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Толкин и войната


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#21
Strider

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Както вече се съгласихме, г-н Глишев, хубавите книги, филми, музика и прочие трябва да се разпространяват. Самите им стойност и качества ни задължават да ги разпространяваме и споделяме с всички, които биха ги оценили, защото публиката заслужава произведенията и произведенията заслужават публиката си. :)

 

 

П.П. Не се помайвай с тоя "Гауейн", по-чевръсто го давай, че ми окапаха перата. :Р


Edited by Strider, 11 юни 2014 - 08:18 .

защото моят гарван е зелен

#22
Menedhel

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Where are your feathers now ;)



#23
Strider

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Tolkien's Great War - документален филм, създаден от двама бивши възпитаници на King Edward's School (включва и Джон Гарт).


защото моят гарван е зелен

#24
Menedhel

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Много хубав филм!



#25
proudfoot.underhill

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Открита е нова скица-портрет на Толкин от 34-та (или по-рано), нарисувана от малко известен, но явно значим военен художник от Глазгоу, Fred Farrel. Портретът е нехарактерен: обикновено Професорът бива изобразяван засмян и весел, а тук е замислен и съсредоточен. Ето статията, която ме насочи и към прекрасната и тъжна Толкинова поема "The Sea Bell" или "Frodo's Dreme", първоначално "Looney"  (под статията):

http://www.tolkienso...ien-discovered/
 

JRRT.jpg

 

http://beyond-the-lo...-best-poem.html

 

"The Sea Bell"or "Frodo's Dreme"

I walked by the sea, and there came to me,
as a star-beam on the wet sand,
a white shell like a sea-bell;
trembling it lay in my wet hand.

In my fingers shaken I heard waken
a ding within, by a harbour bar
a buoy swinging, a call ringing
over endless seas, faint now and far.

Then I saw a boat silently float
on the night-tide, empty and grey.
'It is later than late! Why do we wait?'
I leapt in and cried: 'Bear me away!'

It bore me away, wetted with spray,
wrapped in a mist, wound in a sleep,
to a forgotten strand in a strange land.
In the twilight beyond the deep

I heard a sea-bell swing in the swell,
dinging, dinging, and the breakers roar
on the hidden teeth of a perilous reef;
and at last I came to a long shore.

White it glimmered, and the sea simmered
with star-mirrors in a silver net;
cliffs of stone pale as ruel-bone
in the moon-foam were gleaming wet.

Glittering sand slid through my hand,
dust of pearl and jewel-grist,
trumpets of opal, roses of coral,
flutes of green and amethyst.

But under cliff-eaves there were glooming caves,
weed-curtained, dark and grey;
a cold air stirred in my hair,
and the light waned, as I hurried away.

Down from a hill ran a green rill;
its water I drank to my heart's ease.
Up its fountain-stair to a country fair
of ever-eve I came, far from the seas,

climbing into meadows of fluttering shadows:
flowers lay there like fallen stars,
and on a blue pool, glassy and cool,
like floating moons the nenuphars.

Alders were sleeping, and willows weeping
by a slow river of rippling weeds;
gladdon-swords guarded the fords,
and green spears, and arrow-reeds.

There was echo of song all the evening long
down in the valley; many a thing
running to and fro: hares white as snow,
voles out of holes; moths on the wing

with lantern-eyes; in quiet surprise
brocks were staring out of dark doors.
I heard dancing there, music in the air,
feet going quick on the green floors.

But whenever I came it was ever the same:
the feet fled, and all was still;
never a greeting, only the fleeting pipes,
voices, horns on the hill.

Of river-leaves and the rush-sheaves
I made me a mantle of jewel-green,
a tall wand to hold, and a flag of gold;
my eyes shone like the star-sheen.

With flowers crowned I stood on a mound,
and shrill as a call at cock-crow
proudly I cried: 'Why do you hide?
Why do none speak, wherever I go?

Here now I stand, king of this land,
with gladdon-sword and reed-mace.
Answer my call! Come forth all!
Speak to me words! Show me a face!'

