The original My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers. My poet’s vanity dies in…
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Poem 6: Pluck this little flower
One thing I struggle with in this project is how much to “modernize” the language and to what extent to keep it a little, well, old-fashioned. One answer might be that these are two separate projects: if I were editing Gitanjali,…
Poem 5
The original I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards. Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,…
Posted in Poem
Deleting poems
We come now to the first instance of deletion. Here is the original: Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs. I shall ever try…
Posted in Process
Poem 3: How you sing
The original 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…
Posted in Poem
Poem 2: The glad bird of my song
The original 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…
Posted in Poem
Poem 1: This frail vessel
The original 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…
Posted in Poem
Changing the words themselves
There are three broad categories of change that I am making: the arrangement of the lines of words, the words themselves within an individual poem, and the deletion of certain poems. The first I explained here. Now we come to…
The matter of line breaks
The arrangement of the lines—that is, where the breaks occur—is not, I think a big deal. In other poems, perhaps; but not in these. These poems are written like speech, like the speech of ordinary, everyday people, marveling, wondering, waiting,…
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