Mechtild (mechtild) wrote,
Mechtild
mechtild

For the Anniversary of the Fall of Barad-dûr ~ ‘Upon the Ending of an Age’ by jan-u-wine.


Eagles-The Hobbit-TEASER.jpg




Jan-u-wine has been inspired to write a new piece to commemorate this March 25, a poem written from the point of view of the Great Eagles as they come to rescue Frodo and Sam, lying in the midst of fiery ruin, spent, their deaths imminent. I can’t describe the mood of this piece any more than I can describe the inner life of an eagle, Jan can and does, and it is unforgettable. I am borne up with Meneldor, Gwaihir and Landroval when I read this. The poem has wings, the wings of narrative imagination.

The image for this piece was made by Weta concept painter Gus Hunter. Although it was created to illustrate another Tolkien story, The Hobbit, the keenness of the eagle's eye, the readiness of the talons to grasp, the rush of air from below makes it an apt choice for this poem.



~*~








Eagles-The Hobbit-CROP.jpg


Upon the Ending of an Age (a feathered reflection)


Always, there is the wind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~



All the Ages, upon the wind.

All the Ages,

the fine down of them
floating,

silent as this moment,
above the clouds.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


These creatures.

Their bodies

do not dance
upon the tapestried air.

They do not hold,
within their non-feather'd grasp,

a certainty of how the Sun
smells,

riding above the rout of battle,

or the sweet sleep waiting within
a bracken'd nest......

Still,

a pinioned Lord of the Air
knows well

the meaning of the dusk-red
staining the rock beneath them:

Life,
running swiftly out,

its thick ribbon

accompanying
the violent bloom
of the mountain's
vomited death....

Our talons hold them,
tight wing-song

beating upon the wind's door,
clouds bloody-pink about us,

Sun bronze and all-but-sunk
in the smoke of the day.

I do not understand these soft bodies
nor, indeed,

the designs or desires
of such unwingéd beings.

Their days and that which they name 'seasons'
hold no meaning to those who call the high winds

home.

Bombadil might know the reason of these, all,
or his Lady offer explanation

when she calls forth the crystal rain.

In the end,
it matters little,
our understanding.

We carry them.

They are no burden.

It is 25 Rethe in the reckoning of their little land.

Spring unfurls the banners of beech-buds
upon the field below.

Of old, we have known this King's grand-sire.

His kindly hands receive the care of our charges.

Never again will there be need of such dark rescue.

Sweet, the winds of cleansed night
which buttress our swift departure.

Fare-well to earth and the tethers of two-feet.

Fare-well to the Ages which lie behind.






Eagles - Borne by Eagles 20 (ROTK).jpg





~*~










Nan's Reunion-ICON ~ All entries featuring jan-u-wine's poems.

Tags: art, tolkien
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