After Rehearsal

Gleam-black beetles crinkle over the night-sidewalk
Seeking my brown shoes for shelter
From the orange light-throb.
The night is a sound-slate, black with silence
Ready to be filled with psalms
And the joy of sheer isness.
Measured step by purposed tread,
I wander home
Through fog and silent streets.
Echo claps back my shoebeat,
A pulse in the solitude.
I accompany myself.
Haydn rises to my beetle-audience.
I wonder if they hear me,
I wonder if later they will dance
As heaven’s music sinks into their tiny brains.

Root, Sidewalk

This pavement sidewalk is cracked and creaking,
Bowing before the blows of a subterranean rebellion
That the tree roots fight
Against the bands and belts and cords of concrete
That bind this city.
As I trip and stumble over the battlefield,
The stub of my toes mimics, for a moment,
The slow motion war
That has been taking place for years, quietly
Even dignifiedly,
Below the blurry forms of passing pedestrians.
This tree is patient.
It will defeat the sidewalk,
Long after, I, in my hurried way,
Have recorded the fact
In a few hurried, broken words.

The Wicked Man

A man walked on the lonely heath,
And winter’s bones were white.
The black crow call floated pale
In the chilling evening light.
But all that stirred in the northern wind
Were the lonely leaves of winter.

The mist unrolled on the wild moor,
And silence seized the air.
The white mist swirled around the man,
And trickled through his hair.
And all that stirred in the northern wind
Were two thin hands that weren’t there.

Slowly, slowly, wisping white,
They drifted round his throat,
And brushed there with a touch as light
As ash on water floats.
He screamed: and stirred the northern wind,
In terror, cold, remote.

But as he turned, a chill north wind
Shivered its way through the snow
And all he saw on the lonely heath
Were the lonely leaves of winter.

Remembering

I lost my thought,

And the runaway train carried away the dog of my idea,

Retracing it impossible,

Lost in the cold junctions and scrambled tracks of my mind.

I can think of it now, out there, somewhere,

A small black collar tinkling with the brass message

“If Found, Please Return.”

But as I came home

It sat there in the driveway,

Waiting patiently for me in the dusky light,

Like a faithful golden retriever.

The Cover-up

The decision was made quite simply,
In a simple waiting room,
The obligatory magazines lounging on the table,
And floral patterns melting into the light blue wallpaper.
The operation was neat and tidy:
(Carefully supervised of course by gentle nurses,
Following rules the beaurocrats kindly assented to.)
And the only black in the room
Was the quiet that filled her belly,
And even then the white penetrated there
To absolve her of the inconvenience of conception.
The vacuum was plied with expert hands,
And a guilt-bladed knife worked things of horror.
The remains of torn muscle were quietly disposed of,
While sorrow struggled to enter, kept at bay
By the lying calm on the face of the eyeless nurses.
The book I wanted to read is locked,
No infant cry to sever those bonds and tell me the story
Of following life.
Only a single, questing, bloody hand reaching, seeking
Out of the smothering white plastic bag.

Tolkien’s Trees: Part 3

(This is the part 3 in a series on the subject of the Norse myth of Ygdrasil in Tolkien’s writings. For parts 1 and 2, click here and here.

The third element of Ygdrasil which we perhaps see making an appearance in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings is the root of corruption, the root being strangled and bitten by Nidhogg the serpent. This tortured root, since it is on the tree that represented all existence, is a symbol of how misery and evil are rooted in the world. Similarly, the tree that we know as Old Man Willow has been corrupted. He is face of the evil that lurks in the hearts of many trees in the wood that Tom Bombadil rules over. Tom Bombadil himself is a Valar governing this wood, just as Mimer who rules over the grove of the third root and its well is a god.

Perhaps this connection is a little tenuous. But it is clear elsewhere that this story of the root tapped by a corrupt creature has left its mark on Tolkien. In the Silmarillion, we see that the two trees Telperion and Laurelin, the massive trees that light the world, are destroyed at Melkor’s behest, when he brings Ungoliant, the massive she-spider. Ungoliant kills the trees by biting into their roots and sucking the life out of them. It is true that Nidhogg the serpent has been exchanged for a spider, and that this is a one-time attack, not a permanent state of affairs: but nonetheless, the significant elements marking the tale are unchanged. A terrible monster stealthily attacks an essential piece of the cosmic architecture, a component of the world’s own structure, in the shape of a tree. And despite this attack, the serenity of the divinely planted system is preserved. In Ygdrasil, the tree’s life is maintained by the care of the guardian, Mimer, the God of wisdom and knowledge. In the Silmarillion, the light of the two trees is salvaged, and preserved in the form of Telperion’s last flower and Laurelin’s last fruit, by the Valar Yvanna. The flower and fruit are now the moon and sun, out of reach from attack, and safe forever. In this way, we can see a fairly obvious influence of the old Norse tale upon the work of Tolkien. While his creation tale preserved itself from the pagan elements of Norse mythology (something that Tolkien did quite deliberately, and rejoiced in ), his later tales delve into the richness of the Norse tradition.

