@luthienne

drinking w friends and listening to hozier is actually something that can be so personal

katadesmoi :

katadesmoi :

katadesmoi :

anyway. i think everything is secretly at least one of the following:

(a) a ritual

(b) a resurrection

© a haunting

(d) an apotheosis

(e) fate

(f) a labyrinth

(g) a funeral

@olreid is CORRECT

alright i made some really fucked up flowchart concepts. Im still workshopping it

Question:

this may be a weird question but you joked that you own legolas in some tags, and as it happens i’m in love with lotr/the legendarium and also adore your blog. which is to say that i’d love to hear some of your thoughts on him, if you’re comfortable sharing?

Answer:

ahh hi yes i think he’s such an interesting character!! there’s something so fascinating about the wood-elves for me, something so rooted in folklore and myth that compels my imagination. the dark wood inhabited by the deathless. more below cut:

as much as we know that boromir is tempted by the ring because his people are fighting a seemingly pointless battle just to hold back sauron’s forces at the expense of their own people—we can infer that the situation for legolas is exactly the same. the forces of dol guldur are held back by the wood-elves and no one else. thranduil has no ring of power to protect his people, has no other armies at his back, no aid from the other elven realms.

so, contrary the commentary/characterization of the films, i don’t think legolas would be confused at gandalf’s death just bc he’s “immortal and thus doesn’t understand the concept of death.” he’s the prince of the only elven kingdom without a ring of power for protection, the prince of a wood called taur-e-ndaedelos, the forest of great fear. he’s personally witnessed the transition of his home from greenwood the great to mirkwood. he personally witnessed the occupation of his home by the stronghold of the necromancer, dol guldur, and the darkness that followed. the descendants of ungoliant. the dark creatures and the death.

whenever i witness legolas’s consistently gentle characterization throughout lotr, i’m actually reminded of that ilya kaminsky quote:

“Is it foolish to speak of little joys that occur in the middle of tragedy? It is our humanity. Whatever we have left of it. We must not deny it to ourselves.”

[ from Still Dancing: An Interview With Ilya Kaminsky by Garth Greenwell ]

this is a consistent theme for tolkien through lotr. 

“the world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places, but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

—the two towers, “lothlórien”

“there, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, sam saw a white star twinkle for awhile. the beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. for like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” 

—rotk, the land of shadow

Théoden’s final words are to Merry on the battlefield on the Fields of Pelennor: “Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore.” It is a heart-breaking moment, and for a while Merry believes he  can never again enjoy his pipe because it will remind him of losing his friend, but Aragorn convinces him otherwise: “Smoke, then, and think of him!” said Aragorn. “For he was a gentle heart and a great king and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a memory glad and honourable to the end of your days.” (x)

bc legolas does seem to exemplify that throughout the lotr books. he is chosen not for great deeds (glorfindel would be the obvious choice there) but more it seems bc of the lightness of demeanor he has maintained despite despite despite. not to say that he is not capable of great deeds! we know he is a formidable archer (he slew one of the fell beasts of the nazgûl in the dark) and skilled at hand-to-hand combat with his silver-hafted knife (a weapon and skill set necessary in a dense, dark wood with no room to draw or maneuver swords like andúril/glamdring). and this is not to say that deadliness in combat is the only mark of great deeds! tolkien makes it so very clear that great deeds are not defined by glory or battle but by strength of heart. <3 

i love that moment in fotr when legolas teases gandalf and the fellowship, says that he goes to find the sun, the innocence with which he reacts to the ents and the huorns in two towers, the way he is always singing, the way he learns to not only accept gimli but grows to love him so much that he brings gimli to the undying lands. this is the son of a sindarin king who likely witnessed the sacking of doriath. it would certainly explain why thranduil is characterized as having not only a mistrust but dislike of dwarves in the hobbit.

