Literature and Tolkien Fusions

A blog ran by a literature and Tolkien geek, where you can find and submit literary pieces thematically relevant to sequences from Tolkien's works. I created this blog is because I find it fascinating to see the effects that different stylistic choices create while maintaining similar themes. It, also, shows the timelessness of certain themes. 

[literature-fusions]

Chaucer’s “Troilus” x Turin

The beginning of Chaucer’s great poem “Troilus and Criseyde” fused with Turin’s story in Middle English.

The double sorwe of Túrin to tellen, That was the lorde’s Húrin sone, In despeir, how his aventures fellen Fro wo to wele, and after out of renoune, My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye. Nienna, thou help me for t'endite Thise woful vers, that wepen as I write!

To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of lamentacioun, Thou piteful Valie, sorwing ever in peyne; Help me, that am the sorwful inspiracioun That helpeth athels, as I can, to pleyne! For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne, A woful wight to han a drery feere, And, to a sorwful tale, a sory cheere.

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‘Madame Bovary’ x Eowyn

A point for comparison between the two characters is their desire for an idealised way of life they cannot achieve. In Eowyn’s case, however, her initial idea of an ideal life is restricted due to her sex, making her feel alone and trapped within the boundaries of a warrior society. Her wild heart longs to ride upon the vast Rohan fields, waiting everyday for an escape:

At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to happen. Like unhorsed riders, she turned despairing eyes upon the solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white steed in the mists of Rohan’s horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring it her, towards what lands it would drive her, if it would be one of the Mearas or a palfrey, laden with anguish or full of bliss. But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she listened to every sound, sprang up with a start, wondered that it did not come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.

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‘The Spanish Tragedy’ x Fëanor

When this eternal substance of my soul Did live imprison'd in my perishable flesh: Each in their function serving other's need, I was a mighty lord in the House of Finwë. My name was Fëanáro, my nature Though noble, yet haughty it became After the misfortunes of my tender youth: For in Tirion, in prime and pride of all my years, Toiling alone in lore and craft, In secret I created three precious gems, Which hight Silmarils by name. But in the harvest of my joys, Melkor nipp'd the blossoms of my bliss, Forcing separation betwixt my creations and me. And in the late conflict with his fallen followers, My wrath drew me into the Balrogs’ fiery whips, Till life to death made passage through my wounds. When I was slain, my soul flew straight, To the gloomy Halls of Mandos: But the inexorable Doomsman, only sovereign here, Says that my crimes not atoned for, I might not sit amongst my kin until the Last Battle.

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“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” x Cirdan the Shipwright

Cirdan is an ancient Shipwright, And he first meeteth one of the Istari. ‘By thy long white beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore comest thou to me? Hath my time to return to Aman arrived, Art thou here to take me? The ship is ready, the rows are set: To sail upon the sundering sea.’ He holds him with his hand, 'This is the ship,’ quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, bearded Elf!’ Eftsoons Cirdan his hand dropt he. He holds him with his Elven eye— The Istar stood still, And stares with proud mien: The Shipwright lost his will. Then Cirdan sat on a stone: He cannot choose but mourn; And thus spake on that white-bearded man: ‘Alas! for how long here to sojourn?’

[literature-fusions]

I wish you and your dissertation all the best it could have and please do focus on your life and yourself, even if I am still always eagerly waiting for these, your stuff is possibly some of my absolute favourite tolkien content, it's SO expansive and impactful on the world and the feel of it all, but I'd still feel that way even if you stopped making them tomorrow! Best wishes!

This is truly such a sweet thing to say - thank you so much! It really means a lot to me (and every person who puts their time and effort into anything creative) to see someone appreciating my stuff. I’m sure I’ll keep posting for some more time, it’s just that sometimes I read some old texts which I find too obscure for people to feel the thematic connection with Tolkien’s world. I don’t know, it might be worth experimenting with them, though! Anyway, I wish you all the best too!

