Elvish Poetry

[Diabolic_Wizard]

It is not my poem but i find it into a website long forgotten.

I loved it so much and i like to share it wit you guys. (and ladies of course) :D

 

Silmesse

 

Sinome háran i marya silmesse;

Ilmello sílar tinwi lómesse;

Cénanten, i telpeva hendi,

ve cennente i cuivie Quendi.

Alasse antar i menelmíri,

laitan mi anvanye líri.

Oiale ná i silme vinya;

tíranyes sí vi Quende minya,

vi minya Cuiviéneno

i cenne cala eleno.

 

(Quenya translation)

 

In Starlight

 

Here I am sitting in the pale moonlight;

from Ilmen sparks are shining in [the] night;

They see me, the silvery eyes,

as they saw the wakening Elves.

Joy the heavenly jewels give [me],

I praise [them] in the fairest songs.

Forever is the moonlight new;

I watch them now as the first Elf [did]

as the first [one] of Cuiviénen

who saw [the] light of a star.

 

 

written by Helge Kåre Fauskanger

[Diabolic_Wizard]

It is come from my poetry archives. Written by David Chapman in an old dialect of Quenya.

 

Númen

 

Sindë litsi lutir sinomë.

Ekkaia ripë heldë sariryannar.

Númenessë Ambar talta undumenna

ar i eleni nainir qualmeryanen.

 

Lómë túrë sinómë;

Anquildëa alcareryassë.

An sí ná i nórë yanna fëar tulir

usien i nwalmë lúmeo.

 

Rómenna ortar i oronti;

Tára Ambarello

Ar lëontar topir i ëar lumbenen.

i métimë falmar

ripir anquildessë

Andúnë pella.

 

Sinómë eanye, nyéra:

Tiruvanyë Andúnë.

Ya ná Andúnë pella,

Cúmanna,

ar loruvanyë

Cúmo.

 

 

(Quenya Translation)

 

The West

 

Grey sands flow about this place.

The Sea sweeps upon it's barren rocks.

In the West the World drops off into the abyss

and the stars cry for her death.

Darkness rules here;

Silent in his glory.

For here is the place where spirits come

to escape the torment of Time.

To the East rise the mountains;

Taller than the World

And their shadows cover the ocean in gloom.

The last waves

crash silently

beyond the Sunset.

Here I am, mourning:

I shall watch the West

that is beyond the West,

into the Void,

and dream

of oblivion.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Here comes a big one! This poem's writer is Lukas Novak. He comes from Czech Republic and is one of the most famous Tolkienian linguists.

 

I Omentie Vinyamasse

 

I tella ciryamo tella ciryallo,

ya tuvë mernë i tië Númenna,

ciryallo metta Noldoiva, vanwë

mi lómëanóre rómess' úvanya.

 

I telda ciryamo, cild' ambartanen,

et Ossëo helcë falmallon lehtaina,

cuilenna nenillon mi sinda falassë

Nenion Herunen né enantaina.

 

Istyalye men sina, ar oronteryar,

sintelyes ilyë, almárië rissen.

Nan Vinyamar yerna ondonen carna

ná lusta ar vanwë i sinomë marner.

 

Ardanna muin' avánientë,

i lómëo halien nuldar Formello

varnassë harien mi lúmë úvarna,

tenn' umbar metya i estel intyaina.

 

Nan lá ilya estel ná vanwa tenn'oio

ar ume ú tyeldeo Valion ormë.

Or ulca Quendion ná voronwenta

i sí ëarello ngwalca tultaina.

 

Amba a cena, orta órelya,

entula minn' Endóreo lumbë,

I túla elyenna, mi sinda collo,

ná úner i yondoron Eldaliéva.

 

Ter fírima Atan i estel antaina,

ter fírima túlas, i hrívesse ringa,

i tuile nan tuluva minna Endóre

ar i Elen Estelo nauva tintaina.

 

 

(Quenya translation)

 

The Meeting at Vinyamar

 

The last mariner from the last ship

that wished to find the way to West,

From the last ship of the Noldor, lost

in the shadowy, unlovely country on the East.