meanwhile, we know absolutely nothing of legolas’s mother! tolkien says that oropher adopted the customs of the silvan elves when he was made their king. it’s possible that thranduil married a silvan elf. it would make sense from a political standpoint. legolas refers to himself as a wood-elf, which could lend itself to that theory. either way, interesting!

now tolkien’s description of the wood-elves:

The feasting people were Wood-elves, of course. These are not wicked folk. If they have a fault it is distrust of strangers. Though their magic was strong, even in those days they were wary. They differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise. 

we’re told that elven magic is not like wizard magic but rather more earthy, more natural, a part of the fabric of their beings, of the realms they inhabit. i could speculate on what i think the magic of the wood-elves is, but idk i think tolkien had it right in keeping it enigmatic. the idea of an elvenking hidden deep in the dark woods is the stuff of myth, of songs. an elf-king with the power to transport you before him, an elf-king with the power to either alter your perception of reality or to truly transport his own people to safety at the hint of a threat, to extinguish light, with the ability to singlehandedly and without a ring of power keep the forces of dol guldur at bay.

it’s impossible for me to think about legolas and not think about his father and his grandfather, to not think about the life he must have lived leading up to the forming of the fellowship.

Seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right,“ said Aragorn. "Many long lives of men it is since the golden hall was built.”

“Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then,” said Legolas, “and but a little while does that seem to us.”

— the two towers, “the white rider”

legolas, the prince of a hidden, fighting, wary people. a people who must take any chance they can to celebrate and find joy in still being alive, in still being together. a people with no magic outside of their own to protect them, a people who live with death, who inhabit an oppressive darkness forced upon them.

and still we see that legolas is not worn down by the years of darkness, that he is characterized not by bitterness or despair but by a kind of gentle resilience and strength of heart, motivated by loyalty and love of his friends. he is the son of the elvenking. he owes no allegiance to aragorn, a mortal king; nothing to gimli, or to the hobbits. but he sees minas tirith and he talks about how he will help aragorn to rebuild, to bring birdsong and green, growing things. he marches to the doorstep of mordor for the love of his friends and middle-earth. he lingers in middle-earth even after he is struck by sea-longing. and when he finally leaves middle-earth, it is only after the penultimate member of the fellowship has passed away and just he and gimli remain. and then he takes gimli with him when he sails to the undying lands. how could i not love a character with that kind of deep loyalty, deep love, deep feeling?

Question:

hi! i’m in university hoping to become a translator and i came upon an ask where you said “but translators who make an effort to understand and convey the intentions of the original writer, who understand the cultural context, who bring their own poetic style of articulation to the act of translating—angels on earth <3” and i am… genuinely moved by this? it’s so rare to see my (future) profession acknowledged. i was also quite surprised to find out that translations of rumi have been white-washed, even recently. in hindsight it was naïve of me, but i just assumed that everyone in this field has the love and respect for other cultures that brought me to it. but i digress. thank you for such kind words, and for your blog, too! it’s truly a light to me, i could go through it for hours. (and did, considering how old that ask is.) lastly, i’m very glad that you found your home in singing again. i hope you’ll be able to sing all your life.

Answer:

i’m !!! my heart is !!!! thank you for this <3 <3 <3

my darling
I remember you like the best song

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: querido mío
te recuerdo como la mejor canción]

would anyone like to join me in obsessively listening to jeanine de bique singing ombre, piante and lisette oropesa also singing ombre, piante

Accept the waiting, that you won’t always have a place in the chaos.
Accept the closed door, the wall ever-higher, the little hurdle, the image that sticks out its tongue.
Don’t climb backwards onto the shoulders of ghosts for it’s ridiculous to fall backwards with music in your soul.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star; “Auvers-sur-Oise” (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Acepta la espera que no siempre hay lugar en el caos. Acepta la puerta cerrada, el mura cada vez más alto, el saltito, la imagen que te saca la lengua. No te trepes sobre los hombros de los fantasmas que es ridículo caerse de trasero with music in your soul.]

