Sunday, December 22, 2013

Kindle it with the burning fire of desire

Light, oh where is the light?
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp
But never a flicker of a flame -
Is such thy fate, my heart!
Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door,
And her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
And he calls thee to thy love-tryst
Through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds
And the rain is ceaseless.
I know not what this is that stirs in me,
I know not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning
Drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
And my heart gropes for the path
To where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light!
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
It thunders and wind rushes screaming throughout the void.
The night is black as black stone.
Let not the hours pass by the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.

Verse 27, Gitanjali,
Rabindranath Tagore

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Resonating dreams

He came and sat by my side but I woke not.
What a cursed sleep it was,
O miserable me!

He came when the night was still;
He had his harp in his hands,
And my dreams became resonant with its melodies.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost?
Ah, why do I ever miss his sight
Whose breath touches my sleep?

Gitanjali - Verse 26
Rabindranath Tagore

Friday, December 13, 2013

Fresher gladness of awakening

In the night of weariness
Let me give myself up to sleep without struggle,
Resting my trust upon thee.

Let me knot force my flagging spirit
Into a poor preparation for thy worship.

It is thou who drawest the veil of night
Upon the tired eyes of the day
To renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Cover of thy kindly night

If the day is done,
If birds sing no more,
If the wind has flagged tired,
Then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,
Even as thou hast wrapt the Earth
With the coverlet of sleep
And tenderly closed the petals of drooping lotus at dusk.

From the traveller,
Whose sack of provisions is empty
Before the voyage ended,
Whose garment is torn and dust laden,
Whose strength is exhausted,
Remove shame and poverty,
And renew his life like a flower
Under the cover of thy kindly night.

- Verse 24, Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Thy course

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on the journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep to-night.
Ever again I open my door and look out
On the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of ink-black river,
By what far edge of the frowning forest,
Through what mazy depth of gloom
Art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

- Verse 23, Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore

Sunday, December 8, 2013

My only friend

In the deep shadows of the rainy July,
With secret steps, thou walkest,
Silent as night,
Eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes,
Heedless of the insistent calls of loud east wind,
And a thick veil has been drawn
Over the ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs,
And doors are all shut at every house,
Thou art the solitary wayfarer
In this deserted street.
Oh my only friend,
My best beloved,
The gates are open in my house -
Do not pass by like a dream.

Verse 22, Gitanjali,
Rabindranath Tagore.

Friday, December 6, 2013

The thrill of the far away song

I must launch out my boat.
The languid hours pass by on the shore -
Alas for me!

The spring has done its flowering
And taken leave.
And now with the burden of faded futile flowers
I wait and linger.

The waves have become clamorous,
And upon the bank in the shady lane
The yellow leaves flutter and fall.

What emptiness do you gaze upon!
Do you not feel a thrill
Passing through the air
With the notes of the far away song
Floating from the other shore?

Verse 21 - Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, December 5, 2013

The lotus of my heart

On the day when the lotus bloomed,
Alas, my mind was straying,
And I knew it not.
My basket was empty
And the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again
A sadness fell upon me,
And I started up
From my dream and felt
A sweet trace of a sweet trace
Of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness
Made my heart ache with longing
And it seemed to me
That it was the eager breath
Of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then
That it was so near,
That it was mine,
And that this perfect sweetness
Had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

Verse 20, Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thy melodies will break forth

If you speakest not
I will fill my heart with thy silence
And endure it.
I will keep still and wait
Like the night with starry vigil
And its head bent low with patience.

The morning will surely come,
The darkness will vanish,
And thy voice pour down in golden streams
Breaking through the sky.

Then thy words will take wing in songs
From every one of my birds' nests,
And thy melodies will break forth
In flowers in all my forest groves.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

My heart wanders wailing with restless wind

Clouds heap upon clouds, and it darkens.
Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?

In the busy moments of noontide work
I am with the crowd,
But on this dark lonely day
It is only for thee that I hope.

