Theme: Reflections

Gitanjali - Song 1

This frail vessel of my being
You fill and drain again
At your pleasure endlessly
With fresh life you ordain.
Made of reed a little flute
Over hills and dales you play
Blowing it gently to create
Melodies to hold me sway
At the touch of your hand
My heart with joy does burst
Losing itself in your being
Gives birth to ineffable thirst.
Endowing infinite gifts ever
In handfuls with room still
You place in these petty hands
Through ages at your will

( A humble effort towards translating Gitanjali into classical english verse )


More By  :  Ravinder Malhotra

Views: 1406     Comments: 2

Comments on this Poem

Comment Harold Bloom remarked of Shakespeare that what distinguished him was his intelligence. Tagore too had that quality, and any translation of his works, however self-deprecating, would suffer for the betrayal. One had better not commenced at all. Already in this Song 1 Tagore is made to utter the stilted line and the forced rhyme at the expense of sense. For example, line 8: Melodies to hold me sway. Also, classic English verse, as opposed to modern, is always punctuated. Nevertheless, the full stop at the end of verse one and iii is omitted for verse ii and iv, to no effect save translator's caprice, not representative of Tagore. Of course, if you admit from the outset that yours is restricted to a 'humble effort', with no claim for excellence, you can perhaps be forgiven, as one would an Elvis Presley imitator at a local pub karaoke, and on that basis appreciated.

06-Jun-2011 11:21 AM

Comment A very good and welcome effort.

kumud biswas
04-Jun-2011 02:53 AM

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