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137 reviews for:
The Gitanjali (English): The Nobel prize Winner Book for Literature
Rabindranath Tagore
4.14 AVERAGE
137 reviews for:
The Gitanjali (English): The Nobel prize Winner Book for Literature
Rabindranath Tagore
4.14 AVERAGE
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
lighthearted
reflective
relaxing
fast-paced
Selección de poemas favoritos:
Poema 35
Permite, Padre, que mi patria se despierte en ese cielo donde nada teme el alma, y
se lleva erguida la cabeza; donde el saber es libre; donde no está roto el mundo
en pedazos por las paredes caseras; donde la palabra surte de las honduras de la
verdad; donde el luchar infatigable tiende sus brazos a la perfección; donde la clara
fuente de la razón no se ha perdido en el triste arenal desierto de la yerta costumbre;
donde el entendimiento va contigo a acciones e ideales ascendentes…
¡Permite, Padre mío, que mi patria se despierte en ese cielo de libertad!
Poema 39
Cuando esté duro mi corazón y reseco, baja a mí como un chubasco de
misericordia.
Cuando la gracia de la vida se me haya perdido, ven a mí con un estallido de
canciones.
Cuando el tumulto del trabajo levante su ruido en todo, cerrándome el más allá,
ven a mí, Señor del silencio, con tu paz y tu sosiego.
Cuando mi pordiosero corazón esté acurrucado cobardemente en un rincón,
rompe tú mi puerta, Rey mío, y entra en mí con la ceremonia de un rey.
Poema 76
Día tras día, Señor de mi vida, ¿te podré yo mirar frente a frente? Juntas mis manos, ¿te miraré frente a frente, Señor de todos los mundos?
Bajo tu cielo inmenso, en silencio y soledad, con humilde corazón, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
En este trabajoso mundo tuyo, hirviente de luchas y fatigas, entre las presurosas
muchedumbres, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
Cuando mi obra haya sido cumplida en este mundo, Rey de reyes, solo ya y silencioso, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
Poema 80
Soy como un jirón de una nube de otoño, que vaga inútilmente por el cielo. ¡Sol
mío, glorioso eternamente; aún tu rayo no me ha evaporado, aún no me has
hecho uno con tu luz! Y paso mis meses y mis años alejado de ti.
Si éste es tu deseo y tu diversión, ten mi vanidad veleidosa, píntala de colores,
dórala de oro, échala sobre el caprichoso viento, tiéndela en cambiadas maravillas.
Y cuando te guste dejar tu juego, con la noche, me derretiré, me desvaneceré en la
oscuridad; o quizás, en una sonrisa de la mañana blanca, en una frescura de pureza
transparente.
Poema 86
La Muerte, tu esclava, está a mi puerta. Ha cruzado el mar desconocido y llama, en
tu nombre, a mi casa.
Está oscura la noche y tiene miedo mi corazón. Pero yo cogeré mi lámpara, abriré
mi puerta, y le daré, rendido, la bienvenida; porque es mensajera tuya la que está a mi
puerta.
La adoraré, llorando, con las manos juntas. La adoraré echando a sus pies el
tesoro de mi corazón.
Y ella se volverá, cumplido su mandato, dejando su sombra negra en mi mañana.
Y en mi casa desolada quedaré yo, solo y mustio, como mi última ofrenda a ti.
Poema 35
Permite, Padre, que mi patria se despierte en ese cielo donde nada teme el alma, y
se lleva erguida la cabeza; donde el saber es libre; donde no está roto el mundo
en pedazos por las paredes caseras; donde la palabra surte de las honduras de la
verdad; donde el luchar infatigable tiende sus brazos a la perfección; donde la clara
fuente de la razón no se ha perdido en el triste arenal desierto de la yerta costumbre;
donde el entendimiento va contigo a acciones e ideales ascendentes…
¡Permite, Padre mío, que mi patria se despierte en ese cielo de libertad!
Poema 39
Cuando esté duro mi corazón y reseco, baja a mí como un chubasco de
misericordia.
Cuando la gracia de la vida se me haya perdido, ven a mí con un estallido de
canciones.
Cuando el tumulto del trabajo levante su ruido en todo, cerrándome el más allá,
ven a mí, Señor del silencio, con tu paz y tu sosiego.
Cuando mi pordiosero corazón esté acurrucado cobardemente en un rincón,
rompe tú mi puerta, Rey mío, y entra en mí con la ceremonia de un rey.
Poema 76
Día tras día, Señor de mi vida, ¿te podré yo mirar frente a frente? Juntas mis manos, ¿te miraré frente a frente, Señor de todos los mundos?
