Findings and Bookish Bits: Of Wanderers, Professors and LOTR

I stumbled onto this blog today and found "Professor Awesome" (Please go and watch the rest of his videos here).

I love the Anglo Saxon poem "The Wanderer" and also wrote a short post about it and its links with JRR Tolkien over here.




I will not be doing much watching-of-videos or reading-of-blogs this weekend, though. With a deadline looming on Monday; I'll be typing away, drinking coffee and basically having my nose stuck in my own research. And then I'll let my mind wander again.

Inspirational Friday – Warrior's laments

Or, “Where now the horse and the rider” by JRR Tolkien

For the third week of September’s Tolkien-themed Inspiration Fridays, I’ve chosen one of my favourite poems from Lord of the Rings. Tolkien’s inspiration for this poem can be traced to the Anglo-Saxon poem “The Wanderer”.  Below is Tolkien’s poem, followed by the Anglo-Saxon and contemporary English translation from the appropriate passage of “The Wanderer”.

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

John DiBartolo has also set this poem to music – you can find out more at this website. 

From “The Wanderer”

Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? 

Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?

Hwær cwom symbla gesetu?

Hwær sindon seledreamas?

Eala beorht bune!

Eala byrnwiga!

Eala þeodnes þrym!

Hu seo þrag gewat,

genap under nihthelm,

swa heo no wære.

Stondeð nu on laste

leofre duguþe

weal wundrum heah,

wyrmlicum fah.

Eorlas fornoman

asca þryþe,

wæpen wælgifru,

wyrd seo mære,

ond þas stanhleoþu

stormas cnyssað,

hrið hreosende

hrusan bindeð,

wintres woma,

þonne won cymeð,

nipeð nihtscua,

norþan onsendeð

hreo hæglfare And in contemporary English:

Where is the horse gone? Where the rider?

Where the giver of treasure?

Where are the seats at the feast?

Where are the revels in the hall?

Alas for the bright cup!

Alas for the mailed warrior!

Alas for the splendour of the prince!

How that time has passed away,

dark under the cover of night,

as if it had never been!

Now there stands in the trace

of the beloved troop

a wall, wondrously high,

wound round with serpents.

The warriors taken off

by the glory of spears,

the weapons greedy for slaughter,

the famous fate (turn of events),

and storms beat

these rocky cliffs,

falling frost

fetters the earth,

the harbinger of winter;

Then dark comes,

nightshadows deepen,

from the north there comes

a rough hailstorm

in malice against men. A replica of the Sutton Hoo Helm - absolutely exquisite