Tagore Delphi Collected Works of Rabindranath Tagore (Illustrated)

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-1-78656-217-3
Verlag: Delphi Classics Ltd
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, Band 75, 1132 Seiten

Reihe: Delphi Poets Series

Affectionately known as the Bard of Bengal, Rabindranath Tagore was also a celebrated novelist, short-story writer, essayist and playwright, who introduced new prose and verse forms into Bengali literature, freeing it from traditional models based on classical Sanskrit. Highly influential in introducing Indian culture to the West, Tagore is generally regarded as the outstanding creative artist of early twentieth century India, becoming the first non-European to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents Tagore's collected works, with related illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)
* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Tagore's life and works
* Concise introduction to Tagore's life and poetry
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Many rare translations by the poet himself, often missed out of other collections
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Two novels, including 'The Wreck', first time in digital publishing
* Rare short stories and plays
* Includes Tagore's letters - explore the poet's personal correspondence
* A generous selection of non-fiction
* Features Edward John Thompson's seminal biography - discover Tagore's literary life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to see our wide range of poet titles
CONTENTS:
The Life and Poetry of Rabindranath Tagore
Brief Introduction: Rabindranath Tagore
The Crescent Moon
My Golden Bengal
Gitanjali
Fruit-Gathering
The Morning Song of India
The Fugitive and Other Poems
Stray Birds
The Gardener
Songs of Kabir
Lover's Gift
Crossing
Fireflies
Miscellaneous Verses
The Poems
List of Poems in Chronological Order
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
The Plays
Chitra
The Cycle of Spring
The King of the Dark Chamber
The Post Office
Malini
Sacrifice
The King and the Queen
Autumn-Festival
Red Oleanders
The Waterfall
The Trial
The Novels
The Home and the World
The Wreck
The Short Stories
The Hungry Stones and Other Stories
Mashi and Other Stories
Stories from Tagore
Broken Ties and Other Stories
Miscellaneous Short Stories
Index of Short Stories
The Letters
Glimpses of Bengal
The Non-Fiction
Creative Unity
Nationalism
Sadhana: The Realisation of Life
The Spirit of Japan
The Autobiography
My Reminiscences
The Biography
Rabindranath Tagore: His Life and Work by Edward John Thompson
Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of poetry titles or buy the entire Delphi Poets Series as a Super Set

Autoren/Hrsg.

Tagore, Rabindranath

Leseproben

Index of First Words
Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends! Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured jewels. By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face? Death, thy servant, is at my door. Deity of the ruined temple! Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end. Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. Have you not heard his silent steps? He came and sat by my side but I woke not. He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost. I am here to sing thee songs. I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands. I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side. I asked nothing from thee; I boasted among men that I had known you. I came out alone on my way to my tryst. I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless. I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings! I have got my leave. I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has been blessed. I know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer to meet me. I know not how thou singest, my master! I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes. I know thee as my God and stand apart — I do not know thee as my own and come closer. I must launch out my boat. I thought I should ask of thee — but I dared not — the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck. I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, — that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity. I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life. I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of my defeat. If it is not my portion to meet thee in this my life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight — let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours. If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk. If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room; In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet. In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers. In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust upon thee. Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm? It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky. Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes. Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! 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. Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs. Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light! Light, oh where is the light? Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow. My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; My song has put off her adornments. No more noisy, loud words from me — such is my master’s will. O fool, to try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my death, come and whisper to me! Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer to him? On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her, “Maiden, where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle? Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you? She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses; That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thus casting coloured shadows on thy radiance — such is thy maya. That I want thee, only thee — let my heart repeat without end. The child who is decked with prince’s robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee; The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; The night darkened. The night is nearly spent waiting for him in vain. The rain has held back for days and days, my God, in my arid heart. The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. The sleep that flits on baby’s eyes — does anybody know from where it comes? The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day. The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long. This is my delight, thus to wait and watch at the wayside where shadow chases light and the rain comes in the wake of the summer. This is my prayer to thee, my lord — strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well. Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs. Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God, from this overflowing cup of my life? When I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of...