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vigneswara_prabhu 's review for:
Gitanjali
by Rabindranath Tagore
There are books which you read once. There are those which you revisit from time to time. Then there are those which you want to read again and again, for its contents cut to the core of your being, and each rereading reveals a new layer, of it and yourself.
Gitanjali, to me to one such work, ranked among the likes of [b:Siddhartha|52036|Siddhartha|Hermann Hesse|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1629378189l/52036._SY75_.jpg|4840290] by Herman Hesse and Victor Frankl's [b:Man's Search for Meaning|4069|Man's Search for Meaning|Viktor E. Frankl|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1535419394l/4069._SY75_.jpg|3389674].
I'm told that the original Bengali rendition is much more melodious and soulful, but being a novice in said language, I have to content with this.
The 100 odd poems which make up the book, delve into the concept of Bhakti, Vairāgya and devotion to Prakriti. The author Tagore, tries to realize the concept of Maya, wherein all we have and earned in this world are but transient pleasures. Only discarding them and being unaffected by the Maya of the material world can we attain unity with the supreme consciousness of Brahman.
Much of the verses deal with the sense of longing that a devotee feels longing for the presence of their lord, and sections deal with concepts such as devotion, love, dispassionate worship and the eventuality of death.
A work which needs to be explored in much depth for one's spiritual journey. A must read.
Edit 28Jul2022: On the fifth or so rereading I've come to gain great appreciation and adoration for Gurudev's words and sincerity celebration of life, death, God and nature.
Edit 07Oct2022: Much akin to Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Tagore's poems make the allegory of different parts of the days & seasons, and make them reflect the mind of the devotee, or the seeker of truth. From the Spring of happiness & new beginnings, the summer of drought & solitude, the dark monsoon pregnant with troubling thoughts, the twilight autumn which heralds the coming of the cold dead winter of finality.
__________
Verse 100: I dive down into the depths of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I'm eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of tone less strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out and when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
Verse 55: Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendor among thorns?
Wake, oh awaken! Let not the time pass in vain!
At the end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude my friend is sitting all alone.
Deceive him not. Wake, oh awaken!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday sun -
what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst -
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart?
At every footfall of yours, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?
Gitanjali, to me to one such work, ranked among the likes of [b:Siddhartha|52036|Siddhartha|Hermann Hesse|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1629378189l/52036._SY75_.jpg|4840290] by Herman Hesse and Victor Frankl's [b:Man's Search for Meaning|4069|Man's Search for Meaning|Viktor E. Frankl|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1535419394l/4069._SY75_.jpg|3389674].
I'm told that the original Bengali rendition is much more melodious and soulful, but being a novice in said language, I have to content with this.
The 100 odd poems which make up the book, delve into the concept of Bhakti, Vairāgya and devotion to Prakriti. The author Tagore, tries to realize the concept of Maya, wherein all we have and earned in this world are but transient pleasures. Only discarding them and being unaffected by the Maya of the material world can we attain unity with the supreme consciousness of Brahman.
Much of the verses deal with the sense of longing that a devotee feels longing for the presence of their lord, and sections deal with concepts such as devotion, love, dispassionate worship and the eventuality of death.
A work which needs to be explored in much depth for one's spiritual journey. A must read.
Edit 28Jul2022: On the fifth or so rereading I've come to gain great appreciation and adoration for Gurudev's words and sincerity celebration of life, death, God and nature.
Edit 07Oct2022: Much akin to Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Tagore's poems make the allegory of different parts of the days & seasons, and make them reflect the mind of the devotee, or the seeker of truth. From the Spring of happiness & new beginnings, the summer of drought & solitude, the dark monsoon pregnant with troubling thoughts, the twilight autumn which heralds the coming of the cold dead winter of finality.
__________
Verse 100: I dive down into the depths of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I'm eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of tone less strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out and when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
Verse 55: Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendor among thorns?
Wake, oh awaken! Let not the time pass in vain!
At the end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude my friend is sitting all alone.
Deceive him not. Wake, oh awaken!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday sun -
what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst -
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart?
At every footfall of yours, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?