Middle-earth fans will not want to miss this amazing book from artist Jay Johnstone – Tolkienography: Isildur’s Bane & Iconic Interpretations (with commentary by Thomas Honegger).
It’s an amazing volume, filled with rich, luminous artwork. It was reviewed in the latest edition of theJournal of Inkling Studies (Volume 10, issue 2); here’s a little of what writer Lance A. Green had to say:
Tolkienography invites a deep immersion in Tolkien’s myth through the artwork of Jay Johnstone, who has been painting Tolkien-themed illustrations for about thirty years. Together with Thomas Honegger’s commentary, Tolkienography offers a novel artistic rendering of Tolkien’s sub-creation, provoking new interpretations of its characters and essential themes. Printed with colourful clarity, the styles and techniques of Johnstone’s pieces are different enough to avoid any redundancy for the viewer. Colours, spacing, and characters are varied with each turn of the page, as are the painting techniques, which range from more contemporary styles to those mirroring medieval forms, including frescos and Byzantine iconography. Johnstone’s oils and charcoal works certainly capture the imagination: the charcoal and chalk of the Council of Elrond (25), the oil on canvas of Isildur’s death in the river Anduin (35, 39), and the binding of Melkor (41) all wonderfully convey character and scene. An immense oil and gold-leaf rendering of Gandalf atop Shadowfax riding into Helm’s Deep (49–50) is one of the most striking paintings in the book, afforded two full pages in order to capture its immensity. Yet the artwork that crowns and guides Tolkienography is the Byzantine-styled iconographic paintings of Tolkien’s characters.
Lance A. Green, Journal of Inkling Studies Vol 10 Issue 2
The Journal is published by Edinburgh University Press; you can find more of the article here. If you’d like your own copy of Johnstone’s beautiful book, don’t delay – it’s a limited print of 500 copies! At only £45 – and signed by the artist! – it really is a steal for such a spectacular book. You can order it – and see more art from Johnstone – at his website, here.
Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth, and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Upon the Mossy Bank
By: Rebecca Ayers
A voice on the wind, so fair Drifting in through the door Evokes visions of rain in the air Which moves the young scribe to his core
Dust stirs around his feet As he explores the library’s stacks He finds the source of the sound so sweet A forgotten tome left open, marred by drops of wax
Clear water rushes over him in a flash Submerging him in a shimmering pool A white hand grips his collar, as he begins thrash And hauls him back to land, where the moss beneath him is cool
Smiling down at him is a beautiful maid Robed in a silken gown of deep, forest, green Her golden hair is woven with flowers, held back in a braid Her visage most wondrous to be seen
She greets the scribe with a voice soft as dew And bids him welcome to her home Inside sits a jolly man, in a tunic bright blue Who pours them ale with fragrant foam
Adventure awaits the scribe in this land Though his purpose is not yet said By dawn he shall join a courageous band To be trained in the ways of magic and languages long dead
The library is far away now The dust and ink washed from his fingers His hosts lead him to a comfortable bed beneath an evergreen bough Outside, the beckoning song lingers
~ * ~
Lament for Lalaith
By: Eruthiawen Telcontar
When the ground was wet with dew And Tilion began to flee; When black of night gave way to blue And Arien was once set free:
The lightest footsteps ever heard; They rushèd past, and light they blurred.
When brightest was the noonday sun And laughing ran the little stream; When the morning’s light was done And tired eyes slipped into dream:
Her heart was full, her face was bright She laughed at each and every sight.
When dark was stream and pale was moon And weary were the Edain; When houses swelled with drowsy tune And blessed sleep found those within:
With open ears she listened long Her heart was filled with many a song.
Her arms were lithe and strong and free With meadow-flow’rs she wove her hair; An elven-maid she seemed to be With radiant face so bright and fair:
Her spirit left and passèd on From Dor-lómin she now is gone.
