Musical References from "Gitanjali"
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel
thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
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.
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break
with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet
harmony--and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its
flight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a
singer I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet
which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend
who art my lord.
I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent
amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy
music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks
through all stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice.
I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled.
Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy
music, my master!
…
My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet,
I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and
straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
…
The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
…
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.
I have had my invitation to this world's festival, and thus my life
has been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have
done all I could.
…
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy
voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds'
nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest
groves.
…
You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your
ear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours.
But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive
little strain mingled with the great music of the world, and with
a flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.
…
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song--the joy that
makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the
joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the
wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and
waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its
tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything
it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
…
My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and
to stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own
eternal harmony?
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding music
to them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelest thine
own entire sweetness in me.
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight
of gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the
morning light, will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my
final song.
…
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of
life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my
blood this moment.
Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm? to
be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?
All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no power
can hold them back, they rush on.
Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons come dancing
and pass away--colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades
in the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment.
That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thus
casting coloured shadows on thy radiance--such is thy maya.
Thou settest a barrier in thine own being and then callest thy severed
self in myriad notes. This thy self-separation has taken body in
me.
The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured
tears and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form. In me is thy own defeat of self.
…
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless 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 forever, and when it has sobbed
out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the
silent.
Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who
led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching
and touching my world.
It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they
showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star
on the horizon of my heart.
They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country
of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have they
brought me in the evening at the end of my journey?
…
Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single
current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.
…
For the complete text refer to: www.eldritchpress.org:8080/rt/git.htm
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