Gitanjali - Song 1

by Ravinder Malhotra

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

iii

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 )

02-Jun-2011

More By : Ravinder Malhotra

Views: 1605 Comments: 2

Comments on this Poem

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.

rda
06-Jun-2011 11:21 AM

A very good and welcome effort.

kumud biswas
04-Jun-2011 02:53 AM