Taken Nov 3, 2013 at Hampi
Gazing into the distance
he renders his assistance
to the mischievous monkeys–
making him a monkey flunky
A watchman of the langur pranks
yet not a part of their prankish ranks
He screeches warnings now and then
on sight of broom-wielding women
He neither seeks nor needs praise
just the occasional banana raise
He does it not for power or glory
just the occasional funny story
Taken Nov 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta National Park
The lion is a kingly beast
Whose eyes no lies can abide
If you don’t wish to be his feast
Please act with tact and don’t chide
He doesn’t take to teasing well
He’s still but to kill is in his blood
His placid face may look swell
But a strong heart pounds THUD-THUD…
THUD-THUD
&
another thing
He may look like a big plush toy
But he’s no fun for a girl or boy
Don’t get your kid a big feline
Unless your exit is a swift beeline
Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Get Speechify to make any book an audiobook
Gitanjali is the most well-known work of the Bengali polymath Rabindranath Tagore. Tagore was the first non-European winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature (1913.) While Gitanjali is a work of poetry, Tagore didn’t restrict himself to this form, but also wrote stories, novels, plays, and music.
Gitanjali translates to “Song Offerings” and while the English version is a translation, it was translated by Tagore himself. Thus, there is no need to wonder whether the translator got it right or injected too much of his own worldview into the process.
This collection of 103 poems (the original Bengali has 157)displays both beautiful language and thought-provoking sentiments. This may be why the work is so beloved and stands the test of time.
I’ll share a few of my favorite passages:
“The child, who is decked out with prince’s robes and who has jeweled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play;…” -Poem VIII
“O fool, to try to carry thyself on thy own shoulders! O Beggar, to come to beg at thy own door!” -Poem IX
“On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not.” -Poem XX
“On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.” -Poem LX
“In the moonless gloom of midnight I asked her, ‘Maiden, what is your quest, holding the lamp near your heart? My house is all dark and lonesome,– lend me your light.’ She stopped for a minute and thought and gazed at my face in the dark. ‘I have brought my light,’ she said, ‘to join the carnival of lamps.’ I stood and watched her little lamp uselessly lost among lights.” -Poem LXIV
“And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.” -Poem XCV
The edition I have, which is published in India by Rupa Press, contains Tagore’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech as well. (The Amazon page I’ve linked to shows the edition that I read, but the cover shown above is a different version. The poems are all the same because Tagore self-translated, it is only the supplemental matter that is different.)
I highly recommend this collection of poems.
Monkeys always make me smile
Some have hair in human styles
Oh the vanity their locks betray
Can you spot the one with a toupee?
Faces so reminiscent of our kind
Eyes suggesting intelligent minds
Into their faces they’ll one day grow
but the youngsters all look like H. Ross Perot
They’ll sit on your car like they just don’t care
And screw the haters who stop and stare
Have you the courage to leave your mark
on the windshield of one who double parks
It amuses us that they sling their poo
So we banish them to the city zoo
But what of our words so vitriolic
We’re evolved to sling poo symbolic
They say,
“Everything,
&
its Opposite,
is true of India.”
colors so bold
and brash
please the eye
despite the clash
Then there is
that darkest side
slain daughters
burning brides
curry scents
draw the drool
flowery fragrances
from lotus pools
still,
other scents
fill the air
piss,
poverty,
death,
& despair?
honking horns
jar the brain
the piercing blare
of a freight train
then silence
but for the mind
slowing, calming
freed from grind
&
Infinite possibilities.
a murder of crows
call from trees in unison
hidden amid leaves
invisible but noisy
what secret taunts curse us
i washed up on a foreign shore
i saw no house, but just a door
through the door, light was dim
my mind was as phantom limb
my thoughts rang false
my mind chugged leaden
white mice danced a waltz
at the edge of Armageddon
a piercing tone slapped my mind
my eyes fell out and I was blind
squirming to a surface I couldn’t see
gasping, birthed, and then set free
another night in my phantom mind
Hazy hilltop morn,
a resting hiker looks like
a granite Buddha
Chicks chirp noisily
each tremor anticipates
mamma coming home
Taken December of 2012 at Andersonville National Cemetery
At a military cemetery like this one, a poem always plays in my mind. It was the first poem I ever memorized in full (not including snippets of some disturbing mandatory children’s poems like “Ring Around the Rosie” [said to be about the Black Death] and–in Indiana–“The Little Orphan Annie” [about an enslaved orphan threatened with goblins.])
At any rate, the poem in question is In Flanders Fields by John McCrae. Sadly, I chose to memorize this poem for a school assignment of poetry recitation because it seemed short and it rhymed. However, in many subsequent re-readings it has become a very powerful bit of verse for me. It may not be perfectly apropos for Independence Day as it was written by a Canadian and is about an entirely different war. However, in some sense it’s about all wars and one motive that drives soldiers of free nations to fight them.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
The Classic Tradition of Haiku: An Anthology by Faubion Bowers
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The other haiku anthology I reviewed is Classic Haiku, located here.
This is the second haiku anthology that I’ve reviewed on my site. While they’re both thin volumes of traditional haiku, each has its distinct flavor. The previous volume was organized by season. This one is organized by author. The two books share several authors (e.g. the greats Bashō, Issa, and Buson), but diverge on many of the lesser known poets.
One nice feature of this book is that it offers multiple translations of many of the haiku. Poetry is notoriously tricky to translate as literal translations can be meaningless. Multiple translations can give one a better opportunity to hone in on what the author meant to convey. This volume does give the original Japanese poem in romanized transcription (for those who enjoy the sound the author conveyed as well as meaning), but–unlike the other volume–it does not include the kanji. (This doesn’t matter for me, as I don’t read Japanese, but I’m sure the kanji is a nice feature for readers of Japanese.)
Some favorites are:
clouds occasionally
make a fellow relax
moon-viewing
Matsuo Bashō
islands
shattered into a thousand pieces
in the summer sea
Matsuo Bashō
you’re the butterfly
and I the dreaming heart
of Sōshi
Matsuo Bashō
[Note: Sōshi is the Japanese name of the Taoist thinker Chuang Tze, and this references his famous statement about having dreamt he was a butterfly.]
that dream I had
of being stabbed–was true
bitten by a flea
Takarai Kikaku
oh, won’t some orphaned sparrow
come
and play with me
Kobayashi Issa
