And then there was another kind of songs: the ones I read in the books by J.R.R. Tolkien (which I discovered only at 16) and, somehow, I recognized.Mildir wrote: ↑Thu May 24, 2018 1:57 pmMany years later I'd succeed in identifying the precise form and the precise meaning of every word of many of those songs.Mildir wrote: ↑Tue May 22, 2018 3:58 pm[...]You have to know that, since I was only 6, I used to sing those that my mother called “my songs”.
She has always assumed that they were invented songs, because the lyrics were, well, weird.
I didn’t sing in any known language, people around me often said I sang “in gibberish”.
Deep down inside, though, I knew that I hadn’t just invented those songs: I was trying to remember.
There had always been strange echoes in my mind, ever since I was born.
Echoes of beautiful voices, talking, laughing, singing.
I’d never heard such sweet voices in my life, I’d never heard such songs, so I came to a simple conclusion: I was having memories from another life.
Maybe a previous life.
Trying to sing those songs, even if I didn’t know the meaning (nor, often, the precise form) of the words, was my way of keeping those memories alive.[...]
I'd begin to see - in my mind - images of people who sang them.
I'd begin to hear - in my mind - voices of people who talked about them and attributed titles to them (like when you say to a friend: "Have you ever heard Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ?").
When I saw the lyrics, the melody - often along with images and feelings - slowly came to my mind, as if it were just hidden in my memory.
Take the poem which J.R.R. Tolkien calls Markirya: in one of my yet unverified visions, which I identify as memories (because I know I was there as much as I know I was there when I think back to the moment I lost my first tooth in this life. I just can't prove it, for now), I can clearly see three elvish musicians singing a song which has the same exact words as the last version of this poem.
One plays a sort of cello, one plays a flute and one sings.
This is the song he sings (I tried to sing it as best I could):
For those of you who don't know it, I'll put the original version of the poem below.
It's in Tolkien's early Quenya.
The English translation, as usual, follows.
MARKIRYA (EARLY QUENYA VERSION)
Man cenuva fána cirya
métima hrestallo círa,
i fairi néce
ve maiwi yaimie?
Man tiruva fána cirya,
Man hlaruva rávea súre
ve tauri lillassie,
ninqui carcar yarra
Man cenuva lumbor ahosta
Man tiruva rácina cirya
nu fanyare rúcina,
anar púrea tihta
Man cenuva métim’ andúne?
MARKIRYA (ENGLISH VERSION)
Who shall see a white ship
from the final beach steering,
the vague phantoms
in her cold bosom
like gulls wailing?
Who shall heed a white ship
like a butterfly fluttering,
in the flowing sea
on star-like wings,
the sea foaming,
the foam flying in the wind,
the wings shining white,
the light slowly fading?
Who shall hear the roaring wind
like the many leaves of the forests,
the white rocks growling
in the gleaming moonlight,
in the dwindling moonlight,
in the falling moonlight
like a corpse-candle;
the storm grumble,
the abyss move?
Who shall see the clouds assemble,
the Heavens bending
upon crumbling hills,
the sea heaving,
the abyss yawning,
the old darkness
from beyond the stars
sliding down and collapsing
upon lofty ruined towers?
Who shall heed a broken ship
on the many black rocks
under shattered skies,
a discoloured sun blinking
on bones gleaming
in the last down?
Who shall see the last evening?
P.S.: I sing a bit faster than the singer in my alleged memory.
P.P.S.: And in my alleged memory the singer was using a very old language, not the Quenya he would have used every day.
It was as if someone sings in Latin in our world... a very old Latin...