It is no accident that Tolkien wrote a whole book called Tree and Leaf. It is plain that the Norse cosmology, based in the form of a tree, took hold of his mind. Tolkien characterizes the collection of Tales that mankind has created as a tree, un-ravelable, complex, and alive. This tree is eternal, and the tales that spring from it are endless. In this tree, this living fountain of tales, we see another Ygdrasil. Tolkien sees himself as plucking leaves from an infinitely fantastic and rich source. Not only does Ygdrasil inhabit the worlds that Tolkien subcreates, but it is from a sort of Ygdrasil that Tolkien gets his tales: grown from the soil of England and rooted in old traditions: one of Tolkien’s roots is clearly the Norse mythology of Ygdrasil.

Tolkien’s Trees: Part 2

(This is part 2 of a series, on the subject of the Norse myth of Ygdrasil in Tolkien’s writings. For parts 1 and 3, click here and here.)

When Ragnarok, the last batle of gods and giants, has finished, the tree of Ygdrasil has been withered and burnt by flame, just like in Pippin’s vision of the Tree of Gondor. Both trees burn, and in both cases, it symbolizes a destruction of an order.[1] And yet, after Ragnarok, we hear that not the whole tree has died: there are still worlds left intact and whole, with peace.[2] Odin hears this being sung of a long way off by a distant and beautiful voice, just like Faramir and Eowyn hear the Eagle singing of Sauron’s fall when they are on the battlements after the final confrontation. And the tree remains alive, just as the tree of Gondor does not fail.

One could also argue that The Hobbit owes something to Ygdrasil. The trees burning under the dwarves, the wizard Gandalf (whom some compare with Odin[3]), and the quivering hobbit is a picture of a little Ragnarok. We see Gandalf, in a grim and terrible mood of Norse inevitability, prepare to throw himself down upon his enemies at the roots and destroy himself along with them – but Tolkien turns the tale at the last moment, and rescues them.

Not only does the White Tree of Gondor resemble Ygdrasil, but the Party Tree back in the Shire also resembles Ygdrasil in important respects. The tree which replaces the original is a mallorn tree, which is described as being smooth and pale white with golden leaves – the very name Lothlorien means “The Golden Wood.” The roots of Ygdrasil are sprinkled with holy waters of the fountains, and according to Viktor Rydberg, everything which the water touches is turned a white colour, simultaneously linking the roots of Ygdrasil to the white mallorn trees and the White Tree of Gondor. Also, these white roots are surrounded by golden cisterns, just as the mallorn trees are hung with gold leaves.[4]

Not only that, but Ygdrasil produces the food called the “dew of the morning” a food similar to ambrosia, but also similar to the way manna is described: sweet, falling from the leaves of the tree onto the ground to be gathered daily, and extremely nourishing. “The morning dew from Ygdrasil was, according to the mythology, a sweet and wonderful nourishment, and in the popular traditions of the Teutonic middle age the dew of the morning retained its reputation for having strange nourishing qualities.”[5] When the Company is in Lothlorien, they receive gifts of food from the elves there, and it is called lembas, the wayfarer’s bread. It is sweet, light, and extremely nourishing. And this food, as you may recall, is presented to the company wrapped in the leaves of the mallorn tree, without which it will spoil. So not only is the mallorn tree described similarly to Ygdrasil, but it also bears some of the same connections to food and nourishment.


[1] J.R. Wytenbroek, “Apocalyptic Vision in Lord of The Rings,” Mythlore, 54 (summer 1988), 11.

[2] Donald Alexander Mackenzie, Teutonic Myth and Legend, (William H. Wise & Co.: 1934), 183.

[3] John Gough, “Tolkien’s Creation: Northern or Not,”in Children’s Literature in Education, Vol. 30, No.1, 1999, 2.

[4] Viktor Rydberg, Teutonic Mythology: Gods and Goddesses of the Northland, Norraena Society, ( New York: 1907), 331.

[5] Rydberg, 345.