Mi-am amintit de ceva frumos din ce am rasfoit vara care-a trecut… dezvaluirile Maitreyiei despre adevarata idila dintre ea si Eliade, despre familia ei, despre sentimente si pasiuni, ganduri, memorii, viata. Cultura Indiana in fascinantele ei aspecte. O femeie care a luptat pt propria-i libertate, caruia nu i-a fost teama sa infrunte adevarul. O tanara care trece printr-o durere spirituala in adolescenta dar care isi construieste mai tarziu un camin relativ fericit. Totusi nu a fost cu adevarat fericita, desi a avut parte de un sot minunat, cu un suflet de o noblete rara… dar a reusit sa se adapteze noului stil de viata, departe de lumea literara, si sa isi iubeasca sotul si sa-l aprecieze pentru fiecare gest al lui, plin de bunatate si rabdare.

Karma ar putea reprezenta unul din motivul romanului. Suferinta fetei a fost urmata de implinirea in cadrul familiei. Armonia casei in care a locuit pe timpul sederii lui Mircea, veselia si multitudinea de oameni, atmosfera unei continue serate, urmata de destramarea firului fericirii, pustiirea casei odata cu plecarea tanarului student. Fericirea mamei se transforma in tristete si dezamagire. Spiritul, valorile morale ale tatalui si mandria se pierd din momentul in care isi paraseste familia.

“Pentru a iubi pe cineva ori pentru a fi fericit nu e nevoie de nici o randuiala sociala. Mai stiu ca dragostea adevarata este ca o lumina care da stralucire la tot ce este in jur. Dragostea nu e un obiect, nici o podoaba de aur pe care sa o smulgi cuiva pentru a o darui altcuiva. Mai stiu ca atunci cand iubesti pe cineva cu sinceritate, atunci tot ce e legat de aceasta persoana iti devine drag.”

“Dorinta de a-ti placea tie insuti este un capriciu. Dorinta de a fi pe placul cuiva, inseamna dragoste.”

“Este un loc, niciunde, unde totul se sfarseste; fara sperante, fara vorbe, fara voce, fara sunet, fara calatori osteniti, pe o carare goala, fara nastere, fara moarte, fara trup, fara noapte, fara zi si fara zori in acel vid.”

“Frumusetea nu poate fi o problema obiectiva, doar fiintele omenesti o pot observa. Este fardul albastru ce le acopera ochii si chiar mintile, cel ce face ca lucrurile sa para minunate.”

“Toate strunele mintii mele canta aceasta muzica. El este cantaretul. El este cel care canta aceasta melodie in mine. El este cel care a facut sa apara acest val de muzica in trupul si in mintea mea. Patrund in lumea asta minunata prin cantecele sale.”

“Mircea mi-a facut o mica vanataie la mana. O ating usor cu cealalta palma, dar ea creste, creste neincetat tot mai mare, intinzandu-se spre inima – ma vad cazuta la pamant, ranita; si Mircea a plecat.”

“Mi-a prins bratul cu doua maini infometate si si-a lipit fata de el. Mana mea se desprinse usor de trup, sau eu devenisem intreaga mana. […] Treptat, mana mea s-a transformat. Nu a mai ramas un obiect din carne si sange, intreaga materie solida a disparut. S-a prefacut intr-o strafulgerare din infinitul cer. Toti atomii si moleculele ei s-au dezagregat – se rotesc si danseaza asemenea planetelor si constelatiilor – planete, stele, luna si soarele se aflau acum in locul lor.”

“Viata nu se implineste prin uitarea suferintei, ci prin zilnica transformare a mahnirii in intelegere, a cruzimii in tandrete si a amaraciunii in dulceata.” (Tagore)

“Adevarata moarte e uitarea si singura noastra sansa de a deveni nemuritori este sa o tinem in frau… Numai dragostea poate sfida uitarea si timpul.”

