam
Who needs the Father, Son, and Dove?
Oh, come, oh come, oh enneagram
And save us from His precious love.

Let's chase from every single parish
Hell and sin and Holy Fear
Let's make our architecture barish.
Let's chase from every single parish
God almighty. Then let's cherish
Moods and feelings, vague, unclear -
Let's chase from every single parish
Hell and sin and Holy Fear.

If music be the food of love
Then this will make for indigestion
A pinch of pop, some dreck a dash of.
If music be the food of love,
Throw out the manna from above,
Get “Glory and Praise”, for without question,
If music be the food of love
Then this will make for indigestion.

(all by Kevin O.)

The poor and lonely Kraken
Lives more friendless than the moon.
No friends come by for snackin'...
The poor and lonely Kraken
(They'd keep him from attackin'
If they'd come to visit soon.)
The poor and lonely Kraken
Lives more friendless than the moon.

I'll try a triolet on cheese
(Brie or Cheddar, Stilton, Swiss)
Such flavors may repel or please
I'll try a triolet on cheese
Though crumbs are falling on the keys -
Another glass of wine, please, miss?
I'll try a triolet on cheese:
Brie or Cheddar, Stilton, Swiss...

The Latin on the keyboard coded
Still proclaims our debt to Rome.
The Q of quaestio eroded?
(The Latin on the keyboard coded)
And to Io is io devoted!
In ampersand e.t. phones home...
The Latin on the keyboard coded
Still proclaims our debt to Rome.

A shower long I long to take
As now I have begun to itch
Beneath the sun I had to bake
A shower long I long to take
The yard is whacked, I did not rake
(I'd pay some kids if I were rich)
A shower long I long to take
As now I have begun to itch.

(all by Dr. Thursday)

"The Buzzard"

The buzzard is a two-faced schnook
Who cannot either hunt or fight.
He hovers 'round his rocky nook;
The buzzard is a two-faced schnook.
He likes to eat, but not to cook,
And rushes in to take a bite.
The buzzard is a two-faced schnook
Who cannot either hunt or fight.

(by Charlemagne)

* * *

There were also a few submissions that were actually not triolets at all. I'm not sure what confusion gave rise to those -- I guess my instructions must have been unclear. I probably should have written the poets and said something, but I never managed to do that. Mea culpa. Anyway, I didn't include them here.

Triolet Contest Finalists

*drum roll please*

I had originally intended to post all the entries and let people vote. But I got 23 different poems, and it would be prohibitive to post them all, so I picked out finalists and everyone can vote on those. (Special congratulations to Dr. Thursday for seven triolets, and to Kevin O. [don't know if I may print your last name, so I won't] for five. All in one sitting, I suppose.) Anyway, I wanted to warn everyone that not every good poem could be posted. The competition was stiff, because so many people turned out and wrote some really good poems.

All right, here goes: the finalists!

* * *

I am a girl quite simple,
A wife at home with children young.
My daughter has a dimple.
I am a girl quite simple.
I do not wear a wimple,
God said instead, "Here, have three sons."
I am a girl quite simple,
A wife at home with children young.

(by Candlestring)

I asked for heaven for my dog,
I thought it not unreas'nable-
Although I would were he a frog.
I asked for heaven for my dog,
Who never fell in sinful bog,
With sort-of-soul all loveable.
I asked for heaven for my dog,
I thought it not unreas'nable.

(by Leah)

As I was looking for a Church
That was not made of sinful men
Where false believers did not perch -
As I was looking for a Church
I realized, amidst my search,
That there I'd find myself again,
As I was looking for a Church
That was not made of sinful men.

Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner,
My Lenten vows I'm not observing.
I say this grace tonight at dinner,
“Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner!"
I break my fast and grow no thinner
For I have had a second serving.
Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner,
My Lenten vows I'm not observing.

(both by Kevin O.)

I will not write a triolet;
As poems go, they leave me dry.
Not for the Pope, or on a bet,
I will not write a triolet.
And so with some profound regret,
I must your fervent hopes deny:
I will not write a triolet;
As poems go, they leave me dry.

"You'd better write a triolet,
Or else, at least, consent to try.
You find it dry? Then make it wet!
You'd better write a triolet
To satisfy the girl you met
Else she descend in tears and cry.
You'd better write a triolet,
Or else, at least, consent to try."

Alright, I'll write a triolet;
I'll do the thing, don't ask me why;
For the girl on the Internet,
Alright, I'll write a triolet.
In fact, I'll write a tree-part set
To show I'm a determined guy;
Alright, I'll write a triolet;
I'll do the thing, don't ask me why.

(I'm counting these three as one since it's a set, by Furor)

It's called Subsidiarity,
It was invented by a Pope.
It is the only way to be,
It's called Subsidiarity,
With it our spots played on TV:
It will do something more, I hope...
It's called Subsidiarity,
It was invented by a Pope.

I left my verse out in the sun
This triolet is all that's left.
In fading rhymes my lines did run
I left my verse out in the sun
Like cheese too near to Chesterton
My treasure (ah) reduced by theft...
I left my verse out in the sun
This triolet is all that's left.

At ChesterCon I met some friends:
A foretaste of eternity.
A wedding which the wine portends
At ChesterCon I met some friends,
There in the Inn that never ends,
God grant that there we all may be!
At ChesterCon I met some friends:
A foretaste of eternity.

(all three by Dr. Thursday)

* * *

Here's how we'll vote. One vote each seemed a little rough with so many contestants. So, each person may vote for one person for first place, one for second, and one for third. Your vote will go like this in my comment box:

First place - "Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner"
Second place - Furor's triolet threesome
Third place - "At ChesterCon I met some friends"

Or whatever your taste may be. (My votes are just an example: I don't mean I'd actually vote that way.) But please do call the poems by a title I will be able to understand. First lines are good. Also, everyone vote once for each place (first, second, and third). I'm allowing anonymous comments, in case you don't want people to know you're voting for yourself, but it's on the honor system -- you may still only vote once.

Oh, and by the way, sorry it took so long. I had two very long work days Thursday and Friday.