If thou showest me not thy face,
If thou leaves me wholly aside,
I know not how I am to pass
These long, rainy hours.

I keep gazing on the far away gloom of the sky,
And my heart wanders wailing with restless wind.

Verse 18, Gitanjali,
Rabindranath Tagore

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Waiting for love to give myself into his hands

I am only waiting for love,
To give myself up at last, into his hands.
That is why it is so late
And why I have been guilty of such omissions.

They come with their laws
And their codes to bind me fast;
But I evade them ever,
For I am only waiting for love,
To give myself up at last into his hands.

People blame me and call me heedless;
I doubt not they are right in their blame.

The market day is over
And the work is all done for the busy.
Those who came to call me in vain
Have gone back in anger.
I am only waiting for love,
To give myself up at last into his hands.

Verse 17, Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore


Monday, November 25, 2013

My silent salutation

I have had my invitation to this world's festival,
And thus my life has been blessed.
My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.

It was my part at this feast to play
Upon my instrument, and I have done all I could.

Now, I ask, has the time come
At last when I may go in and see thy face
And offer thee my silent salutation?

Verse 16 - Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

I am here to sing thee songs

I am here to sing thee songs.
In this hall of thine, I have a corner seat.

In thy world I have no work to do;
My useless life can only break out
In tunes without a purpose.

When the hour strikes for thy silent worship
At dark temple of midnight,
Command me, my master,
To stand before thee to sing.

When in the morning air
The golden harp is tuned, honor me,
Commanding my presence.

Verse 15, Gitanjali,
Rabindranath Tagore. 

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Saving me by thine hard refusals.

My desires are many
And my cry is pitiful,
But ever didst thou save me
By hard refusals;
And this strong mercy
Has been wrought into my life
Through and through.

Day by day thou art
Making me worthy
Of the simple, great gifts
That thou gavest to me unasked -
This sky and the light,
This body and the life,
And the mind -
Saving me from perils
of overmuch desire.

There are times
When I languidly linger
And times when I awaken
And hurry in search of my goal;
But cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art
Making me worthy of thy full acceptance
By refusing me ever and anon,
Saving me from perils of weak, and uncertain desire.

- Verse 14 - Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore.

Meeting with him

The song that I came to sing
Remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in
Stringing and unstringing my instrument

The time has not come true,
The words have not been rightly set;
Only there is the agony
Of wishing my heart.

The blossom has not opened;
Only the wind sighing by.

I have not seen his face,
Nor have I listened to his voice;
Only I have heard his gentle footsteps,
From the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in
Spreading his seat on the floor;
But the lamp has not been lit
And I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him;
But this meeting is not yet.

- Verse 13 - Gitanjali
Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, November 21, 2013

To the innermost Shrine

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.

I came out on the chariot
Of the first gleam of light,
And pursued my voyage 
Through the wildernesses of worlds
Leaving my track on many a star and planet.

It is the most distant course that
Comes nearest to thyself,
And that training its he most intricate
Which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.

The traveler has to knock
At every alien door
To come to his own,
And one has to wander through all the 
outer worlds to reach the 
innermost shrine at the end.

My eyes strayed far and wide
Before I shut them and said, 
“Here art thou”!

The question and the cry,
“Oh, where?” melt into tears
Of a thousand streams and deluge the world

With the flood of the assurance, “I am!”

- Rabindranath Tagore
Verse 12, Gitanjali

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Meet him in sweat of thy brow

Leave this chanting and singing
And telling of beads!
Whom dost thou worship
In this lonely dark corner
Of a temple with doors all shut?
Open thine eyes and see
Thy God is not before thee!

He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground
And where the path maker is breaking stones.
He is with them in sun and in shower,
And his garment is covered with dust.
Put off thy holy mantle
And even like him
Come down on the dusty soil!

Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has
Joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation;
He is bound with us all for ever.

Come out of thy meditations
And leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothiers
Become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil
And in sweat of thy brow.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Poorest, lowliest and lost

Here is thy footstool and there rest
They feet where live the poorest,
And lowliest and lost.