“Cand totul se transforma in cenusa, ceva mai ramane intreg”…

Ada satu sajak yang amat indah, ditulis oleh Rabindranath Tagore (penyair India, 1861-1941) dalam bukunya Gitanjali bab ke 79:

Janganlah aku berdoa agar diluputkan dari bahaya tetapi agar berani untuk menghadapinya.

Janganlah aku bermohon untuk dihindarkan dari kepedihan tetapi agar mampu menaklukkannya.

Janganlah aku mencari teman senasib dalam pergumulan hidup ini tetapi agar mampu berjuang dengan daya upayaku sendiri.

Janganlah aku meminta agar diselamatkan dari keterasingan tetapi agar dengan sabar melangkah menuju ke kebebasanku.

Janjikanlah padaku agar aku tidak menjadi seorang pengecut: Tidak hanya sanggup merasakan keagunganMu dalam keberhasilanku tetapi juga dapat merasakan genggamanMu di dalam kegagalanku.

Timpul calatoriei mele este lung;

calea pe care o am de strabatut este fara sfarsit.

Am iesit pe aripile primei raze de lumina

si mi-am urmat drumul prin singuratatile lumilor,

lasand urma mea pe atatea stele.

Calea cea mai lunga ma aproprie cel mai mult de tine

si modularea cea mai intortocheata este tocmai cea care duce

la perfecta simplitate a acordului

Calatorul trebuie sa bata la toate portile inainte

de a ajunge la a sa.Trebuie sa ratacim prin toate lumile din afara

pentru a ajunge in sfarsit la templul cel mai launtric.

Lasat-am ochii sa rataceasca departe , inainte

de ai inchide si de a spune: Tu esti aici.

Aceasta intrebare , aceasta asteptare

se topeste in lacrimile a o mie de fluvii si cufunda lumea

sub valul acestei certitudini: Eu sunt.

Rabindranath Tagore

left to right –

inventing japan, by ian buruma. picked this up in a little second-hand bookstore in nyc. a good, simple read on japan’s modernization process. and the most adorable penquin bookmark from loft.

the cave, by jose saramago. oh, ever so good! my first saramago was death at intervals, which simply blew me away. the cave is a different animal altogether, but no less witty, perceptive, and thought-provoking. he is part of my plan to conquer the literature nobel laureates. i have such a long way to go.

gitanjali, by rabindranath tagore. bedtime reading, or anytime i feel in need of a spiritual boost. the most beautiful poetry. ever. i cannot do justice to it because i am such a poor, inadequate, shallow person.

the somnambulist, by jonathan barnes. one of several books cast out by a friend. i would never have picked up a book like this myself, but it is an intriguing read nevertheless.

a friend and i stumbled across this cafe/restaurant in shibuya last week. it is actually part of the newly-opened opening ceremony store in tokyo, and has the best coffee i have ever tasted in japan. i do not exaggerate. blue bottle coffee. a first in japan, apparently.

the colorful salad above also blew me away. the vegetables are tasteless, but the dip! the dip! the dip is a blend of tofu and mysterious things that make the entire salad taste both healthy and savory, all at the same time.

i will be back in a few days for more fantabulous coffee, and also to try out these vietnamese-style sandwiches they have. banh mi. they look like any other sandwich to me, but we’ll see.

visit potluck at opening ceremony before word gets around and it becomes impossible to get seats.

oh, and there are cute, english-speaking waiters there. so do not rave about how good-looking they are in english because they understand. i cannot begin to describe just how mortified i was.

Culege această floare,
ia-o repede –
să nu se ofilească şi-n praf să se destrame!
Dacă nu are loc în coroana Ta,
cinsteşte-o cu mâna Ta, culege-o!
Mă tem că ziua se sfârşeşte,
stând Tu la îndoială
şi timpul ei trece.
Deşi culoarea-i e ascunsă
şi mirosul ei uşor,
primeşte-această floare-n slujba Ta
şi culege-o cât este-n timpul ei!

