Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘My Song’
Rabindranath Tagore was an influential philosopher, visual artist, playwright, novelist, and composer from Bengal, India. Popularly known as Gurudev, he won the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature.
‘
My Song’ is from ‘
The Crescent Moon,’ Tagore’s translations into English of a collection of Bengali poetry.
This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.
Journey to an Unknown Destination
from Sonar Tari, 1894
How much further will you take me?
Tell me at which port will drop anchor
this golden boat you are steering?
Whenever I ask you, lady from some foreign land,
sweet-smiling, you only smile,
I fail to understand what you have in mind.
What does your move suggest?
You point your finger in silence
to the overflowing water, endless,
to the sun at one end of the sky
going down in the west.
What is it we shall find there?
Why are we travelling, in which quest?
Tell me, I ask you,
you stranger,
Over there, where the day at evening's call
is burning itself out in a funeral pyre
and waves are flashing like liquid fire
on the backdrop of the molten sky,
where quarters appear
as if about to shed tears,
is that where you live?
Beyond the wave-torn sea,
at the foot of the cloud-kissed hill
where the setting sun disappears?
You smile, looking at my face,
but not a word about where the boat veers.
The wind moans in a constant sigh,
the heaving wave roars in a passion high.
The deep blue water is anguished;
I look around, no bank is to be found,
as if limitless tears flood this earth
and then quiver.
Yet, there plies this golden boat,
there the still still-glowing evening rays float.
Why do you sit amidst it all
in a silent laughter?
It is beyond me to tell why in it you take
so much pleasure.
"Who will come with me"?
When first you had called
I looked at your eyes
on a fresh morn.
You spread your hands westwards to show
the boundless ocean that there flows,
where restless light shimmers
like hope in some breast.
I boarded and asked:
"Does new life await,
does hope's dream reap there
a golden harvest?"
You looked and smiled,
as before, silent.
Since then, clouds have gathered at times,
at times has arisen the sun.
Now the sea was rough, now it looked
a tranquil picture.
Time goes past, the sail moves in the wind,
the golden boat has disappeared, I find.
In the west, the sun descends
towards its hillside rest.
Let me ask you once again:
"Does soothing death here await,
is there peace, can one find sleep,
under this dark's breast?"
You only smile, only your eyes are alive,
there is silence for the rest.
Soon the dark night will spread its wings
and arrive.
The golden light will disappear
from the evening sky.
Now remains only your body scent,
the splashing of water's current.
Your hair, wind-swept
on my body flies.
And when heart fluttering, body benumbed,
anxiously I shall call you and ask,
where are you, come close
let me feel your touch,
you will not speak, and I shall not see
even your silent smile.
Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘My Song’
Rabindranath Tagore was an influential philosopher, visual artist, playwright, novelist, and composer from Bengal, India. Popularly known as Gurudev, he won the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature.
‘My Song’ is from ‘The Crescent Moon,’ Tagore’s translations into English of a collection of Bengali poetry.
This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.
Journey to an Unknown Destination
from Sonar Tari, 1894
How much further will you take me?
Tell me at which port will drop anchor
this golden boat you are steering?
Whenever I ask you, lady from some foreign land,
sweet-smiling, you only smile,
I fail to understand what you have in mind.
What does your move suggest?
You point your finger in silence
to the overflowing water, endless,
to the sun at one end of the sky
going down in the west.
What is it we shall find there?
Why are we travelling, in which quest?
Tell me, I ask you,
you stranger,
Over there, where the day at evening's call
is burning itself out in a funeral pyre
and waves are flashing like liquid fire
on the backdrop of the molten sky,
where quarters appear
as if about to shed tears,
is that where you live?
Beyond the wave-torn sea,
at the foot of the cloud-kissed hill
where the setting sun disappears?
You smile, looking at my face,
but not a word about where the boat veers.
The wind moans in a constant sigh,
the heaving wave roars in a passion high.
The deep blue water is anguished;
I look around, no bank is to be found,
as if limitless tears flood this earth
and then quiver.
Yet, there plies this golden boat,
there the still still-glowing evening rays float.
Why do you sit amidst it all
in a silent laughter?
It is beyond me to tell why in it you take
so much pleasure.
"Who will come with me"?
When first you had called
I looked at your eyes
on a fresh morn.
You spread your hands westwards to show
the boundless ocean that there flows,
where restless light shimmers
like hope in some breast.
I boarded and asked:
"Does new life await,
does hope's dream reap there
a golden harvest?"
You looked and smiled,
as before, silent.
Since then, clouds have gathered at times,
at times has arisen the sun.
Now the sea was rough, now it looked
a tranquil picture.
Time goes past, the sail moves in the wind,
the golden boat has disappeared, I find.
In the west, the sun descends
towards its hillside rest.
Let me ask you once again:
"Does soothing death here await,
is there peace, can one find sleep,
under this dark's breast?"
You only smile, only your eyes are alive,
there is silence for the rest.
Soon the dark night will spread its wings
and arrive.
The golden light will disappear
from the evening sky.
Now remains only your body scent,
the splashing of water's current.
Your hair, wind-swept
on my body flies.
And when heart fluttering, body benumbed,
anxiously I shall call you and ask,
where are you, come close
let me feel your touch,
you will not speak, and I shall not see
even your silent smile.
