Another Salute to Tolkien!

BLOGGING ABOUT WHATEVER

ENTRY - 20

TITLE: Another Salute to Tolkien!

AUTHOR: J. William Bell

DATE POSTED: 2026-03-06

I thought that it was about time that I did another salute/spotlight on the poetry of Professor J.R.R. Tolkien as well as their translations into Esperanto by Mr. William Auld. I do recognize that some posts into this blog can get dark and disturbing; or perhaps even a little too weird for the average blog-reader/follower. So, sometimes, just for the sake of my sanity; and hopefully a few other folks out there too; I prefer to post something lighter and perhaps a little nonsensical. It has been my observation that too many people are forgetting that you really do need to take some time to read something that you find interesting and/or cheers you up.

You can waste your life if all you ever do is doom-read and sheet-post.

ORIGINAL POEM

Fifteen birds in five firtrees,

Thier feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!

But, funny little birds, they had no wings!

O what shall we do with the funny little things?

Roast'em alive, or stew them in a pot;

Fry them, boil them and eat them hot?

ESPERANTO TRANSLATION

Dek-kvin birdoj sur kvin abioj,

la plumojn ventalos incendioj!

Sed strangaj birdetoj senflugilaj!

Kion ni faru pri cxi sxlemilaj?

Rostu vivantajn, aux stufu enpote;

Aux ili fritigxu, boligxu mangxote?

ORIGINAL POEM

Roads go ever ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on,

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandring have gone,

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen,

And horror in the halls of stone.

Look at last on meadows green,

And trees and hills they long have known.

ESPERANTO TRANSLATION

Vojoj pluen serpentumas,

Trans la rokojn, sub arbaron,

Kavernoj, kie sun'ne lumas,

Kie roj'ne trovas maron;

Tra la vintra negxinudo,

Tra Junia florbrakumo,

Tra la herb', sur sxtona grundo,

Kaj sub montojn sur la luno.

Vojoj cxiam pluen sagas,

Sub la nuboj kaj substele,

Sed piedoj, kiuj vagas,

Turnas sin al hejmo cele.

Kiu fajron, glavon spitas,

Kaj sxtonhalajn terurajxojn,

Verdajn kampojn fine vidas,

Kaj konitajn hejmpezagxojn.

Excelsior!