Rabindranath Tagore

Al contacto inmortal de tus manos,

mi corazoncito se dilata sin fin en la alegría,

y da vida a la expresión inefable.

Rabindranath Tagore

By all means they try to hold me secure
who love me in this world. But it is
otherwise with thy love which is greater than
theirs, and thou keepest me free.

Lest I forget them they never venture to
leave me alone. But day passes by after
day and thou art not seen.

If I call not thee in my prayers, If I keep
not thee in my heart thy love for me
still waits for my love. (Geetanjali : R.N.Tagore)

मेरे जग प्रिय रखते मुझको सब भाँति सुरक्षित बचा-बचा
पर विलग महत्तर प्रीति तुम्हारी मेरे हित स्वातंत्र्य रचा ।

उनमें न कभीं साहस ऐसा मुझको वे एकाकी छोड़ें
डर है कि न मैं भूलूँ उनको मन ही उनसे नाता तोड़े
पर तुम न दीख पड़ते प्रतिदिन बीतता जा रहा नाच नचा-
पर विलग महत्तर प्रीति तुम्हारी मेरे हित स्वातंत्र्य रचा ।

निज पंकिल विनय प्रार्थनाओं में भले न तुम्हें बुलाऊँ मैं
अपने अंतस्तल बीच तुम्हें प्राणेश न भले बिठाऊँ मैं
तव प्रेम तदपि मम प्रेम हेतु पथ जोहा करता रचा पचा -
पर विलग महत्तर प्रीति तुम्हारी मेरे हित स्वातंत्र्य रचा ।

I heard the New York Philharmonic last night, in a concert of Beethoven’s overture to The Creatures of Prometheus, Mozart’s Prague Symphony, and Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony, with Thomas Hampson and Hillevi Martinpelto. I’d never heard of Zemlinsky before, though he was quite famous in his time. He was a late late Romantic composer and in fact was a teacher of Schoenberg and Berg. The Lyric Symphony was written around 1920, as Zemlinsky’s version of Schubert’s Das Lied und die Ende. I couldn’t quite make sense of the piece, despite Hampson’s interesting lecture on it the previous week. The lecture left me with more philosophical questions than information about Zemlinsky, however. The piece uses poetry of the great Rabindranath Tagore, which I wanted to share.

Texts from Zemlinsky’s Lyric Symphony

I.
I am restless, I am thirsty for far away things
My soul rambles in longing
to touch the dark hem of the world.
Oh great eons, oh impetuous calls of your flute,
I forget, I ever forget,
That I have no wings to fly,
that I am bound to this piece of Earth
for all time.

I am much in need and watchful,
I am a stranger in a foreign land;
Your spirit comes to me
and whispers impossible hopes.
Your familiar voice rings in my ears
like you are here.
Oh distant goal, oh impetuous calls of your flute,
I forget, I ever forget,
That I do not know the way,
That I do not have a high spirited horse.

I am restless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sun flecked mist of the uncertain hours
What huge pictures of you form
in the blue sky.
Oh immensity, oh impetuous calls of your flute.
I forget, I ever forget,
that the doors are everywhere closed in the house
where I live alone, oh immensity,
Oh impetuous calls of your flute.

II.
Mother, the young Prince
must come past our door,
How can I pay attention to my work
this morning?
Mother, show me, how shall I plait my hair;
Show me, what clothes shall I wear?
Why do you look at me so surprised, Mother?
Well I know it will not be the only time
I look out of my window.
I know I shall only be in his sight for a moment;
Only the echoing notes of the flute
will softly reach me from afar,
But the young Prince will be passing among us
And I want to look my best
for this moment.

Mother, the young Prince
is come to our door,
and the morning sun shines on his carriage,
I draw the veil across my face,
Tear the ruby necklace from my throat
and throw it to him in the road.
Why do you look at me so surprised, Mother?
I know well, that he would not take up my necklace.
I know he would crush it under his wheels
and leave a red streak back in the dust.
And no one knows what my present was,
and who gave it]
But the young Prince came over to our door
and I [have then] thrown the jewels from my breast
into the road [for him].

