Tolkien and the Elvish Muse

...themselves they named the Quendi, whom we call Elves; but Orome named them in their own tongue Eldar, people of the stars, and that name has since been borne by all that followed him upon the western road.. In the beginning they were stronger and greater than they have since become; but not more fair, for though the beauty of the Quendi in the days of their youth was beyond all other beauty that Iluvatar has caused to be, it has not perished...                                                        - The Silmarillion, J. R. R. Tolkien

Elf Fantastic by John Howe

Whosoever rejoices in the exploration of fantastic and beautiful "secondary worlds" will surely appreciate any "extra" information to add further depth to their immersion. At least, such is the case with me. After recent and delightfully immersive experience watching the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy on one day, and two days later watching The Hobbit (both times dressed in elf-attire) I avidly sought out Tolkien's other volumes on Middle Earth - revisiting the Silmarillion and reading Morgoth's Ring for the first time. 

This picture makes me think of the maiar, or lesser-spirits of Arda - many of whom were helpers of Yavanna, goddess of all living things, and were wondrous in beauty .

Perhaps I had previously been too young to appreciate them properly, but I was struck, as never before, by the wondrous richness of Tolkien's world, and the incredible mythological tapestry he created upon which to weave his tales. For to the lover of myth and great legends like those of King Arthur, the Mahabharata and the Odyssey, the Silmarillion is infinitely fascinating, dealing with the Music of the Ainur and the creation of Arda in the Valaquenta, and in the Quenta Silmarillion the epic exploits of the Elves before the Third Age.  

Morgoth's Ring, cover art John Howe

Morgoth's Ring is composed mainly of notes and various drafts for the Silmarillion: interesting as it reveals the workings of Tolkien's mind and the process of "secondary" creation. But most intriguing of all is the essay "Laws and Customs among the Eldar", which reveals much about the nature and behaviour of the Elves, including marriage customs, naming traditions and the relation of the soul (fea) to the body (hroa). 

Luthien's Lament before Mandos, in the halls of the dead

The immortality of the Elves lies in their fea being "bound" to Arda (the world) until the End of Days, but their bodies can be slain, albeit with difficulty. The souls do not depart the world, but travel to the Hall of Mandos (lord of the Dead) in Valinor - the place to which the Elves depart at the end of The Lord of the Rings. There they are "corrected, instructed, strengthened or comforted, according to their needs or deserts" by the Valar, the gods who reside in Arda, before being reborn in an identical body and enjoying a second childhood sweetened by the intelligence and memory of the first life. After their rebirth however, most Elves do not return to Middle Earth, but stay forevermore in the West, in blessed Valinor.

The Grey Havens, by John Howe

Of the Elves who do not die, and who do not take the white ships into the West - Tolkien writes most poignantly. These are the Lingerers - whose souls, as they remain for long Ages of the world, gradually consume their bodies, until "the body becomes at last a mere memory held by the fea". After the passing of their kindred, these last elves of Middle Earth become invisible to mortal eyes...

However...

"[The Lingerers] do not seek converse with Men at all, save maybe rarely, either for the doing of some good, or because they believe in a Man's spirit some love of things ancient and fair. Then they may reveal to him their forms (through his mind working outwardly, maybe), and he will behold them in their beauty. Of such he may have no fear, though he may feel awe of them... For the hearts of true Men uprise in joy to behold the true likenesses of the First-born, their elder kindred; and this joy no evil can counterfeit."

What is this? For those of us who mourned the passing of the Elves from Middle Earth, or feel sorrow at the loss of magic from the world - Tolkien provides relief. For those of us who feel the beauty of the Elves like shining stars in the heart, and long for them - for us who feel "love of things ancient and fair" - an inspirational fancy. In his creation, the Elves are the muses of art, poetry, music and writing - thus in our mortal makings we reveal their forms... 

I feel the mythic truth of this. I see the high, ethereal beauty of the Elves in art...

In sculpture...

...and in architecture...

I hear their voices in music...

Enya - Aldebaran

Libera - Jubilate Deo

In Nature and in fantasy I feel their presence.

Ancient Voices, by Rob Alexander

In all beauty around me are evidence of the Lingerers. Thus the worlds of Middle Earth and our own world are brought, beautifully, together. 