 

The last mariner, chosen by the fate

released from the cool waves of Osse,

to the life out of the waters on the gray shore

by the Lord of the Waters was given back

 

You know this place, and its mountains,

you knew everything in the prosperous days.

But Vinyamar old of stone made

is empty and gone those who dwelled here.

 

To the secret realm they are gone,

in order to hide, hidden off the shadow from the North

to have safety in unsafe time,

untill the doom puts the end to the supposed hope.

 

But not all [the] hope is lost forever,

and the anger of the Mighty is not without end.

Above the malice of Quendi is their faithfullness

that is now brought out of the cruel sea.

 

Look up, raise your heart,

come again into the shadow of the Middle Earth,

who is coming against you in the gray cloak,

is nobody of the Elven-folk sons.

 

Through the mortal Man the hope [is] given

through the mortal it is coming, in the cold winter,

but the spring shall come to the Middle Earth,

and the Star of [the] Hope shall be kindled.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

This comes from Ryszard Derdzinski (kneel and bow before him :!: ). Written in Quenya. 'nuff said. Read the poem.

 

Cuivienello Tol Eressëanna

 

Telpina lindë nenilion

rilma elellion unótimë

'Ela!'

- lindalessë ontaina ná lambengwa

ilúmë órenwar cendar Númenna.

 

Alass' ar alma Eldamarwa

ataltanë nu falmar nár ar serceva.

Ninquë huinessë Helcaraxeva

antoryanengwë órengwar,

avamarnë ar etyë.

 

Man Heceldamar nu huine anga-carmo,

man ninqua ar firima rilmassë Silmarillion,

erya estelengwa vasta yo Hildor.

Ulyaina sercë alafiryar ar firyaiva

sirir minë sirenen unótimë yénilíva.

 

Silmarilli, alcar ar... úcarmë;

sára ná sina ohta – nangwë sin haira;

ar Eär ata tulta.

 

 

(Quenya translation)

 

Silver song of waters

glittering light of the numberless stars

‘Behold!’

- in music our speech was born,

when our hearts were turned towards the West.

 

Happiness and bliss of Eldamar

drowned under the waves of fire and blood.

In frosty gloom of Helcaraxë

we hardened our hearts,

homeless and exiled.

 

Either Beleriand under the shadow of the iron-crown,

or in the icy and deadly light of the Silmarils,

our only hope is alliance with the Followers.

Blood poured over of the immortal and the mortals

flows with one river of the numberless years.

 

Silmarils, glory and... sin;

Bitter is this war – victory so distant;

And the Sea summons again.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Written by Thomas Ferencz from Hungary in 2002. Good readings...

 

I Anda Malle

 

Laucë auta Ambarello. Á pusta, telcu! Siarë lá yonta.

I asto hwinya or carinya, tuonyar rihtear pittavë,

tárë yúyo hautar. Anar ruxa, ar wile yernavë oronti pella.

Nwalca silmenen eleni ilwessë rilyar helcavë.

Ausa nimba véranyo yéni yá (randar quíta?)

tintila wilyassë imbë aldar. Pahtan hendunya.

Cenië oira i metto lelyalëo fárëa ná. Lingas

tellessë indonya auressë inyë. Á hauta,

indonya, á hauta! Láqua erin hequa selma.

Quetintë, Eldar i eleni laitar. Inyë rúcë

yétalentallo mettavalta, an selmanya talta

nu i ringa alavaxië enta. Quettar centanya

quetiën ni hehtaner írë i minëa néca nalta

aisto lantanë carinyanna. I centa aica

nyarië Valain sa cuilë ná túrina, ilyë

Eldar nar wanwa, Naucor firini caitar

nún nu ondor rómië límë lungë,

an Moringottor unótimë ortiër. Quíta

vanima ná sa lambanya ná nútina

an írë quetin i quettar i sundor Ambarwa

tancavë ruxar nyenyala, ar Cúma ilúvë tópa.

 

Ai! Ananta

I cirya larta enta hópassë vahaiya, ya

ullume hiruvan. Var sië nin séya.

 

 

(Quenya Translation)

 

The Long Road

 

Warmth has passed from the world. Stop, my legs! No more today.