III.
You are the evening cloud
floating in the sky of my dreams.
I paint you and fashion you
ever with my love longings.
You are my own, my own,
Dweller in my endless dreams!

Your feet are rosy-red
with the glow of my heart’s desire,
Gleaner of my sunset songs!
Your lips are bitter-sweet
with the taste of my wine of pain.
You are my own, my own,
Dweller in my lonesome dreams!

With the shadow of my passion
have I darkened your eyes,
Haunter of the depth of my gaze!
I have caught you and wrapt you,
my love, in the net of my music.
You are my own, my own,
Dweller in my deathless dreams!

IV.
Speak to me, my love.
Tell me with words what you are singing.
The night is dark,
The stars are lost in the clouds,
The wind sighs through the leaves.
I will loose my hair,
My blue cloak will enfold you like the night.
I will enclose your head on my breast,
And here in the sweet solitude
Let your heart speak.
I will close my eyes and listen.
I will not look in your face
when you have finished speaking,
Let us sit still and silent,
Only the trees will rustle in the dark,
Night will lighten, the day will dawn,
We will look into each other’s eyes
and each go their own way.
Speak to me, my love.

V.
Release me from the bonds of your sweetness, Love
No more of your wine the kiss,
This mist from your holy smoke stifles my heart.
Open the door, make room for the light of morning.
I am lost in you.
Ensnared in the riches of your affection.
Free me from your spell
and give me back my courage,
My liberated heart will be ever grateful.

VI.
Finished then the last song
and let us go our separate ways,
Forget these nights when night is o’er.
Whom do I bother to take in my arms?
Dreams do not permit themselves to be captured,
My greedy hands press empty on my heart
and weigh on my breast.

VII.
Peace, my heart,
Let the time for parting be sweet;
Let it not be a death,
but an achievement.
Let love melt in the memory
and pain [melt] in song.

Let the last touch of your hand be soft,
Like a night flower.
Be quiet, be quiet, oh wonderful end,
for just one moment,
and speak your last word in silence.
I bow before you;
I hold my lamp high
To light you on your way.

Read the German text here.

School has a tannoy system that can be heard across the road and leaks into every corner of the orphanage campus. Every morning there is a song sung acapella by a different pupil, who serenades  us (usually out of tune) with songs from “camp rock” or any of the “high school musicals”, in fact someone is singing now as i type and then there is a recitation of the lords prayer…Much earlier in the day and even louder comes a different tannoy from a nearby Hindu temple again this can be heard all over the campus. Chanting/prayers/music usually start at around 4.30am and go on for around an hour.

school windows: KORAN BIBLE GITA KIPLING ELLIOT KEATS DICKENS DANTE FROST NEHRU TAGORE GANDHI

school mornings, of course the one day i decide to film is the one day they decide not to sing, but i will film again, and there will be a song…

Posts last week handled some big questions. Mulling them over I started to think maybe it’d be safer to lock myself in my room all day; there’s a big old pile of stuff we can do that upsets God, and even when we try to get it right, there’s a risk we’re getting it wrong. So today, some signposts to a simpler side of life.

I’m bothered about interpreting the bible correctly. Here’s an alternative view:

… we should be trying to work out how to read the bible well rather than reading the text right.”

Paula Gooder

Maybe as long as I’m open to what God wants to say to me, I can cut the paranoia about “right” reading a little.

I still worry about all the stuff I might end up doing wrong, though… What about that?

Let’s shut the door and block out sin!

“Then how”, says Truth, “shall I get in?”

Rabindranath Tagore

Aah. A little irony, and a ring of truth. Perhaps seeing as Jesus offers me “life, and life to the full” I should grab it by the horns and enjoy the ride. Sure, I’m scared I’ll mess up, and of course I will mess up. That’s what I have a conscience for – warning me as I veer off down the wrong track. But God shows up in all the best stuff in life, whether we recognise it or not.