Wandering Aengus and the Search for Creative Inspiration

The following evocative and magical poem by William Butler Yeats was brought to my attention (most appropriately) by the magical writer Cecilia Dart-Thornton, herself a creator of worlds most wondrous and strange.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire a-flame, But something rustled on the floor, And someone called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

by W. B. Yeats.

I love the poem, for to me it perfectly conjures up a vision of creative searching and striving, dealing with an artist's chasing after an elusive muse, the search for wisdom and the fire of inspiration. Since Yeats was a supreme word-painter, the poem also summons up in my synaesthesic mind a glorious vision of rich jewel-like colours, through which wanders a magic wind, singing in tones both sonorous and eerie.

In “The Song of Wandering Aengus” Yeats uses Irish mythology and Celtic symbolism to compose an allegorical exploration of creativity. Aengus, in Irish legend is god of love and “poetic inspiration”.

I went out to the hazel wood/Because a fire was in my head

To the Celts, hazel trees had magical properties, containing wisdom and inspiration. The “fire” in Aengus’ head refers to the Irish concept of imbas or “state of creative inspiration”. As I read the poem, in my mind’s eye I see Aengus striding into the green secrecy of the hazel wood – driven by the passion and frustration of his fiery spirit, seeing cool ease among the leaves of wisdom.

And cut and peeled a hazel wand/And hooked a berry to a thread 

With these lines I see Aengus take a branch from the tree of wisdom, trim and peel it to create a fishing rod that shines whitely in the forest with the pale inner hazel-core. In casting his eyes around for suitable bait, Aengus’ eyes light upon a berry on a bramble (symbolic of blood to the Celts) which he uses to bait his hook.

And when white moths were on the wing/And moth-like stars were flickering out/I dropped the berry in the stream/And caught a little silver trout

In casting his hazel rod and dropping berry-bait into the stream to catch a trout (a fish connected with the Druidic Salmon of Wisdom) – Aengus symbolically offers blood-sacrifice in exchange for wisdom. This section of the poem also contains some extraordinarily beautiful imagery – in the fading of the night; the pre-dawn grey of earliest morning, I see white moths flitting from the forest, their wings flickering the pale stars. I see shadowy silhouette of Aengus casting his pale hazel wand with its ghostly thread and dark waters closing over the blood-berry. Then – the wriggling and flashing of the “silver trout” as it is dragged out of the enclosing stream, its sporadic flicks of tail – the struggles of an idea – as Aengus carries it home.

When I had laid it on the floor/I bent to blow the fire a-flame/But something rustled on the floor/And someone called me by my name./It had become a glimmering girl/With apple-blossoms in her hair 

Quick with life and movement in the stream, when “laid on the floor” before Aengus’ home-fire the trout cannot lie still, but “rustles” its silver scales on the ground behind the fisherman. While he goes to “blow the fire a-flame” (the imbas in his head reigniting on the hearth) the trout transforms into the creative muse – a “glimmering girl” crowned with a wreath of apple blossoms (Celtic symbols of art and poetry).

Who called me by my name and ran/And faded through the brightening air 

In calling his name, according to folkloric traditions, the “glimmering girl” binds Aengus to do her will – and he is bound to follow when she flees into the growing sunlight.

Though I am old with wandering/Through hollow lands and hilly lands/I will find out where she has gone 

Aengus’ quest to rejoin his muse thus consumes and directs his life – the terrain symbolic of the often bleak and difficult struggles that an artist encounters on their eternal creative journey.

And kiss her lips, and take her hands;/And walk among long dappled grass/And pluck till time and times are done,/The silver apples of the moon/The golden apples of the sun

In the last lines of the poem, Aengus sketches the felicity he imagines when he finds the “glimmering girl” – the joys of making his journey alongside wisdom and inspiration. Finally he reveals the ultimate purpose of his creative journey – union with his muse. The gold and silver apples again draw on Celtic symbolism – this time fortelling a fertile fruiting of art and poetry given further significance by the male/female associations of moon and sun. Thus the precious fruits Aengus hopes to pluck with the “glimmering girl” represent the creative issue of the poet and the muse; immortal as the golden apples of Idun or the Hesperides.

Of course – while it is fascinating to try and discern the deep allegorical weft in this tapestry of a poem – its true magic lies in its own immortal vision of wonder. As a modern mythologist and word-painter, Yeats is unparalleled.