Black came a cloud as a night-shroud.
Like a dark mole groping I went,
to the ground falling, on my hands crawling
with eyes blind and my back bent.

I crept to a wood: silent it stood
in its dead leaves, bare were its boughs.
There must I sit, wandering in wit,
while owls snored in their hollow house.

For a year and a day there must I stay:
beetles were tapping in the rotten trees,
spiders were weaving, in the mould heaving
puffballs loomed about my knees.

At last there came light in my long night,
and I saw my hair hanging grey.
'Bent though I be, I must find the sea!
I have lost myself, and I know not the way,
 
 
but let me be gone!' Then I stumbled on;
like a hunting bat shadow was over me;
in my ears dinned a withering wind,
and with ragged briars I tried to cover me.
 
 
My hands were torn and my knees worn,
and years were heavy upon my back,
when the rain in my face took a salt taste,
and I smelled the smell of sea-wrack.

Birds came sailing, mewing, wailing;
I heard voices in cold caves,
seals barking, and rocks snarling,
and in spout-holes the gulping of waves.
 
 
Winter came fast; into a mist I passed,
to land's end my years I bore;
snow was in the air, ice in my hair,
darkness was lying on the last shore.

There still afloat waited the boat,
in the tide lifting, its prow tossing.
Weary I lay, as it bore me away,
the waves climbing, the seas crossing,
 
 
passing old hulls clustered with gulls
and great ships laden with light,
coming to haven, dark as a raven,
silent as snow, deep in the night.

Houses were shuttered, wind round them muttered,
roads were empty. I sat by a door,
and where drizzling rain poured down a drain
I cast away all that I bore:
 
 
in my clutching hand some grains of sand,
and a sea-shell silent and dead.
Never will my ear that bell hear,
never my feet that shore tread.
 
 
Never again, as in sad lane,
in blind alley and in long street
ragged I walk. To myself I talk;
for still they speak not, men that I meet.
-J.R.R. Tolkien

 

 


Edited by proudfoot.underhill, 22 юли 2015 - 10:35 .

Hobbit-12_HB02-_A.gif "If in doubt, always follow your nose."

#26
Menedhel

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Четохме, да, то вече всичко си е интересна новинка :)



#27
Beren Erhamion

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Странно, в нито, ама в нито един коментар не открих фраза от рода на:"Ами ако на бойното поле му се беше случило най - лошото?!" ...Представете си го само за мили-мили-секунда. Това ще да е кошмара на всеки един толкинист, който да го кара да скача от сън с викове, с трепереща ръка да напипва копчето на нощната си лампа и след това залитащ и търкащ очи, да се отправи към рафта с книги.И когато види томовете да си стоят кротко на специално отделения за тях ред, клетникът надава писък "Мое Безценно!!!"...След което ги награбва накуп, връща се сияещ, подсмърчащ и бръщолевещ несвързано в леглото и гушнал ги като плюшки заспива отново с усмивка, от която на Жокера ще му се подуе жлъчката от завист... Истината Ви казвам!
Но ето, че дойде Берен, пребродил планини безброй...
940b259b91f858aa.jpg

#28
Beren Erhamion

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Хвала за сътвореноро от Нарви - няма друг като него!
Но ето, че дойде Берен, пребродил планини безброй...
940b259b91f858aa.jpg

#29
Menedhel

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И аз съм си мислил за това. Като сигналист, Толкин можеше просто да има среща с картечаря Ханс. Помните ли сцената в трета част на филма, тази със скърбящата Арвен на гроба на Арагорн? Е, това щеше да е бедната Идит. Но и Толкин, и Идит, и всички ние (а дори и картечарят Ханс в някакъв смисъл) сме имали късмет. Прекрасното в случая е, че много потомци на немски войници от 1914-1918 днес са запалени фенове на Толкин. Някои от тях с гордост могат да кажат: - Прадядо ми е бил изгорено джудже.




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