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I don't know who I prefer, Tolkien or Asimov. However, Asimov has inspired some great poetry, while Tolkien inspire Fantasy novel elve crap.
A Letter from Isaac Asimov to His Wife Janet,
Written On His Deathbed
One night, studying an egg tray in my kitchen, that first novel
fell together in my mind: apes blowing blood into the air, the robot
nymphs dipping their slender metal legs into an ammonia brook.
I began those flights from Earth in plywood space capsules,
fleeing to a place Satan could not find. That was my hope. Getting
away from the chain letters, fever, rats, and unemployment, away
from the dark uncles that strayed over the glove, cutting brake lines
and loosening screws.
And as a Jew i asked myself what good are hidden things, and as
a Jew I admonished myself for asking. I knew that the best things
were hidden, and all of this was said in a private voice, a cousin to the
one I used to speak to pets.
I am writing this under the illumination of an old American
stereo. For once I don’t want to know the weather forecast. In fact,
I can’t bear to hear it. The jealousy would kill me before midnight.
Perhaps they will make jokes at Doubleday tomorrow.
I can imagine an intern asking, “What were his last ten thousand
words . . .”
I want to know too. From my sickbed I’ve seen cellophane rams
shimmering in the yard and cardinals that look like quarts of blood
balanced in the branches. The doctor calls them apparitions.
Perhaps my last words will be random.
I am so drowsy, here listening to the wild dressage of a housefly,
thinking about the loyal robots in my paperbacks. Thinking about
the little chalet I would have built for you on Neptune.
A Neptune indiscernible from Vermont.
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