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Hello, hello people! Long time, no see. Apologies for not posting any new fusions all these months. They have been absolutely hectic and stressful with me working on my dissertation and then getting a full-time job abroad. I found that life responsibilities kill creativity. But I have some free time now and I hope to come up with something new! Let me know if you have any ideas or if you want to see a specific author fused with Tolkien.

[piperfog-deactivated20190102]

So a little while ago, @literature-fusions posted the coolest modern-English Numenor version of the first part of Chaucer’s Caterbury Tales Prologue. Chaucer and the Canterbury Tales have such a special place in my heart right alongside Tolkien and the Silmarillion, and I was totally blown away by how cool their mashup was.

So, @literature-fusions , I made this for you! With TOTALLY INVALUABLE HELP from @eruscreaminginthedistance and @skeleton-richard , we translated the modern English back into Middle English, and I made a recording of it.

Hopefully my pronunciations are all right - I’m not a scholar of Middle English by any means and learned my pronunciation from an audio tape recording of the original that I used to listen to as a little kid, so I hope people with a lot more education than me will forgive my mispronunciations. But mostly I hope literature-fusions and all you guys enjoy this! It was a lot of fun to make!

Edit: Here’s the text!!!

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich miruvor Of which vertú engendred is the flour; Whan Manwe Sulimo eek with his swete breeth From Taniquetil to Middel-Erd he yeffe The tendre croppes, and Arien, the yonge sonne Hath in Ilmen hir halfe cours y-ronne, And smale foweles maken melodye, That slepen al the nyght with open ye, So priketh hem Yavanna in hir corages, Thanne longen folk of Numenor to goon on pilgrimages, And heigher mountaines for to seken Of hir blessed ilond, nouther-wher to speken, And specially, from every regioun’s ende Of Numenor, to Meneltarma they wende, In white arayed bihynde hire kynge, Forto gif offryngen to Eru and the newe yer to bygunne

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@piperfog I LOVE THIS, thank you so much! It’s seriously very beautiful! Your smooth voice and clear pronunciation make it sound like something a minstrel would recite. And I’m so glad someone rewrote it in Middle English. It gives it an even more old air.

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Keats’ “La Belle Dame sans Merci” x Beren and Luthien

O what can ail thee, son of Barahir,       Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from Dorthonion’s lake,       And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, son of Barahir,       So haggard and so woe-begone? Your heart with woes is full,       For your homeland is gone. I see sorrow on thy brow,       With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose       Fast withereth too. “I met a lady in the woods,       Full beautiful—an Elven child, a fey, Her dark hair was long, her foot was light,       And her eyes were grey. She made a garland for her head,       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She danced upon the twilit glade,       And made sweet song.  I fell upon the earth into a dark swoon,       And nothing else saw all night long, For swiftly did she flee, and cried       in Elven tongue. She returned long after with relish sweet,       And honey wild, and flower-dew, And sure in language strange she said—       ‘I love thee true’. She took me to her Elfin halls,       And there she stood shaken  Nigh her father’s throne        And an oath of doom was taken. And there I was in danger grave,       And there I dreaded—Ah! woe betide!— I stood with laden heart       And wounded pride. I saw a tall Elven-king and princes too,       Proud warriors, and a minstrel stern, He laughed and cried —   ‘O baseborn mortal,      Death thou shalt earn!’

I saw his sneering lips in the gloam,       With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I left and found me here,       On the cold hill’s side. And this is why I sojourn here,       Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from Dorthonion’s lake,       And no birds sing.”

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If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.

Fëanor x Machiavelli’s “The Prince”

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“Ozymandias” x The Argonath

I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: “Two vast kings of stone On both sides of Anduin stand, On their head they wear a crown, And their eyes of proud command, Tell that ancient sculptors well their virtues read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, In the descendants of the hand that wrought them: And on the pedestals these words appear: ‘Our names Isildur and Anarion, kings of kings: Look on our works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the way Of those colossal monuments, boundless and bare The lone lands stretch far away.”

