Rabindranath Tagore - Stray lines

We are like a stray line of a poem, which ever feels that it rhymes with another line and must find it, or miss its own fulfillment. This quest of the unattained is the great impulse in man which brings forth all his best creation. Man seems deeply aware of a separation at the root of his being, he cries to be led across it to a union; and somehow he knows that it is love which can lead him to a love that is final."
- FROM 'Thoughts from Rabindranath Tagore'.

More Tagore

http://gitabitan-en.blogspot.in/

Studies in Tagore: Santosh Chakrabarti
http://books.google.co.in/books/about/Studies_in_Tagore.html?id=MNWktZZciy8C&redir_esc=y

http://www.gitabitan.net/

http://www.dnaindia.com/analysis/column-where-the-words-are-held-higher-than-the-notes-they-ride-1909009

Tagore on the vision of upanishads

Rabindranath Tagore & the vision of Upanishads

from http://discovervedanta.wordpress.com/tag/tagore/

Posted on December 10, 2008

I found a few poems of Rabindranath Tagore in my notes. They express very beautifully the vision filled of wonder of the person who is awake to the presence of the Lord in his life, in nature and in himself.

These poems give us precious clues on how to integrate and assimilate the teaching of the Upanishads about Isvara, the Lord, in our lives. It is thus enabling us to be aware of the presence of a Being, to which I, the world and all human beings are fundamentally ‘connected’ to or in which all is ‘united’.

Because in reality, there is only one Being who is, and who is manifest as the multiple forms of the universe, and who is including me as an individual. All these forms are always changing within this all intelligence and power, and are never separated from Him at any time.

To understand this vision completely, what we have heard from the teaching has to percolate in the depth of ourselves, go much beyond a superficial understanding of the concepts of material-intelligent cause or manifest-unmanifest, maya, etc. The presence of Isvara can indeed become a reality, a fact we are alive to. There is no place for imagination here, nor a blind assent to a system of beliefs. But rather a slow personal work, a process of unveiling, a relation with Isvara which grows patiently and leads to a silent inner revolution, with appreciation of the  presence of His grace with us all along.

This particular type of poetry is a real bridge which enables us to see the presence of Isvara in everything and in our life, when it is allied with a proper teaching. More I think about it, more I believe that it is impossible to bypass Isvara if one wants to gain serenity, joy and ultimately freedom.

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment..’

Rabindranath Tagore

Two other poems belonging to the series of poems by Tagore. They express one of the essential themes of the Upanishads : the relation that we have with the world, with others. The first poem gives a striking image of the walls through which I close myself to what is around me. My subjectivity, fears, anxieties, arrogance, are indeed invisible but at the same time tangible walls that I erect between the universe and myself. May this narrow perspective of the world, which is only self-centered, disappear. The more objective I am to the presence of what is, the more clarity, transparency, openness I can enjoy.

How far should I go in this process of gaining objectivity? Should I disappear totally as an individual? Is it possible and even desirable? The poet replies in the second poem: ‘Let only that little be left of me, by which…’

Dungeon

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.

I am ever busy building this wall all around;

and as thus wall goes up into the sky day by day,

I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand

at least hole should be left in this name;

and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

Rabindranath Tagore

Little of me

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all,

Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on everyside,

And come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment,

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee,

Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy will

And thy purpose is carried out in my life,

and that is the fetter of thy love.

Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali)

Rabindranath Tagore and his fear of death

Sometimes it looks awkward just to post links, so I am posting the whole article here.
Source:
http://www.indiamike.com/india/books-music-and-movies-f4/tagore-s-time-and-timelessness-t15874/

Song Unsung

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

I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

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

The blossom has not opened; only the wind is 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.

Rabindranath Tagore

 

Reviewing Gitanjali - Natasha Chanda Acharya

 

Time as in timelessness or time as in endless languor or time as in time running out and much unfinished or time that’s too short for self-realisation or time whose inevitable destination is death. Which was the time that Tagore was preoccupied with? Was it indulgence, was it reverence or was it fear?

 

It is the timelessness and the languor that has come through his poetry most transparently and has been much talked about by his western admirers. Creating a sense of space and time and painting nature in its lethargic best forms the subject of much of his poetry. In Moment's Indulgence he writes, “My work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil. And to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure...” And in the Boat, “The languid hours pass by on the shore---Alas for me! ...upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.” Yes, yellow leaves. And, they fall in the shady lane.

The popular “romantic” preoccupation with joys of nature and love of all things bright and beautiful often gives way to the disquieted restlessness, questioning and reasoning of the “modern / post modern” Tagore. This could be a possible clue to the element of contrast in his poetry that is so renowned. Contrast of light and shade, day and light, young and old, fruition and waste. “Where shadow chases the light...” Note that the shadow chases the light and the light does not chase the shadow away.

Which brings us to the matter of death. Was he, like contemporary modern and post-modern poets, preoccupied with death? In so many of his verses in the Gitanjali, he talks about death. Closed Path, Boat, Sleep, Death, Parting Words, Threshold, Last curtain, Ocean of forms, Beggarly Heart, Sail Away, and many others. In Lamp of Love, he writes, “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!” Again in Death, “O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my death, come and whisper to me!”

But more than a morbid preoccupation with death, it is perhaps helplessness at the world lost and tasks unfinished. In Song Unsung, he writes, “The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.” Then again in Flower, “I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by.” Hence we come back again to the theme of time and how time flies by and there so much to accomplish. In Endless Time, he writes, “We have no time to lose... we must scramble for a chance. We are too poor to be late.” In the Last Curtain, he talks about so mush beauty and wonder in the world which we never realise or appreciate and the time of death comes too soon. “...I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures.”

Was this the possible reason for his frenzied travel through the world? To see and delight in all that is, before the time is lost. A journey to seek, and see and also one of self realisation. In Journey Home, he writes, “The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own.” Was there also fear that his time would run out before he grasped enough? In When Day Is Done he writes, “From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage is ended.” He must have been troubled by the thought to have repeated it in Closed Path, “I thought that my voyage had come to its end that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.” So then, was it the journey leading to death? In Farewell he writes, “A summons has come and I am ready for my Journey.” Was he then seeking the “formless” through his travels? And as he was getting older, he probably transferred his search to understanding death, may be even preparing for death, and waiting for it. In Ocean of Forms he writes, “No more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-beaten boat. Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss I shall take this harp of my life. I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.”

So inspite of popular belief, he does give the impression of a disquieted man who was romancing the unanswered. And so he writes, in Roaming Cloud, “...take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.” That is perhaps the essence of his poetry. What we are left with, are poignant songs that echo “through all the sky in many-coloured tears and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again, dreams break and form.” And we remember his Parting Words, “Let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.” Life is unsurpassable. And that is the lesson we learn from a reading of the Gitanjali.