IMHO

Rediscovering Rabindranath

It must have been at least 10 years since I last read Tagore - and I suppose at the time poetry no longer interested me as much (I was too busy exploring the realms of fiction genres at the time). I was introduced to the great Indian poet's work in 9th grade English - say what you will about the UPIS education, but I will defend to the grave its advanced English curriculum (if memory serves me correctly, in Grade 9 we studied Asian lit - Grade 8 was Shakespeare, Grade 10 modern American literature...I read Orwell's 1984 in, eek, 1984! With Chaucer as "leisure reading." And Ancient Mythology as an upper-class elective course. Yes, I admit to being an English geek; I still harbor secret dreams of an MA in Comparative Literature.)

Today, I came across Tagore's work again, and fond memories of the elegant Ms. Valencia (who was also my Grade 6 teacher: "There is no such word as 'pesty'!!") and the enigmatically brilliant Mrs. Esguerra came flooding back. And I remembered the good old days when I would chew on lines of poetry and commit them to memory, just like some people memorize movie dialogue. Poetry was quickly replaced by prose, and, in my more mature years, fiction replaced by non-fiction...and now there's room once again (or should I say, with the busy-ness of service and dearth of "free" time, there is room only) for the encapsulated eloquence of poetry. Tagore's, to begin with. He speaks volumes with only a few lines:

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

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.
- from the Gitanjali

He was not Christian, but when he talks of God, his words are familiar. And he speaks so profoundly about love, in sentiments that could be expressed both to the Divine and the earthly:

Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.
Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.
Let thy love like stars shine in the darkness of my sleep and dawn
in my awakening.
Let it burn in the flame of my desires.
And flow in all current of my own love.
Let me carry thy love in my life as a harp does its music, and give
it back to thee at last with my life.
-from The Crossing

I suppose old passions never die. My memory's not as sharp as it used to be, but lines like "Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself" are worth the extra neuron storage! I should have that tattooed somewhere. Sigh.

posted by Honey Oliveros @ 7:49 PM