Question:

Hi, you probably receive tons of asks so idk if this will reach you but if it does, id like to know what poetry books give you peace. Not intellectually stimulating or expand you, but what you'll reach to when you're crying without sound at 3am because that's the only time u can.

Answer:

truly anything by mary oliver, naomi shihab nye, rainer maria rilke, joy harjo, audre lorde, kahlil gibran… it just feels like there is so much space for the falling in their poetry. especially this poem by joy harjo:

Question:

hello!! i'm sorry if this is annoying - it's a kind of vague request - but i'm trying to find the name of a poem i read a little while ago. i cannot remember the author, but i'm pretty sure it was a woman; it was about feeling like someone understands you so well that you almost feel like the same person, and includes the lines (possibly slightly misquoting here): "when I talk to you, I feel like an egg cracked atop another egg, yolk upon yolk." any ideas? it's starting to drive me insane. i feel like i dreamt this poem. thank you for your help! i love this blog sm <3

Answer:

oh gosh not annoying at all but i’m afraid that i don’t recognize this poem… but maybe someone will see this and recognize it!

Question:

To the orange anon you should check out oranges by Jean little and oranges by Mary Oliver as well!

Answer:

oh my god i’m so sorry that i missed this before but orange anon i hope you see this!!

opera industry aside. choosing to pursue singing as a career is inherently masochistic bc the two things you have to do to improve involve staring at yourself in a mirror and listening to recordings of yourself sing. nightmare scenarios and yet

And everything must be a lie
because I am not situated in my soul.
I don’t complain politely.
I’m fed up with poetry.
I close the door.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Y todo debe ser mentira
porque no estoy en el sitio de mi alma.
No me quejo de la buena manera.
La poesía me harta.
Cierro la puerta.]

Question:

hi!!! this is about the italian bit you posted :) it's super hard to give it a solid translation because old italian defies god but basically it's ilia saying that elettra fled from argo and from oreste after the whole mess (aka her mother being killed) and arrived in crete! sciagure has a specific connotation and it means disaster/misfortune and queste arene means these lands (but like? specific beach vibes because crete is an island) and fuggitiva is fugitive so i'm going to wing it and a literal translation could be: /(exiled/fleeing) from argo, from oreste, at the moment of the disaster she runaway here to this land/ and so on! Hope it helps 😊

Answer:

ahh i just saw this—thank you so much truly, this is so helpful and i’m!!!! so full of gratitude that you took the time to help me translate this 💗💗💗

does anyone here read italian from the 1700s? i’m having trouble with the bolded section of this sentence: ah no; l’ingrato per elettra sospira, e quell’elettra meschina principessa, esule d’argo, d’oreste alle sciagure a queste arene fuggitiva, raminga, è mia rivale.

Because you are no longer an angel but a person all alone on two tired feet upon this earth that turns, that wakes terribly young every morning.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Porque ya no eres un àngel sino un hombre solo sobre dos pies cansados sobre esta tierra que gira y es terriblemente joven todas las mañanas.]

my darling
I love everything that is not mine
you for example

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: querido mío
adoro todo lo que no es mío
tú por ejemplo]

uh this is the cadenza at the end of il dolce suono please send help

derangedrhythms :

Sara Teasdale, from ‘Two Songs for Solitude; The Crystal Gazer’ published in 'American Poetry, 1922: A Miscellany’

Carry ruin like a flower. Or like a crown. How enviable autumn with its leaves that sink in gorgeous splendor to the earth’s bed.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Llevar la decrepitud como una flor. O como una corona. Es envidiable el otoño, la segura y hermosa dignidad con que se acuestan las hojas de los árboles sobre la tierra.]

walked by a couple today who had pulled out their lawn chairs and were sitting in the rocks in front of their house, picking them up one by one. i have no idea what they were actually doing but i’d like to think they were admiring each rock individually

To recreate yourself: powder, fiber, wound.
To lose yourself: gesture, contact, oblivion.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star; “Vals” (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Recrearte: polvo, brizna, herida.
Perderte: gesto, contacto, olvido.]