Apparently C. S Lewis once received a letter from a worried mother whose son (aged 9) had read the Chronicles of Narnia. The boy was feeling bad because he felt he loved Aslan (the lion hero of the story) more than Jesus. Lewis replied that they didn’t need to worry:

“For the things he loves Aslan for doing or saying are simply the things that Jesus really did and said. So that when Laurence thinks he is loving Aslan, he is really loving Jesus: and perhaps loving Him more than he ever did before”.

So for now, maybe I’ll try to quit worrying about getting stuff right, and just work on living well.

*

Io t’incontrai dove la notte

confina col giorno; dove la luce

suscita le tenebre in alba

e l’onde portano il bacio

dall’uno all’altro lido.

Dal cuore dell’azzurro impenetrabile

giunge un aureo appello,

e attraverso il crepuscolo di lagrime

io tento di fissarti,

e non son sicuro di vederti.

(R. Tagore)

*

*

La sera era solitaria per me,

ed io me ne stavo a leggere un libro,

finché il cuore mi divenne arido,

e mi parve che la bellezza fosse cosa

confezionata dai mercanti di parole.

Stanco chiusi il libro e spensi la candela.

In un istante la camera si riempì

del chiaror della luna.

Spirito di bellezza, come potevi tu,

che inondi di splendore il cielo,

startene nascosto dietro

una piccola fiammella di candela?

E come le poche parole vane

d’un libro potevano sollevare un nembo

a velar quella parola che ha colmato

d’ineffabile pace il cuor della terra?

(R. Tagore)

*

*

Vande Mataram from Bankim Chandra Chattopadyaya’s “Anand Mutt” is India’s national song.

The Song sung by Lata Mangeshkar (Music Director Hemant Kumar Mukhopadyaya)  is captured here:

“Vande Mataram” was the Mantra, reciting which numerous Indians from Punjab to Tamilnadu braved death and fought the British occupation. Composed in simple Sanskrit, this is a national song of India and any day most nationalist Indians rate this song above “Jana Gana Mana”, a song penned by Tagore welcoming British King George as “Bharata Bhagya Vidhaata-Arbitrator of India’s Destiny”.

The Islamist veto and the nehruvian appeasement of islamism prevented “Vande Matharam” from becoming the National Anthem of India. And in a remarkable parody of History, Indians have a song, sung first welcoming a foreign dignitary, as the national anthem. nehru as the first prime minister of India did enormous damage to the soul of India. nehru’s foot prints can be seen in most of India’s social, economic, defence and foreign affairs problems.

One can not help noticing the superiority of this composition of “Vande Mataram”, the complete one, to the subsequent subversion efforts (subverted islamised one) by the likes of Slumdog A R Rehman, which in comparison to the original version appear trite. Later compositions on account of composer’s poor knowledge of Sanskrit and Indian culture could never reproduce the spirit and magic of Bankimda’s immortal work.

Why Islamists oppose the song?

Yesterday Jamiat Ulama-i-Hind resolution endorsed Deoband, Dar-ul-Uloom’s fatwa against  singing Vande Mataram, India’s national song.

Central reason of muslim hostility to the song is islamist opposition to blend with natives,  islamist hatred of native Indian traditons.

One may notice that islamists dont seem to have qualms at all on Jana Gana Mana, where English Emperor George V is addressed as Bharata Bhagya Vidata (Arbitrator of India’s destiny). So the issue is as much political as it is an assertion of islamist exclusivity.

One need not blame Maulana Madani, Jamaat leader, who is straight with his position unlike the sickular crowd.  Madani referred explicitly to Indian muslims following mohummad’s Hudaibiya precedent. (islam’s founder mohommad led a strategic retreat in Mecca without integrating with native Quresh, who were stronger, and waited for an appropriate moment to strike for islam and extinguish native Arab beliefs). Sickularism in India is a tool for islamists to persist with Hudabiya type strategy.