When I try to bow to thee,
My obeisance cannot reach
Down to the depth where they feet reset
Among the poorest, the lowliest and lost.

Pride can never approach to where thou walkest
In the clothes of the humble among
The poorest, and lowliest, and lost.

My heart can never find its way to where
Thou keepest company with
The companionless among the
Poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.

- Rabindranath Tagore
Verse 10, Gitanjali

Monday, November 18, 2013

Offering by sacred love

O fool, to try to carry thyself upon
Thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come to beg
At thy own door!

Leave all thy burden on his hands
Who can bear all,
And never look behind in regret.

Thy desire at once puts out the light
From the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy -
Take not thy gifts
Through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

- Rabindranath Tagore
Verse 9 - Gitanjali.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Great fair of common human life.

The child who is decked with the prince's robes
And who has jeweled chains round his neck
Loses all pleasure in his play;
His dress hampers him at every step.

In fear that it may be frayed,
Or stained with dust he keeps himself
From the world,
And is afraid even to move.

Mother, it is no gain,
Thy bondage of finery,
If it keeps one shut off from the
Healthful dust of earth,
If it rob one of the right of entrance
To the great fair of common human life.

- Verse 8, Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Off her adornments

My song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union;
They would come between thee and me;
Their jingling would drown thy whispers.

My poet's vanity dies in shame
Before thy sight.
O master poet,
I have sat down thy feet.
Only let me make my life simple and straight,
Like a flute of reed to fill with music.

The Pain

Pluck the little flower and take it,
Delay not!
I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.

It may not find a place in thy garland,
But honor it with a touch of pain,
From thy hand and pluck it.
I fear lest the day end
Before I am aware,
An the time of offering go by.

Though its color be not deep
And its smell be faint,
Use this flower in thy service
And pluck it while there is time.

- Rabindranath Tagore, Verse 6, Gitanjali.

Monday, November 4, 2013

To sit by thy side

তুমি একটু কেবল বসতে দিয়ো কাছে
আমায় শুধু ক্ষণেক তরে  ।
আজি হাতে আমার যা কিছু কাজ আছে
আমি সাঙ্গ করব পরে ।

না চাহিলে তোমার মুখপানে
হৃদয় আমার বিরাম নাহি জানে
কাজের মাঝে ঘুরে বেড়াই যত
ফিরি কুলহারা সাগরে ।

বসন্ত আজ উচ্ছাসে নিশ্বাসে
এল আমার বাতায়নে ।
অলস ভ্রমর গুঞ্জরিয়া আসে
ফেরে কুঞ্জের প্রাঙ্গনে ।

আজকে শুধু একান্তে আসীন
চোখে চোখে চেয়ে থাকার দিন,
আজকে জীবন সমর্পনের গান
গাব নিরব অবসরে ।

______________________________________________

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side.
The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face
My heart knows no rest nor respite,
And my work becomes an endless toil
In a shoreless sea.

Today the summer has come to my window
With its sighs and murmurs;
And the bees are plying their minstrelsy
At the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quiet,
Face to face with thee,
And to sing dedication of life
In this silent and overflowing leisure.

_______________________________________________

Rabindranath Tagore
Gitanjali, Verse 5

Sunday, November 3, 2013

The Innermost Shrine

The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
And he has to wander through all the outer worlds
To reach the innermost shrine at the end.
- Rabindranath Tagore.

In the above stanza the bard brings forth the beautiful dance of the dialectics as has been propounded repeatedly in the ancient Hindu texts, in western thoughts as that of Hegel and Marx. Here the poet says that to be able to enter into the house of his beloved, the weary traveller has to knock at the door of every alien. It is only through that courage of encountering an alien, does he discover the intimacy and union with his known one - his beloved. Those close doors, and that resolve to knock them with that expectant love, does the traveller, establish his connection with his beloved.