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“Hymn to Liberty” x Aragorn

I have heard about you of old Oh divinely restored, By the light of your grey eyes And the edge of your once broken sword. From the graves of our people Shall your reign prevail As we greet you at last- Hail, King Elessar, Hail! Long did you dwell Amid the northern peoples that mourn Awaiting destiny’s voice That should tell you to return 

Ah, slow broke that day and no Man dared call, For the shadow of Mordor Lay over all. Oh, unfortunate one! The only consolation you had were the past Numenorean glories, and remembering them you cried. Long you have awaited to claim your rightful throne and in hardship you have travelled O, scion of the kings of old.

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Cavafy’s “Ithaka” x The Hobbit

As you set out for your adventure hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Orcs and Nazgul, terrible Sauron—don’t be afraid of them: they will be on your way but they may not harm you as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Orcs and Nazgul, terrible Sauron—shall not conquer you unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into Mirkwood or Erebor seen for the first time; may you stop at the trade marketplaces of Dale to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Elven cities to gather stores of knowledge from their loremasters  —  Imladris, Caras Galathon, Mithlond.

Keep Shire always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach home, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting your homeland to make you rich. The Shire gave you the marvelous journey. Without it you would not have set out. It has nothing left to give you now. And if you find it poor, home won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what all these mean.

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“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” x Eärendil reaching Valinor

But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of Arvernien spring— It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew Vingilótë, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew. Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed Mindon Eldaliéva I see? Is this the hill of Túna? is this the Calacirya? Is this mine ancestors’ own countree? We drifted o'er the Alqualondë harbour, And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, Eru Ilúvatar! Or let me sleep alway. The shore was clear as glass, So smoothly with gems it was strewn! And on the arched bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. The tower shone bright, the lighthouse no less, That stands nigh the harbour: The moonlight steeped in silentness Those works of olden labour. And the bay was white with pearls, Till approaching from the same, Full many slender shapes, that ancient folk were, In bright colours came.

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Hello, strangers from distant lands and friends of old! Many apologies for not posting any fusions lately. I haven’t abandoned the blog, it’s just I haven’t had much time to think creatively the last couple months due to workload. 

Some good news: The British and Greek Tolkien Societies published a couple of my fusions in their journal and site respectively! I received kind comments from many people which were very encouraging for me to continue my project.

I hope to post some new fusions this or next week. Meanwhile, you are always welcome to submit something as well!

-Silmarien

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140 followers! Thank you so much for the support guys. I didn't expect nearly half of the followers when I started this blog. I haven't made a fusion in a while as I've been back to Scotland now and social responsibilities hit me like a wrecking ball. Next week is first week at the university and I'll have a lot to do then as well. I might be able to come up with something in the meantime but I promise nothing until my life routine comes back to more normal rhythms. -Silmarien

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Shelley’s “Prometheus Unbound” x Hurin chained

Monarch of fiends and Orcs, and all fallen spirits, Except those who throng those bright and rolling worlds Which thou and all immortal living things Behold with sleepless eyes! regard Middle-earth  Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou Requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise, And toil, and tombs of broken hearts, With fear and self-contempt and barren hope. Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate, Hast thou made prisoner, to thy scorn, Ruling o'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge. Long years of sleep-unsheltered hours, And moments aye divided by keen pangs  Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,  Scorn and despair,—these are mine empire:—  Seeing from afar my doomed family and kin suffer. More wretched far than that which thou surveyest  From thine unenvied throne, O Morgoth!  Black foe, had I deigned to share the shame  Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here  Nailed to this stone-throne of eagle-baffling mountain,  Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,  Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.  Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!

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EXCITING NEWS

There’s a chance that a couple pieces from my blog will be published by one of the British Tolkien Society bulletins! I’ll let you know more if they accept my work. I talked to the editor and he e-mailed someone and they both seemed interested in my project. They said it’s a fun and interesting postmodern concept that opens up new insights into the original Tolkien episodes; especially the epic poetry fusions. 

The first fusion I made was 3 years ago and I did it in 5′ before going to bed. Who would have thought.