Gitanjali poem 1

Web icon An illustration of a computer application window Wayback Machine Texts icon An illustration of an open book. Books Video icon An illustration of two cells of a film strip. Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker. Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3.5" floppy disk. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. More Hamburger icon An icon used to represent a menu that can be toggled by interacting with this icon. Gitanjali is a collection of poems by the Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore. The original Bengali collection of 157 poems was published on August 14, 1910. The English Gitanjali or Song Offerings is a collection of 103 English poems of Tagore's own English translations of his Bengali poems first published in November 1912 by the India Society of London. It contained translations of 53 poems from the original Bengali Gitanjali, as well as 50 other poems which were from his drama Achalayatan and eight other books of poetry—mainly Gitimalya (17 poems), Naivedya (15 poems) and Kheya (11 poems). The translations were often radical, leaving out or altering large chunks of the poem and in one instance fusing two separate poems (song 95, which unifies songs 89,90 of Naivedya). The translations were undertaken prior to a visit to England in 1912, where the poems were extremely well received. In 1913, Tagore became the first non-Euro...

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. Summary of the Gitanjali Poem 1 God had made man imperishable and everlasting because it is God’s pleasure to make him so. Man’s physical body is a weak, breakable vessel into which God has imparted life. Into it God gives life again and again and thus renders mortal man immortal. The poet is a mere reed which God designs into a flute. He is the instrument through which God the musician plays new and melodious songs, carrying it over hills and valleys. When God places his hands on the poet his limited heart expands into unlimited bounds through joy and happiness and from this is born inexpressible joy which becomes poetry. God’s unlimited gifts are received by man’s limited hands. Life after life God continues to pour his blessings on man. God pours inspiration eternally. Critical Analysis The limited and bound human heart expands into limitless joy and thus poetry is created out of divine inspiration. Man is a frail vessel, a breakable being, and he is a little being, but he is endowed with an endless, everlasting life as God continues to pour his blessings on man and God’s gifts are in such bounty that it is never exhausted. Annotations Endless : In accordance with God’s pleasure, human life is both mortal and immortal at the same time. Tagore here convoy’s the theory of re-incarnation, human life may end in death but if it is God’s pl...

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee! He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the path-maker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil! Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all for ever. Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow. I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat. In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose. When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing. When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding my presence. My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through. Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked—this sky and the light, this body and the life and the mind—saving m...

I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless. No more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-beaten boat. The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves. And now I am eager to die into the deathless. Into the audience hall by the fathom less abyss where swells up the music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life. I shall tune it to the notes of for ever, and, when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.