Those who eulogise so called muslim moderates like Syed Ahmed Khan, Maulana Mohummad Ali, and Jamaat as a moderate organizations are guilty of deliberate deceit.

Above assertion holds as Syed ahmed khan indeed peddled deceit – asserting that he belonged to two equal circles – one Indian, one islamic, and then collaborated with the British for waxing of one (islam) and waning the second (native indian); just as muslims today collaborate with sickular/communist deceits.

Jamaat, Maulana Maududi and others similarly opposed partition not because of nationalist credentials, as Congress I (islami-isai) deceits would have one believe, but because of the concern that division of India, would slow down the wider islamist millennium old project to take over India, cut down native beliefs/traditions.

What should be done?

Unfortunately there are no easy solutions.

It is quite clear that coercive dogmatic islamist undermining of national unity can be faced only by coercive efforts by the state. Sarcozy was left with no option but to ban burqa in the interest of French society, its native tradition, their well being.

In India, articles 25-30 which have been used to empower totalitarian xianity/islam have to go. In India, we have a situation wherein all the rights, privileges and prerogatives belong to the minorities and the native Indians are left holding the duties, responsibilities and obligations. Natives as we know in India cant set up education institutions to propagate their values/heritage. And native places of worship alone get regulated by the hostile government, their resources abused/looted. This perverse situation does not exist anywhere else in the world.

Conclusion:

Failure to address islamist vote bank politics, encouraged and nurtured by congress I (islami-isai), communist boot leggers will have enormous costs for India, its unity and in specific for followers of native Indian faiths – Hindus, Jains, Sikhs, Buddhists.

Tailpiece 1:

Some Tagorists are in a state of denial that Tagore did not  eulogise George V thru Jana Gana Mana. Evidence is too strong on the context of Jana Gana Mana creation as eulogy to King George; and its timing – it was first publically sung welcoming british emperor; media carried reports to that effect (see next para); Tagore as long as he lived, never publically denied these reports show the correct position. ZIM believes that Tagore’s greatness as a poet is in no way diminished by the evidence that Jana Gana Mana was created by him as a eulogy to King George. Those were perceived by many as the halcyon days of the Raj. Another give away is that in native Indian tradition, Nation is looked at as a mother that nurtures. Tagore himself in Amar Sonar Bangla, refers to Bengal as Nurturing Mother.

(-Statesman, Dec.28, 1911)’Jana Gana Mana’ was composed and Sung on December 1911, precisely at the time of the Coronation Durbar of George V, and Statesman of those days called it a paean in praise of “the overlord of India’s destiny”. “The Bengali poet Babu Rabindranath Tagore, British Indian subject, sang a song composed by him specially to welcome the Emperor.”)

Those interested in traditional vande mataram versions can listen to (1) Hemant Kumar singing Vande Mataram (2) Child singing Vande Mataram in Desh Raag

Allibisco notando che queste pagine piene di minchiate sono in pole position su google con i termini di ricerca

“parafrasi poesie tagore” e “citazione colta”

il criterio di ricerca più utilizzato per rintracciare il mio diarietto

“non pisciarmi sulla schiena per poi raccontarmi che è venuto a piovere”

riconduce però alla reale carica di superficialità dei miei scritti. Chevvelodicoafare..

Al mattino gettai la mia rete nel mare.
Trassi dall’oscuro abisso cose di strano
aspetto e di strana bellezza -
alcune brillavano come un sorriso,
alcune luccicavano come lacrime,
e alcune erano rosee
come le guance d’una sposa.
Quando, alla fine del giorno,
tornai a casa con il mio bottino,
il mio amore sedeva nel giardino
sfogliando oziosamente un fiore.
Esitante deposi ai, suoi piedi
tutto quello che avevo pescato.