i’m !!!!! absolutely bursting with joy right now. i’ve got a lesson scheduled with a new voice teacher. i never thought i’d sing again and now i’ve got a lesson scheduled and i’m just !!!!!!

give me your garbage
i will burn it i promise you
i won’t crucify it
i won’t even keep it in memory
i would accept it
without lashing out i’d accept it
i promise you

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: dame tu tacho de basura
la quemaré te lo prometo
no la voy a crucificar
ni siquiera la voy a guardar en mi memoria
la aceptaré
sin azotes la aceptaré
te lo prometo]

Question:

i hope this request finds you good spirits for company. i come asking if you know any poems or prose and such on oranges, be they sharing them with a loved one or otherwise. regardless of whether or not you can grant me this, i write to wish you well, and say that i adore the post you wrote on making it home. may your days be bright and lovely as you make mine, and the road home just as sweet.

Answer:

this poem by wendy cope is what i think of when i think of oranges <3

Question:

ty for sharing your beautiful soul with us ❤

Answer:

thank you sweet anon 🥺💗

i sang today with my old pianist—the first time i ever sung with him i was twelve years old and so nervous that i faced him the entire time instead of the audience. i sang with him through high school and undergrad and then grad school auditions. he knew me before, during, after. he asked me to sing this event with him and i almost said no. it’s my first instinct now, my knee jerk reaction.

when mary oliver said: “will i ever be able to sing, even the sparrows / can do it and i am, well, / hopeless” — i felt that. i’ve felt that for a long time. i couldn’t — i couldn’t even make myself want it anymore.

we talk about haunted houses. hauntings. haunting as memory, haunting as grief. houses as haunted houses, bodies as haunted houses. homes as places and homes as concepts only. if singing was a place for me, it was a burnt place. a gone place. how do you go home to a gone place? you round the corner over and over again and there’s just more nothing waiting for you.

idk. maybe some people have this ability to believe in you so deeply that you start to believe in yourself again. or maybe it’s the right people at the right time. we met for a coffee last week and i shared everything that had gone wrong. the last audition i’d taken. the vise around my throat. and he texted me later anyway to ask me to sing for this event today. he hadn’t heard me sing since he helped me prepare for grad school auditions. he knows that i walked away, why i walked away. he thought of me anyway. he asked me anyway. 

i’m not sure what the point of sharing this is—i’m just reminded over and over again how much of a difference it makes to believe the best in and of each other. it was so easy for him to believe in me—i’d forgotten what that felt like, especially from someone in that world. but i sang today, and it felt like rounding the corner and seeing home.

[please do not reblog]

I am writing this all down in blue ink, so as to remember that all words, not just some, are written in water.
Maggie Nelson, from Bluets

Question:

Heyy there, hope everything’s well with you. I really admire your blogs. You recently suggested this book named the goldfinch to anon. I started it last night It was heartbreaking but yet beautiful :’) Thankyou. I am not feeling myself since a very long time, but that book kinda helped? If that makes sense. Much love

Answer:

hi sweet anon thank you so much for sharing this w me <3 i first read that book a few years ago and i remember it really resonated with the feelings of grief that i was experiencing at the time. i will never underestimate the power that storytelling has in helping us to process and put language to our own stories and grief, and in helping us to recognize the universal experience of grief/sense of loss of self. sending you much love <3

— Maggie Nelson, from Bluets

[Text ID: “One thing they don’t tell you ’bout the blues when you got ’em, you keep on fallin’ ’cause there ain’t no bottom,” sings Emmylou Harris, and she may be right. Perhaps it would help to be told that there is no bottom, save, as they say, wherever and whenever you stop digging. You have to stand there, spade in hand, cold whiskey sweat beaded on your brow, eyes misshapen and wild, some sorry-ass grave digger grown bone-tired of the trade. You have to stand there in the dirty rut you dug, alone in the darkness, in all its pulsing quiet, surrounded by the scandal of corpses.“]