Showing posts with label Rabindranath Tagore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rabindranath Tagore. Show all posts

Monday, November 15, 2010

Tuesday's Trust - Guests of My Life ~Rabindranath Tagore








Tuesday's Trust


Guests of My Life


~Rabindranath Tagore







On November 1913, Tagore learned that he had won the 1913 Nobel Prize in Literature, becoming the first Asian Nobel laureate. Tagore, born in Calcutta, India, had been the youngest of thirteen surviving children of his parents. He learned early of death: His mother died in his early childhood; Tagore and his wife had five children, two of whom died before reaching adulthood. Tagore's wife also died. Then his father died. Tagore himself had several painful last years including losing consciousness and remaining in a coma and near death for an extended period nearly three years before he actually died.


During his last three years of life, the poetry he wrote is among his finest, and is distinctive for its preoccupation with death. Though known mostly for his poetry, he also wrote novels, nouvellas, stories, plays, and non-fiction books; he composed roughly 2,230 songs including two national anthems for India, and was a prolific painter as well. He was also a passionate advocate for human rights in his country, and established a new type of university that provided individualized guidance for pupils; he even contributed all of his Nobel Prize moneys to the school. A brilliant man, upright in his integrity, he upbraided compatriot Mahatma Gandi for declaring that a massive earthquake leaving thousands dead in India - was divine retribution brought on by oppression.


He also interacted with many of his notable contemporaries such as Albert Einstein, Robert Frost, George Bernard Shaw, and H. G. Wells. Tagore's writings have great emotive strength and beauty of sound. His works sought to articulate "the play of feeling and not of action." (No wonder this psychotherapist is drawn to his emotive and spiritually upllifting works.) His work emphasized inward divinity and rebellion against religious and social orthodoxy. He meditated on the "living God within." Tagore himself translated many of his Bengali writings into English, so they quickly spread into our Western world.





Guests of my life,


You came in the early dawn and you in the night.


Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers and


yours by the showers of rain.


You brought the harp into my house and you


brought the lamp.


After you had taken your leave I found God's foot-


prints on my floor.












Many of Tagore's poems can be found at PoemHunter.com

Friday, January 15, 2010

Friday’s Faith - Keening Cries





Friday’s Faith


Keening Cries




We live in a superficial, media-driven culture that often seems uncomfortable with true depths of feeling. Indeed, it seems as if our culture has become increasingly intolerant of that acute sorrow, that intense mental anguish and deep remorse which may be defined as grief. We want to medicate such sorrow away. We want to divide it into recognizable stages so that grief can be labeled, tamed, and put behind us. But poets have always celebrated grief as one of the deepest human emotions. To grieve is to lament, to mourn, to let sorrow inhabit one's very being.


Robert Frost liked to distinguish between grievances (complaints) and griefs (sorrows). He even suggested that grievances, which are propagandistic, should be restricted to prose, "leaving poetry free to go its way in tears." Implicit in poetry is the notion that we are deepened by heartbreaks, that we are not so much diminished as enlarged by grief, by our refusal to vanish--to let others vanish--without leaving a verbal record. Poetry is a stubborn art. The poet is one who will not be reconciled, who is determined to leave a trace in words, to transform oceanic depths of feeling into the faithful nuances of art.

~ Edward Hirsch


******



Keening Cries

by Angie Bennett Prince



Lots of guttural whimpers from my heart,

contractions of a mother’s soul, giving

birth to her child by being quite apart…



“(She was) dying here—let her go, to go on living…

A mother’s job: do what’s best for your child,

even if it means ‘dying’ on grief’s cross…”



I had NO choice when my child chose t’ go wild;

now, my only “choice” – to accept her loss?!



“But…you were watching her…dying on th’ vine;

there’s no pleasure in that, loving her so…

watching her be pickled by this world’s wine….

Birthing: give life. Give Life now: let her go.”



But Lord, I can’t: (my) children are my whole life!



“Yes,” He says to me, “so it was with Me…

to give Life, I had to give My Son’s life…

Your loss…is not forever…she’s with Me!”



But I’m here; it feels like a “Mother—FAIL”!



“No indeed, child, it is a Mother’s GAIN:

to give what you can’t keep—to save from hell!

Her soul’s with Me! Can you accept death’s pain?”



Oh Lord, I’m stuck in this world’s finite thought—

You gave up Your Child—my child’s Life You bought!



As the wheat must die to reproduce life,

so this mommy dies to spare her child’s Life…



So…again…I pick up my cross today,

life-as-I-knew-it gone…Lord, lead the way.



Fix my eyes on Jesus who bore His cross,

for the joy set before Him, endured th’ loss.



And in the throes of her death, miserable,

help me see You, the One invisible.



“What’s seen’s temporary; th’ unseen’s eternal;

conceding death…to birth Life’s…maternal.


Troubles now achieve Glory eternal…

So don’t lose heart midst keening cries maternal!”



******



Even Elizabeth Barrett Browning encouraged passion and grief as we struggle before God, crying out to him from the bottom of our souls. And if we can weep and find Him, then we may also "arise and go."


681. Grief


I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;


That only men incredulous of despair,


Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air


Beat upward to God's throne in loud access


Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,


In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare


Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare


Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express


Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death—


Most like a monumental statue set


In everlasting watch and moveless woe


Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.


Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:


If it could weep, it could arise and go.


~Elizabeth Browning


******

And Tagore, Asia's first Nobel Prize Laureate in Literature reminds us of God's eternal perspective that soothes our deep grief...


Say not in grief that she is no more


but say in thankfulness that she was.


A death is not the extinguishing of a light,


but the putting out of the lamp


because the dawn has come.


~Rabindranath Tagore











Edward Hirsch: http://bit.ly/7YUSK6
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: http://bit.ly/8plTyl
Rabindranath Tagore: http://bit.ly/7OMmUp

Poem – Keening Cries – Angie Bennett Prince – 6/9/09