In the same way, it is through the indulgence, exploration and knowing of the outer world of material and form, does a person is enabled with the capability to reach his innermost shrine - the state of knowing his self. It is only though walking the path of the visible, one gets an idea of the invisible archetype. For example, to be able to appreciate what love is, one has to be first be able to nurture himself in the space of his love for his beloved. In this case it is the material form - the beloved, who becomes the gateway to the archetype of Love itself. Probably the love of God itself is one of those outer worlds of means, which ensues man to know the truth - The Reality of Love, and Compassion.

Before negating the outer world, probably Tagore wants to invite his readers to fully experience it, with the steadfastness to know for sure what is that absolute truth transcending it - "the innermost shrine at the end"

- Samrat Kar
Kar Conversations.
Bangalore - India.



It is thy power that gives me strength to act.



আমার সকল অঙ্গে তোমার পরশ
লগ্ন হয়ে রহিয়াছে রজনিদিবাসে
প্রাণেশ্বর, এই কথা নিত্য মনে আনি
রাখিবো পবিত্র করে মোর তনুখানি ।

মনে তুমি বিরাজিত হে পরমজ্ঞান
এই কথা সদা স্মরি মোর সর্বধ্যান
সর্বচিন্তা হতে আমি সর্বচেষ্টা করি
সর্বমিথ্যা রাখি দিব দুরে পরিহরি ।

হৃদয়ে রয়েছে তব অচল আসন
এই কথা মনে রেখে করিব শাসন
সকল কুটিল দ্বেষ, সর্ব অমঙ্গল
প্রেমের রাখিব করি প্রস্ফুট নির্মল ।

সর্ব কর্মে তব শক্তি এই জেনে সার
করিব সকল কর্মে তোমার প্রচার ।
_______________________________


Life of my life,
I shall every try to
Keep my body pure,
Knowing that thy living touch is upon m limbs.

I shall ever try
To keep all untruths out from my thoughts,
Knowing that thou art that truth which
Has kindled the light of reason
In my mind.

I shall ever try
To drive all evils away
From my heart
And keep my love in flower,
Knowing that thou hast thy seat
In the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavor
To reveal thee in my actions,
Knowing it is thy power gives me
Strength to act.

__________________________________

Verse 4. Gitanjali.

Monday, September 9, 2013

Tagore, Poetry and Arts - Its relevance to modern man

Rabindranath Tagore's epic life had spanned the last four decades of 19th century and the first four of the 20th. He was probably the most versatile aesthetic genius India had every produced. In 1913 he won the first Nobel Prize for India, and for Asia in literature, with English translations of his own poems in Gitanjali.
But literature, art, music, dance and the like alone were not his sole pasture. Deeply involved in the Swadeshi and freedom movements, he was a respected counsellor - mentor for Gandhiji, Subhas Bose and Nehru. The British government had conferred Knighthood on him which he renonuced later in protest against the Jalianwalla Bag atrocities. It is a Tagore-composition which is India's national anthem. He was a pioneer in experimenting with grass roots cooperatives for rural reconstruction in India. He had travelled across the globe quite comprehensively which vivified his intrinsic universality. His universal University (Vishav bharati) at Shantiniketan was to be a meeting ground of East and West for development of complete man.
Where science is reductionistic, seeking to understand in terms of the smallest elements and how they are assembled, poetry and art deal with the indivisible whole. Science and art are dialectical to each other, but predominance of one over the other causes crisis.

Richard M. Weaver stated - "Poetry is a form of knowledge which offers the fairest hope of resting our lost unity of mind."

Dennis Stuart stated - "There is something in man that goes beyond exact science. All poetry, all great art, all higher culture - all civilization, in fact - has been based on some kind of metaphysics. because that element of aspiration towards something which is not in this world is one of the fundamental powers of human soul."

Mortimer Adler remarks "All poetry deals with the abiding problems of human action and the perennial themes of human thought".