The dust swirls above my head, my sinews shake a bit,

both rest then. The Sun crumbles, and floats tired beyond the mountains.

Stars icily glitter in the sky with their cruel light.

A sad vision of my self long years ago (or was it ages?)

trembles in the air among the trees. I shut my eyes.

It is enough to see the end of the journey all the time. It dangles

in the rear of my mind every day. Rest,

my mind, rest! Nothing remains but resolve.

They say, the Elves praise the stars. I myself dread

their endless glare, for my will collapses

under that cold perfection. The words, my message

to utter have abandoned me when the first faint glitter

of fear fell on my head. The dire message,

to tell the Valar that life is defeated, all

the Elves are gone, the Dwarves lie dead

deep under rocks too heavy to heave,

and countless Morgoths have arisen. Perhaps

it is proper that my tongue is knotted

for when I say the words, the roots of the world

will surely crumble crying, and the Void covers all.

 

But alas! still

the ship waits there in that harbour far away, that

I will never find. Or so it seems.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Well, these are not poems, but very good exemples about the differences of the languages of Quenya and Sindarin. It is a lovely love letter; first one is in quenya and second is in sindarin.

 

 

Hlaren quen i taurissen, láma i aurello íre omentánelme. Tennoio aiwi liruvar i herin olórenyaron, vantarye imbe laiqua narasse ar lótearwa peler. Avantielme ter tarsaye auri, voronnelme morne lendi ar únótime harwi. A eldava venda mírihendea, á larta, úvan cuina eressea. Áva hehta ni, antuvan len hína, ar már nilda. Vestan tyen, melme úva sinta ar estel lohtuva tavinya. Áva tulta i móre, melnenya.

 

***

 

Lathron ben ned eryn, glamor uin galan ir govannem. An uir aewath linnathar a chervess olthad nîn : he bada min nadhras galen a parth lothen. Trevódiel orath drestennin, broniannem lennath dhuir a charnath arnediad. A Elleth ivorcheneb, dartho, ú-aníron cuinad ereb. Avo awartho nin, annathon le chên, a mar mhilui. Gweston le, meleth ú-thinnatha a harthad edlothiatha adwain. Avo doltho mhorn, melethril nîn.

 

 

(Translation)

 

I hear someone in the woods, an echo of the day we met. Forever birds will sing for the lady of my dreams: she walks between green pasture and flowery field. Having traversed troubled days, we endured dark journeys and countless wounds. O Elfin maid with crystal eyes, wait, I won't live alone. Don't forsake me, I'll give thee a child, and a friendly home. I swear thee, love won't fade and hope will blossom anew. Don't summon the night, my love.

 

 

Note: Written in sindarin by Didier Willis. Translated from sindarin to quenya by Sébastien Bertho.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Another good exemple of differences of the languages quenya and sindarin. These are two versions of Ring Poem written by J.R.R. Tolkien. ^_^

First one is in quenya, second one is in sindarin.

 

Neldë Cormar Eldaron Aranen nu i vilya,

Otso Heruin Naucoron ondeva mardentassen,

Nertë Firimë Nérin yar i Nuron martyar,

Minë i Morë Herun mormahalmaryassë

Mornórëo Nóressë yassë i Fuini caitar.

Minë Corma turië të ilyë, Minë Corma hirië të,

Minë Corma hostië të ilyë ar mordossë nutië të

Mornórëo Nóressë yassë i Fuini caitar.

 

note: translated by Maciej Garbowski

 

***

 

Neledh Gorvath 'nin Ellerain no i menel,

Odo'ni Nauhírath ne rynd gonui în,

Neder'ni Fîr Fírib beraid fíred,

Êr am Morchír ned morn-orchamm dîn

Ne Dor e-Mordor ias i-Ndúath caedar.

Er-chorf hain torthad bain, Er-chorf hain hired,

Er-chorf hain toged bain a din fuin hain nuded

Ne Dor e-Mordor ias i-Ndúath caedar.

 

note: translated by Ryszard Derdzinski

 

(Translation)

 

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Another very popular poem translation, written by J.R.R. Tolkien. Quenya translation (a very old dialect) made by Milan Rezac.