Bajo tu cielo inmenso, en silencio y soledad, con humilde corazón, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
En este trabajoso mundo tuyo, hirviente de luchas y fatigas, entre las presurosas
muchedumbres, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
Cuando mi obra haya sido cumplida en este mundo, Rey de reyes, solo ya y silencioso, ¿te miraré frente a frente?
Poema 80
Soy como un jirón de una nube de otoño, que vaga inútilmente por el cielo. ¡Sol
mío, glorioso eternamente; aún tu rayo no me ha evaporado, aún no me has
hecho uno con tu luz! Y paso mis meses y mis años alejado de ti.
Si éste es tu deseo y tu diversión, ten mi vanidad veleidosa, píntala de colores,
dórala de oro, échala sobre el caprichoso viento, tiéndela en cambiadas maravillas.
Y cuando te guste dejar tu juego, con la noche, me derretiré, me desvaneceré en la
oscuridad; o quizás, en una sonrisa de la mañana blanca, en una frescura de pureza
transparente.
Poema 86
La Muerte, tu esclava, está a mi puerta. Ha cruzado el mar desconocido y llama, en
tu nombre, a mi casa.
Está oscura la noche y tiene miedo mi corazón. Pero yo cogeré mi lámpara, abriré
mi puerta, y le daré, rendido, la bienvenida; porque es mensajera tuya la que está a mi
puerta.
La adoraré, llorando, con las manos juntas. La adoraré echando a sus pies el
tesoro de mi corazón.
Y ella se volverá, cumplido su mandato, dejando su sombra negra en mi mañana.
Y en mi casa desolada quedaré yo, solo y mustio, como mi última ofrenda a ti.
I have often seen my uncle with his tattered and time worn copy of Gitanjali. He had read it so many times that the missing words do not bother him anymore. At an impulse I also bought a very colorful English edition in my 6th standard and it has remained in my book shelves obscured by heftier novels gathering dust and looking tattered for entirely different reasons. College curriculum is arguably a bad way of rediscovering a book which holds so much sentimental value for my loved ones. A college curriculum which moreover tests you on two randomly selected verses is a travesty. Thankfully two verses are sometimes just enough to catch a glimpse of the spirit which motivates you to find your copy and read and reread it several times.
There is a significant amount of difference among the Bengali and the English version. Tagore himself made the edits selecting 53 poems from the original Bengali collection of 157 poems. The other 50 were from his drama Achalayatan and eight other books of poetry. Other than Tagore, I looked at William Radice’s translation of the poems. It is a good exercise for those not brave enough to tackle the Bengali but who want a glimpse of the mellifluous rhythm and the topical imagery of the original. Some of the significant differences I noticed were the omission of the sensual imagery and sing song rhythm in Tagore’s version.
Here is an example:
Tagore
Alas why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why ever do I miss his sight whose breath touches my sleeping brow?
Radice
Why does my night pass by
with him so near yet not near?
Why does my night pass by
with him so near yet not near?
Why did the touch of his garland
not brush my neck.
Other than that I prefer reading ghat instead of beaches and sharad kal and veena instead of mid July weather and musical instrumental. This however is not to say Tagore’s version should be script. Reading Radice acts as an excellent supplement. Verse or prose, Tagore is quite capable of deftly weaving magic in both.
The reason why this collection affected me so much is because Tagore’s reaches for more than God. It comes as close to verbalizing the inexplicable as is humanely possible. It is full of a painful sweetness and a joy we have all felt and lost. The poems are full of awareness of its limitation and a continuous striving towards that ultimate goal. My favorite poems are the one involving God as playmate and mother. Like Alice Walker’s Shug Avery, the speaker in Tagore’s poems believe in a God whose “love loses itself in the love of thy lover”. His creation may be a marked by an awareness of its fragility, but he is not marked by an awareness of sin. At the center of the universe is man beloved of God. As a bride, a minstrel, a farmer, a child he strives for his grace through active engagement in the sensual pleasures of creation.
Sometimes texts have to find you in exactly the right time of your life to make a proper impact. When that happens they become regular companions. Gitanjali is one of those texts, Tagore is one of those writers.
There is a significant amount of difference among the Bengali and the English version. Tagore himself made the edits selecting 53 poems from the original Bengali collection of 157 poems. The other 50 were from his drama Achalayatan and eight other books of poetry. Other than Tagore, I looked at William Radice’s translation of the poems. It is a good exercise for those not brave enough to tackle the Bengali but who want a glimpse of the mellifluous rhythm and the topical imagery of the original. Some of the significant differences I noticed were the omission of the sensual imagery and sing song rhythm in Tagore’s version.
Here is an example:
Tagore
Alas why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why ever do I miss his sight whose breath touches my sleeping brow?
Radice
Why does my night pass by
with him so near yet not near?