~ * ~
O Edain, Edain
By: Adam Waggener
Edain, Edain, Iluvatar’s second-born are come at last, Our wondrous new kin have risen with the sun. We Eldar welcome you here, in friendship we will hold fast, As Arien’s fire rises high, and a new age has begun. Edain, Edain, of much in the world you must learn, Of lands, lore, craft, and tongue, we Eldar will show you much. Ye seek honor and glory, after valor your hearts do yearn, In time ye will rise to heights your own, with strength you will achieve such. Edain, Edain, your lives pass by like gasps in time, Like shooting stars of night, racing briefly to fade and die. Yet brief they are, your lives brightly shine, Bright as that golden sun lighting all the endless sky. Edain, Edain, by Eru Iluvatar ye are blessed, To guide thy kin’s own destiny, a freely chosen fate. Hold fast to what is good, endure life’s every test, That your strength and valor live on once you are beyond death’s gate. Edain, Edain, Manwe rules from the sapphire sky, Closest of all Ainur to Iluvatar, his judgment ever true. His queen, Lady Varda, gave us the eternal stars on high, Those purest silver lights, the first the Eldar ever knew. Edain, Edain, Arda’s seas are Ulmo’s land, Quiet springs and raging tides all answer to his deep voice. Aule the Smith forges mighty works with his hands, The father of dwarves shapes the earth, in forging wonders does he rejoice. Edain, Edain, these strong trees and emerald leaves, Come from Yavanna, Aule’s wife, all green things she keeps. Mandos proclaims Arda’s dooms, heavy for all to receive, And guides souls past ever-looming death, guides them to their sleep. Edain, Edain, Lady Vaire ever weaves her threads, Mandos’ wife tells Arda’s tale in a tapestry so grand. Sad Nienna, Mandos’ sister, ever hang her somber head, Weeping over Arda’s wounds, comforting the dead with gentle hand. Edain, Edain, do you hear Orome’s resounding horn, The Valar’s stalwart huntsman, all monsters his spear doth pierce. I hear the hearty laugh of Tulkas, with hair as gold as the morn, A warrior of unequaled might, and ever a friend so fierce. Edain, Edain, your youth is not left to chance, Lady Vana, Orome’s wife, deems precious every life tender and young. Nessa, Tulkas’ wife, spins on in joyful dance, Faster than the swiftest arrow from any bow ever strung. Edain, Edain, be not haunted by evil dreams, May master Lorien calm thy visions, in them may you see peace. Este, his wife, heals all hurts, all wounds she redeems, By her hand may all pain and long agony at last cease. Edain, Edain, this pure world foul Morgoth has maimed, The Dark Lord seeks to destroy and corrupt, with malice dark and cruel. One day the Silmarils will be reclaimed, The Valar will yet return and end dark Bauglir’s rule. Edain, Edain, let us cherish our time as friends, Before your life ends by age, illness, or blades of steel. You face that death with courage, not frightened by that end, Your doom cannot rob you of your vigor nor your zeal. Edain, Edain, let your life shine ever bright, Like that last fruit of Laurelin, that warm, intimate sun. You will be missed my dear friend, as you go into that night, May you journey on knowing your life’s battles are won. Edain, Edain, as your years here near their end, May light guide you to that great unknown, beyond Arda’s most distant shore. In this farewell I will not despair, I hope we shall meet again, In world remade, in Eru’s light, in the new West, forevermore.
~ * ~
The Fox of Dorthonion
by Hans Howk
It had not been deliberate, the bumbling toward the demon’s trap; the fox had left Dorthonion and eastward made for Maglor’s Gap, but peaks there were at forest edge and finding not an easy way, he steered him north and soon was lost in foreign wood, the fox dismayed.
Long he searched the huddled pines and cursed his nose for aiding not, until at last the great trees broke and padding quick the traveler thought, ‘The Pass of Aglon! Thank the stars! And if I keep a steady course, the Gap of Maglor there at last and onward to great Gelion’s source!’
But fog like cobwebs hid the moon, the fox held to a faulty path, and blunted by a fool’s relief he crossed into Dor Daedeloth.
Pitch was night in Angband’s realm, the wayward traveler passing near, and careful not to tumble stone for if some wretched guard should hear the shuffling of his nightly noise and thought to check the placid plain, the fox would surely come to know the truth of tales of dread and pain.
Creeping through the browning grass a sudden urge to lay him down, to sleep a while and rest his bones bethrust the fox upon the ground.
He lay in sleep an hour at most- or was it several thousand years- and did not feel the clutching claws that lifted up his hide severe and carried him for leagues on end, up mountain roots and valleys grim, and came at last to settle by the gates of cold Thangorodrim.
The horrors impressed upon the fox no story there is fit to tell. He suffered long in fiery pits and languished in the jails of hell, until the rending was complete and rising forth to take his place among the fey sentries and ghosts that haunt the marshes and the wastes.
And in Dorthonion they say, when fog lays cool upon the pines, and clouds enshroud the winter moon, the fiend of Morgoth wanders nigh. And stout hearts dread to hear his call, the nightmare screams that ring therein are echoes of that ancient song that stalks the steps of Elves and Men.
Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Don’t disturb the water
By D.McGlinchey
Don’t disturb the water, it is best to leave It be. For I fear there’s something hid within its quiet serenity. Don’t disturb the water, come away now we must go. I know the calmness of the top can hide turbulence below. Don’t disturb the water, something’s watching as we go. Hasten now from the waters edge ere it drags us down below.
~~ * ~~
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net. One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Son of Gondor
By Oakenshield
He dreams of white towers and days of old; For his city to return to glory. Brave is the soul of Boromir the Bold, With distant words does he share his story.