Joseph Wood Krutch puts it, "Perhaps the broadest possible definition of poetry would be that it is a report or analysis of some human experience ordering it in terms of concepts involving a value judgment. The arts represent an attempt to organize human experience in terms foreign to the would-be objective sciences, but peculiarly appropriate to the human experiences which elude those sciences"

T.S.Eliot notes, "IT is the function of all art to give us some perception of an order in life by imposing an order upon it."

J.W.N. Sullivan is even more specific, "All art exists to communicate states of consciousness which are higher synthetic wholes than those of ordinary experience - to make us aware of a state of consciousness surpassing our own, where our problems do not exist, and to which even our highest aspirations, those that we can formulate, provide no key"

Tagore addresses the same matter in his 1920 lecture "What is Art?" delivered in America. He concludes that art "has come out of some impulse of expression, which is the impulse of our being itself". He claims, "where our heart is fully awakened in love, or in other great emotions, our personality is in its fold-tide. Then it feels the longing to express itself for the very sake of expression. Then comes Art, and we forget the claims of necessity, the thrift of usefulness - the spires of our temples try to kiss the stars and notes of our music to fathom the depth of ineffable"

Art expresses that which in the mortal individual is immortal. Tagore reflects: "What is it in man that asserts its immortality in spite of obvious fact of death? It is not his physical body or his mental organization. It is that deeper unity, that ultimate mystery in him, which, from the center of his world radiates towards its circumference which his in his body yet transcends his body  which is in his mind yet grows beyond his mind which through the things belonging to him, expresses something that is not in them; which, while occupying his present, overflows its banks of the past and future. This is the personality of man, conscious of its exhaustible abundance it has the paradox in it that it is more than itself;  it is more than as it is seen, as it is known, as it is used. And this consciousness of the infinite, in the personal man, ever strives to make the whole world its own. In Art the person in us is sending its answers to the Supreme Person, who reveals Himself to us in a world of endless beauty across the lightless world of facts."

The modern society needs to be back in touch with the kind of truth which is so central to classical Indian thought, and not only neglected but spurned in the arrogant positivism which still prevails in Western science. Rabindranath Tagore provides one of the most accessible doors to Indian thought and experience for the Western mind. Tagore's poetry is not a decoration to be added to comfortable affluent existence; it tells of the essence of life, and is an antidote to material affluence.

- Willis W. Harman, President Institute of Neotic Science, California. 

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Gitanjali - Verse 02

When thou commandest me to sing
It seems that my heart would break with pride;
And I look to thy face,
And tears come to my eyes.

All that his harsh and dissonant in my life
Melts into one sweet harmony
And my adoration spreads wings like
A glad bird on its flight across the sea.

I know thou takest pleasure in my singing.
I know that only as a singer
I come before thy presence.

I touch by the edge of far spreading win of my song
Thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.

Drunk with the joy of singing
I forget myself and call thee friend
Who art my Lord.

- Rabindranath Tagore. (Gitanjali Verse 02)

Monday, September 2, 2013

Gitanjali - Verse 01

Thou hast made me endless,
Such is thy pleasure.
This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again,
And fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed
Thou hast carried over hills and dales,
And hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands
My little heart loses its limits in joy
And gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me
Only on these every small hands of mine.
Ages pass, And still thou pourest,
And still there is room to fill.

- Rabindranath Tagore. (Gitanjali Verse 01)

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Gitanjali - Verse 48

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
And the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
And the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift
Of clouds, while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played;
We went not to the village for barter;
We spoke not a word nor smiled;
We lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky
And doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed
In the shadow of the banyan tree,
And I laid myself down by the water
And stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn;
They held their heads high and hurried on;
They never looked back nor rested;
They vanished in the distant blue haze.
They crossed many meadows and hills,
And passed through strange,
far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
But found no response in me.
I gave myself up for lost in the depth of glad humiliation -
In the shadow of a dim delight.

The response of the sun-embroidered green gloom
Slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had travelled,
And I surrendered my mind without struggle
To the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my
Slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me,
Flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path
Was long and wearisome,
And the struggle to reach thee was hard!

- Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali Verse 48)