 

Vanda Feanáró Nossëo

 

Nai kotumo ar nilmo, kalima Vala

thauza ar poika, Moringothonna,

Elda ar Maiya ar Apanóna,

Endóressë Atan sin únóna,

ilar thanyë, ilar melmë, ilar malkazon sammë,

osta ilar harwë, lau Ambar tana,

só-thauruvá Fëanárollo, ar Fëanáró nossello,

iman askalyá ar charyá, ar mi kambë mapá,

herá hirala ar haiya hatá

Silmarillë. Sí vandalmë ilyai:

unqualé son antávalme mennai Aurë-mettá,

qualmé ten' Ambar-mettá! Quettalman lasta,

Eru Ilúvatar! Oiyámórenna

mé-quetamartya íre queluvá tyardalma.

Ainorontessë tirtassë lasta

ar lma-vandá enyalaz, Varda Manwë!

 

 

(Quenya translation)

 

The Oath of the Fëanorians

 

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,

brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,

Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,

Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,

neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,

dread nor danger, not Doom itself,

shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,

whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,

finding keepeth or afar casteth

a Silmaril. This swear we all:

death we will deal him ere Day's ending,

woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,

Eru Allfather! To the everlasting

Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.

On the holy mountain hear in witness

and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[Diabolic_Wizard]

A lovely sindarin song written by Jessie Christiansen.

 

 

Naergon an Kharas Crist-Erui

 

Find dîn morn be taurfuin, hennad be elin iavas silivrin,

Magol dîn celeg, dagrant ú-rem, e milui ar idhren,

E mell velethril eriol, athar phith thenin melethron,

Ne thaurdinnu firn Michrist vîn nuin elenath e lasbelin.

 

Men urem an arvellon, arnediad ah boeg cothath vîn,

Am meriad ammen ne thraw, e callon vinai vedui,

Beleg ho, u-verthant heriad dîr gudwarthen vregol dîn,

Duliel ned i dhu taurvorn danc o adel na gui.

 

U-'ernim nesto ho egor gedi acharn or chyth dîn,

Arphent, "avlinno naergonath", a ned rainc bess vell dîn e firn.

Cíniel hon caedol gwann ennas, beth vedui în, u-lathrannen,

Ned i echad boe awarthad, noe eriol ónem a naen.

 

Linno Kharas Crist-Erui, firn maethor thelion ned estel;

Lasbelin gwaew linnatha o dínen ned ast dannen ho,

Ne morn uireb uidafnen hennad dîn gilvíriel,

I daur ned aur geleriol, ú-echuiatha tíro.

 

 

(Sindarin translation)

 

Lament for Edge First Sword

 

His hair was black as forest night, as bright as autumn stars his eyes,

His blade was swift, but seldom drawn, for he was courteous and wise,

He loved but one, and she loved him more dear than any words can tell,

In forest night beneath the autumn stars our First Sword fell.

 

We were too few and too alone; our foes too many and too grim;

To guard us in the wilderness no warrior was left but him.

Yet he was stronger than they dared to challenge by direct attack,

So struck him down from hiding, with an arrow in the back.

 

We could not save him, nor could we avenge his death, although we tried;

His final words were "do not grieve", and in his lady's arms he died.

We could not honor those last words, for what else could we do but grieve

To see him laying slain there in the camp we had to leave.

 

Sing Edge First Sword, who lived and died a warrior faithful to his trust;

The autumn wind will sing of him, though silent sleeps he in the dust,

And will not wake again to watch the morning forest growing light -

His starlit eyes forever closed in the eternal night.

[Diabolic_Wizard]

Again a famous poem translated to Sindarin by Ryszard Derdzinski; written by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Riddle of Strider!

 

Pân i valt law thilia,

Law pain i reviar mistar aen;

Iaur i vell law thinnatha,

Law thynd dyfn na-niss rathar aen.

O lith naur echuiathar aen,

Calad od dúath thuiatha;

Adamminen i vagol vreithannen,

Pen-thôl ad echannen i aran.

 

 

(Sindarin translation)

 

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.