His soul is burdened and torn asunder, But he holds hope that he will make things right. When The One Ring’s power calls like thunder, His mortal heart nearly loses its fight.
At his friends’ peril, his goodness prevailed, But his body is pierced by arrow blades. He kept his honor, though he thought he failed His brothers move on, but Boromir fades.
He bids farewell to his Captain, his king, Rest, Son of Gondor, for hope did you bring.
~~ * ~~
Beleriand
by: Eli R.
To north, to north there lay the land of dread Dungorthin, where all ways were dead In hill, in hills of shadow bleak and cold Beyond was deadly nightshades hold
To south, to south the wide earth unexplored To west, to west the ancient ocean roared To east, to east in peaks of blue were piled The mountains of the outer world
Unsailed and shoreless, wide and wild To east in peaks of blue were piled In silence folded, mist unfurled The mountains of the outer world
Beyond the tangled, woodland shade Thorn and thicket, grove and glade Whose brooding boughs of magic hung Were ancient when the world was young
~~ * ~~
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net. One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Gallantry
Joel D
Hark! ye lads of noble stock To lore of courage born on rock Hark, Oromë! Hark, Nahar! Praise the tale sung under Star A Firstborn of the Kindreds Three The son of tree and branch was he Worn by grief of Olórin slain, He heedless journeys on again Keen of eye and fleet of foot, The Elven prince leaps from his root Forth the Three Hunters! Yo ho!
Not the least among Durin’s folk, He tramps his boots o’er rill and rook, Striding twice for every step Of Man and Elf beside him, kept Watch at midnight, awake at dawn, Running, running, o’er hill and lawn, Never tiring, ever forward, Never yielding, ever onward, With iron will and heart of flesh, The Dwarvish lord ne’er stops to rest Forth the Three Hunters! Yo ho!
Come! O Wind, to speed their flight, Through endless day, through restless night Come, Elessar! Come, Andúril! Both Tree and Flower endureth still Now he holds his hand on high, Wielding sword and crying, Fly! With me cross stone and plain Our friends to find, our foes to gain! Long foretold, rugged, old, The King of Men came, strong and bold Forth the Three Hunters! Yo ho!
~~ * ~~
To Break Men
by David McGlinchey
Long time forming, melding, churning. Long time planned from Melkor’s yearning. Long time whispered, chanted the curse From Sorcerer’s lips inscribed to verse. This time, my time, the time to end time This time, Saurons time, Time to cease, the White Tower chime Time for the Wolf’s head Time for my roar Time ends for Men when I smash down their door!
~~ * ~~
The Dance of the Wind and Dust
By: Tom Frye
All we are is dust in the wind, is an understatement here in Nebraska. Because here, it’s the dust of a thousand back country roads, that keeps the landscape alive.
That same dust was kicked up by the buffalo and horses of the Plains Indians. That same dust found its way into the cabins of the first pioneers to tread the land.
It’s the dust of those country roads that mars and scars the old wood of the barns, farmhouses, and road signs. That dust paints a vivid picture of the distant past, the present day, and the oncoming future.
Particles of dusty DNA are carried far on strong winds. Those same winds once blew winter storms away, sent tornadoes howling and screaming across the prairie.
Wind and dust created a wild dance, like barroom betties kicking up their heels. It’s the wind and the dust that we endure out here in the sticks of Nebraska.
Because if we can survive that, we can survive anything.
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net. One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Welcome to The Great Hall of Poets, our regular monthly feature showcasing the talent of Middle-earth fans. Each month we will feature a small selection of the poems submitted, but we hope you will read all of the poems that we have received here in our Great Hall of Poets.
So come and join us by the hearth and enjoy!
If you have a Tolkien/Middle-earth inspired poem you’d like to share, then send it to poetry@theonering.net One poem per person may be submitted each month. Please make sure to proofread your work before sending it in. TheOneRing.net is not responsible for poems posting with spelling or grammatical errors.
Olôrin’s leaving
By D. McGlinchey
Olórin he is and his name shall remain. In the West. In the North. In the South. Even to Eastward shall his name be enshrinedA Pilgrim A Wizard A Friend.
Great was the power he held in his hand Wise in his word In his action And deed The Flame of Udûn and The Light of Anor A Shadow A FlameRenewed
Farewell then Olórin as you board the white ship. Gulls call Water stills Friends sigh Olórin he is and his name shall remain. In the West. In the North. In the South.
~~ * ~~
Treasures of the Road
by: Tom Frye
Jewels by the roadside. Gems in the stream. They glimmer and they glisten. They beckon and they scream,
“Come off your road, O Traveler, for in us you will find. Treasure for your pockets and peace to rule your mind.”
But once you’ve left the roadside, to find them and lost your way. The jewels will turn to stone, the gems will turn to clay.
