The Timeless Comfort of Tolkien
Reflections on Verses Within 'The Book of Lost Tales: Part One'
Hello dear readers,
Today I’ll be analysing a few short poems from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Book of Lost Tales: Part One. Tolkien is primarily known for his The Lord of the Rings trilogy, which is, beyond doubt, a masterpiece which I would recommend to even the most ardent of fantasy-haters (I can easily say this, being a strong disliker of fantasy myself). However, this post will focus on a couple of Tolkien’s lesser-known works, the poems found in his Book of Lost Tales. The Book of Lost Tales, put together by his son Christopher Tolkien, is a body of work that incorporates Tolkien’s earliest Middle Earth drafts, sketches, and poems. In a way, I almost prefer Tolkien’s Middle Earth poetry to his trilogy, and this is because of the timeless comfort they offer. So let’s dive into it.
(Yes, I am aware that the above is The Silmarilion!)
Let’s begin with a stanza from Tolkien’s Habbanan Beneath the Stars. I won’t be analysing all poems in their complete forms, because then this post would be too long.
In Habbanan beneath the skies
Where all roads end however long
There is a sound of faint guitars
And distant echoes of a song,
For there men gather into rings
Round their red fires while one voice sings
And all about is night.
This first stanza conjures up the cozy image of a campfire, with an undercurrent of mysticism. Tolkien describes ‘Habbanan’ as a region ‘where one draws nigh to the places that are not of Men.’ Thus, we have reason to assume that the men around their campfire are in a fairy-like Otherworld, a Purgatory without its grimness. Perhaps they are spirits of men, perhaps they have simply journeyed for a long time and have entered another realm. Tolkien emphasises the mysticism of his poem by claiming that all roads end, despite their length, and the words ‘one voice sings’ may imply a deity. This stanza, and the poem in full, isn’t bleak or nihilistic, but hope-giving. Therefore I would prefer to argue that this poem isn’t about death, but about entering a fairy-realm. Or, perhaps, these men are in our own real world. And all about is night implies a realistic world without magic or eternal gloom or light. Perhaps these men aren’t in any sort of magical world, but are singing stories about something mystical. Despite the absence of obvious magic, there is comfort in his descriptions.
The nostalgia of an Other-world that Tolkien continually evokes in his poetry is a haunting form of comfort. In Over Old Hills and Far Away, Tolkien finishes with a sweet stanza that doesn’t contain anything sentimental or kitsch.
Over reed, over rush, under branch, over root,
And over dim fields, and through rustling grasses
That murmur and nod as the old elf passes,
Over old hills and far away
Where the harps of the Elvenfolk softly play.
Instead of vividly describing Elves, Tolkien puts magic at a distance. This makes the last stanza so beautiful. If he’d describe an Elf and emphasise its preternatural appearance and powers, the poem would have been removed from real life, enough to dim the impact of the verses. The old elf that roams through the ‘dim fields’ is reminiscent of a memory of an elderly grandfather, perhaps only existing in memory. The descriptions of rushes, reeds, branches, and roots grounds the poem in naturalism and realism. The soft playing of the elves is evocative of an enchanting memory, rather than an actual piece of music. We are standing in Nature, listening to a memory, perhaps a childhood memory. We are not standing in a fantasy world.
The last sentences of Tolkien’s In a City Lost and Dead are equally powerful, and despite the poem’s grim title, they carry no pessimism.
The silent shadows counting out rich hours;
And no voice stirs; and all the marble towers,
White, hot, and soundless, ever burn and sleep.
Despite the evocations of gloom-soaked rooms and eerie silence, there is a sense of anticipation and of hope. The shadows, usually a Gothic device used to stir up feelings of fear and misery, carry a hint of positivism: they are waiting, counting out hours that are filled with something: rich hours. What that is, Tolkien doesn't explain, but this adds to the mystery. The poem is filled with possibilities. The towers sleep, but they burn as well, and they are hot. Why are they hot? Who is in there? A smith? Tolkien nerds may think of the elven-smith Celebrimbor, or the nefarious crafter Sauron, infamous for his creation of the One Ring. Or perhaps only their ghosts are present, not strong enough to physically create, but potent enough to make the towers burn ‘white hot’, like metal heated to an incredible temperature.
Tolkien’s talent lies in evoking a world that is filled with nostalgia, memory, and the yearning for magic passed; simultaneously, he imbues his verses with a cozy realism that gives hope and comfort to those reading. There is not enough gloom and sadness to make his poetry melancholic; there is not enough sorcery and ‘un-realism’ to render it kitsch and implausible. His verses speak of things that have passed, a fading magic, but reality is so beautiful that it is exciting, and there is a promise of lovely things to come. This is the timeless comfort of Tolkien: magic has faded, but beauty and hope remain. The landscape Tolkien describes is enchanting enough, with or without sorcery and supernatural things, and therein lies the eternity of his writing.
Copyright Maryse Kluck 2025.
All quotes come from the HarperCollins edition of The Book of Lost Tales: Part One.