Some Information That I found
In the summary within The J.R.R. Tolkien Companion and Guide, it mentions some information not found elsewhere about Mîm. It mentions that Mîm is two hundred years old. While it is unknown whether the poem is set before or after The Children of Hurin, the time that Mîm makes his appearances in is all set within one year at least. I think that this fact should be mentioned on this page. It should also be mentioned on the page on Mîm that he is Around 200. Not exactly 200 since we do not know when the poem takes place, but around 200 since that is the closest we can get to his age. Also, I think that it should be mentioned on the page that the poem is set within a mountain cave, as that is also mentioned in the summary. I will quote the part of the summary that it is in:
In a mountain cave in a wild land, Mîm the Petty-dwarf (‘der kleine Zwerg’), now two hundred years old, bemoans his life and fate.
One last thing, the summary actually quotes a tiny section from the actual poem. I will quote that as well:
Still, he works: ‘Tink-tink, grün und gelb, tink-tink, blau und weiß’ (‘Tink-tink, green and yellow, tink-tink, blue and white’).
That is all.
Edit: I just checked the Mîm page and realized the Information is already there. However, I think that the information on that page should be on this page as this should have the more detailed description that is on the Other Versions section of the Mîm page. Dour1234, 13 March 2022 (UTC)
Interpretation
I've been reading over the poem, and I think we have the interpretation incorrect. Though winding, the synopsis of his life seems to outline a singular theft, and is as such:
- Mîm spent most of his life creating many wonderful things, which he had "poured almost everything into", to the extent that "they are a piece of Mim, for without them there is little left of him."
- Mîm, now old, marvelled at his crafts, and had so many ("for everywhere they lay on the floor, or piled in the corners, and some hung on pegs on the walls") that he then required "a proper way of hoarding them" and set about building his "great coffer, filled with compartments and secret drawers."
- Having completed that work, Mîm then spent a long time with, and enthralled by, his hoard ("Long did I sleep, head upon my treasure-chest, my hoard of memories and bygone years")
- Men then found his hideout, and set it to flame; they took his gems and bore his chest away
- Mîm himself was smoked out, with Men jeering at him with mocking songs as he fled through the burning thorns and heather
- The only possessions Mîm could save were "a sack of hand-tools and, in its black sheath under [his] tattered mantle, [his] secret knife with poisoned runes on its blade"
- Mîm states that these stolen possessions, which contained "all his memories and all the joyful leaps and bounds of his mind" were now being used for rings and other ornaments, and the power which went out from the memories of old Dwarves drives Men to madness, and that over them they were killing each other or being traded for petty kingdoms and false friendships
- Mîm now has to start anew, "seeking to catch the echoes of [his] memories before they are lost forever."
- While his work is good, it is haunted; in his mind, a veil lies between the things "the things [he] [had] seen and wrought, as if they were lights and shapes scattered in a mist of tears"; he can further only glimpse what he once created, but not that which he once saw (i.e. what originally inspired him)
- He reflects that if he could forgive, perhaps he could be possible to shape things that originally inspired him, such as "a leaf, a flower with dew upon it, as it once shone beside Tarn Aeluin" in his youth, but that he cannot forgive as embers still smoulder in his heart
If we look over the first lines of the verse, we can see that it contains two time frames: it starts with the present, and then provides the past history of how he got there.
Under a mountain, in an impassable land
lay a deep hole, all filled with sand.
One evening Mim stood before his house
His back was bent, and his beard was grey.
Long paths he had wandered, homeless and cold
the petty-dwarf Mim, two hundred years old.
All he had made, the work of his hands,
of stylus and chisel, of labour unending,
stolen by fiends; only his life and some few pieces
of his crafts were left to him, and a long blade
in a sheath under tattered mantle, venom-smeared.
His clouded eyes had squinted, still reddened from smoke
when amid thorns and bracken he had found
his passage at last amidst the flames.
And thus came he here, choking and sickened.
Mim spat in the sand, and so began to speak: