sábado, 9 de febrero de 2013

Over the Misty Mountains Cold / The Dwarven Song of Old Wealth.

A continuacion me permito transcribir el poema de uno de mis escritores favoritos Jhon Ronald Renuel Tolkien, quien desde mi temprana edad ha guiado mi gusto por la lectura,  plasmando en mi la busqueda de parajes maravillosos llenos de magia y criaturas mitogicas, además de infundar en mi la busqueda del bien que se anida dentro del corazón humano.

El poema viene a convertirse en una especie de resumen de los sucesos que parecen el libro EL HOBBIT,  con el fin de mantener la belleza del poema lo he transcrito en su idioma natal, sin mas adjunto el poema with haste across the waste...

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, on twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves,
And harps of gold, where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the heights,
The wind was moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale,
And men looked up with faces pale.
The dragon's ire, more fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon.
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled the hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,
To dungeons deep and caverns dim,
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!

The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay be night or day,
And dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
The branches groaned, the forest moaned,
And leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
All movement in the forest ceased.
But shrill and harsh across the marsh,
Its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
The reeds were rattling--on it went.
O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,
Where racing clouds were torn and rent.

It passed the Lonely Mountain bare,
And swept above the dragon's lair:
There black and dark lay boulders stark,
And flying smoke was in the air.

It left the world and took its flight
Over the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sale upon the gale,
And stars were fanned to leaping light.

Under the Mountain dark and tall,
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall!

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong.
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.

The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! Wandering folk, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste!
The king of freind and kin has need.

Now call we over the mountains cold,
'Come back unto the caverns old!'
Here at the gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.

The king has come unto his hall
Under the Mountain dark and tall.
The Wyrm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away, ere break of day
Far over the wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell.
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!


Con esto me permito adjuntar el presente poema en su versión cantada The misty mountain cold Song

Preludes and Nocturnes



Una vez más regreso al mundo de las ideas, en cierta manera, años han pasado desde la ultima publicación en mi muy precario Blog ya eliminado hace tiempo por motivos de sanidad mental y espiritual, desde aquel entonces y hasta el momento puedo decir que he vivido nuevas aventuras conocido a nuevas personas, he tratado de madurar y de adaptarme a la maquinaria actual que conocemos como la sociedad…

Buscando de comprender en vano a esa compleja maquinaria que conocemos como sociedad, y las personas que la conforman, llegando a la conclusión de que no pertenezco a esta, lamento sobremanera ver que con el pasar del tiempo  las personas terminan llenándose de complejos y de inseguridades, que en cierta manera afectan su forma de pensar y que se  ven reflejadas en sus actuaciones, no siempre acertadas (dándonos así a conocer la naturaleza humana la cual según experiencia propia consiste en cometer equivocaciones).

En fin con todo este bagaje he llegado a llenar mi equipaje con historias nuevas,  anécdotas y un sin fin de conocimientos poco ortodoxos que planeo compartir a lo largo del tiempo con ustedes mi amables lectores, espero que mis publicaciones sean de su agrado y así poder desahogar en cierta manera el peso que cargo sobe mis hombros (siendo esta una tarea un tanto tediosa para ustedes).

Con esto termino mi manifiesto y les deseo la mejor de las suertes amigos míos sin antes advertirles con esta cita en latín del gran Seneca el actuar que tendré de hoy en adelante con mis publicaciones Veritas numquam perit”…

La verdad Nunca Perecera.