Why does my night pass by
with him so near yet not near?
Why did the touch of his garland
not brush my neck.
Other than that I prefer reading ghat instead of beaches and sharad kal and veena instead of mid July weather and musical instrumental. This however is not to say Tagore’s version should be script. Reading Radice acts as an excellent supplement. Verse or prose, Tagore is quite capable of deftly weaving magic in both.
The reason why this collection affected me so much is because Tagore’s reaches for more than God. It comes as close to verbalizing the inexplicable as is humanely possible. It is full of a painful sweetness and a joy we have all felt and lost. The poems are full of awareness of its limitation and a continuous striving towards that ultimate goal. My favorite poems are the one involving God as playmate and mother. Like Alice Walker’s Shug Avery, the speaker in Tagore’s poems believe in a God whose “love loses itself in the love of thy lover”. His creation may be a marked by an awareness of its fragility, but he is not marked by an awareness of sin. At the center of the universe is man beloved of God. As a bride, a minstrel, a farmer, a child he strives for his grace through active engagement in the sensual pleasures of creation.
Sometimes texts have to find you in exactly the right time of your life to make a proper impact. When that happens they become regular companions. Gitanjali is one of those texts, Tagore is one of those writers.
From the depths of Tagore's hearts to mine! Each poem invites a rush of emotions like none other.
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
N/A
Diverse cast of characters:
N/A
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
Content Warnings
Moderate: Death
reflective
medium-paced
Allegedly he won a Nobel Prize for this! The sheer simplicity must've been a much greater asset than I had found it to be. It's Tagore's short stories that really wrung my heart.
Siento que pierde mucho en la traducción. Hermoso, eso sí.
I would like to read another translation of this if anyone has any suggestions. I feel like I might have missed out on some nuance. At times I felt I had to read past the translator. Otherwise the text was devotional and mystic in all those ways which make such texts worthy of reading.
I am going to give this book four stars, not because I really enjoyed it, but because I could tell that it was well-written and beautiful even though most of the poems went in one eye and right out the other. I understood only two of the 103 poems - the 8th and the 92nd - but I'm still going to give this book four stars for being very good.
What were the 8th and the 92nd poems? I'll share. . .
For the 8th, on pages 28-29, I rewrote my understanding of it as a haiku, and my haiku has been rattling around in my head unchanged since I read this poem on September 4, 2017. I'll share it first, and then the original, so that you can compare them. Did I truly understand this poem?
My Haiku:
Leave off there mother
Let your children be children
Else they grow up wrong
The Original, from pages 28-29:
What do you think? Did I truly understand this poem?
The second poem I understood, the 92nd, I also rewrote as a haiku poem:
My Haiku:
One day I will die
But earth's beauty will live on
So I die content
The Original, from pages 105-106:
How did I do with my translation of this one? Did I truly understand it?
I guess I should also mention that I think I understood some of the themes in this book: in the beginning, for instance, there were a lot of poems about love, and I think these were love poems to and about God. And then in the end, I think these were mostly poems about death. It was only in the middle where I was mostly very confused. Were these just poems about spirituality in general?
Also, my lack of comprehension is simply due to the fact that I have never understood poetry, unless it was poetry written for children. For the whole of my life, if I read a book of poetry "for adults", I have counted myself lucky if I understood one poem. So understanding two, as I think I did in this book? Well. . .even though it still was not for me, I really do feel this book is worth four stars. :-)
What were the 8th and the 92nd poems? I'll share. . .
For the 8th, on pages 28-29, I rewrote my understanding of it as a haiku, and my haiku has been rattling around in my head unchanged since I read this poem on September 4, 2017. I'll share it first, and then the original, so that you can compare them. Did I truly understand this poem?
My Haiku:
Leave off there mother
Let your children be children
Else they grow up wrong
The Original, from pages 28-29:
The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled 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 keep one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
What do you think? Did I truly understand this poem?
The second poem I understood, the 92nd, I also rewrote as a haiku poem:
My Haiku:
One day I will die
But earth's beauty will live on
So I die content
The Original, from pages 105-106:
I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got--let them pass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked.
How did I do with my translation of this one? Did I truly understand it?
I guess I should also mention that I think I understood some of the themes in this book: in the beginning, for instance, there were a lot of poems about love, and I think these were love poems to and about God. And then in the end, I think these were mostly poems about death. It was only in the middle where I was mostly very confused. Were these just poems about spirituality in general?
Also, my lack of comprehension is simply due to the fact that I have never understood poetry, unless it was poetry written for children. For the whole of my life, if I read a book of poetry "for adults", I have counted myself lucky if I understood one poem. So understanding two, as I think I did in this book? Well. . .even though it still was not for me, I really do feel this book is worth four stars. :-)