Lei guardò distrattamente e disse:
« Che strani oggetti sono questi?
Non capisco a che possano servire ».
Chinai il capo, vergognoso, pensando:
« Non ho lottato per conquistarli,
non li ho comperati al mercato;
non sono doni degni di lei ».
E per tutta la notte li gettai
a uno a uno sulla strada.
Al mattino vennero dei viaggiatori;
li raccolsero e li portarono
in paesi lontani.

Ocampo ఆతిథ్యంలో మహాకవి టాగోర్

1924 నవంబర్లో అర్జెంటినా వెళ్ళినపుడు మహాకవి టాగోర్ (బెంగాలీలు ఠాకుర్ అంటారు)కు Victoria Ocampo Aguirre అను ఒక రచయిత్రి పరిచయం ఏర్పడింది. తర్వాత ఇద్దరు ఒకరికొకరు ఉత్తరాలు వ్రాసుకున్నారు. టాగోర్ ఆమెకు విజయ అని నామకరణం చేసారు. ఆ పరిచయం అభిమానంగా మారింది. 1925లో టాగోర్ తన కవితా సంకలనం “పూరబి”  Ocampoకు అంకితమిచ్చారు. వీరిపైన వ్రాద్దామని ప్రయత్నించిన ప్రముఖ రచయత సునిల్ గంగోపాధ్యాయ్ తివ్ర విమర్శలు ఎదుర్కొన్నారు. రెండేళ్ళ క్రితం దర్శకుడు Pablo César గోవా చలనచిత్రోత్సవానికి వచ్చినపుడు మన అర్జెంటినా రాయబారి ఆయనకు ఈ విషయం చేప్పారంట. అది విన్న Pablo Césarకు ఈ విషయంపైన ఒక సినిమా తీయాలనే ఆలోచన వచ్చింది. తారాగణం ఇంకా నిర్ణయం కాలేదు. ఐతే shooting శాంతినికేతన్, Paris మరియు Argentinaలో చేద్దామనుకుంటున్నారంట. ఈ సినిమాకు Ketaki Kushari Dyson వ్రాసిన “Your Blossoming Flower Garden”ని అధారంగా తీసుకుంటారంట.

References:

1. 26 October 2009, Outlook

2. http://www.parabaas.com/rabindranath/articles/pKetaki1.html

Banksy: Girl and ATM

Imagine some savage, who, in his ignorance, thinks it is the paper of the banknote that has the magic, by virtue of which the possessor of it gets all he wants.  He piles up the papers, hides them, handles them in all sorts of absurd ways, and then at last, wearied by his efforts, comes to the sad conclusion that they are absolutely worthless, only fit to be thrown into the fire.  But the wise man knows that the paper of the banknote is all māyā [illusion], and until it is given up to the bank it is futile.  It is only avidyā, our ignorance, that makes us believe that the separateness of our self like the paper of the banknote is precious in itself, and by acting on this belief our self is rendered valueless.  It is only when the avidyā is removed that this very self comes to us with a wealth that is priceless.

Goldian VandenBroeck (editor), Less is More: An Anthology of Ancient and Modern Voices Raised in Praise of Simplicity, Rochester: Inner Traditions International, 1978, pg. 43.

My desires are many and my cry is
pitiful, but ever didst thou save
me by heart refusals; and this strong
mercy has been wrought into my
life through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy
of the simple great gifts that thou
givest to me unasked-this sky
and the light, this body and the life
and the mind-saving me from
perils of over-much desire.

There are times when I languidly
linger and times when I awaken
and hurry in search of my goal;
but cruelly thou hidest me thyself
from before me.

Day by day thou art making me
worthy of thy full acceptance by
refusing me ever and anon, saving
me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.

मेरी अमित हैं वासनायें, है अमित मेरा रुदन
स्वीकृत न कर उनको बचाते हो मुझे तुम प्राणधन ।

मुझ पर यही करते रहे हो बार-बार कृपा प्रभो !
प्रति दिवस अपने योग्य करते इस प्रकार बचा प्रभो
महनीय शुचि उपहार देते जो बिना याञ्चा कथन-
स्वीकृत न कर उनको बचाते हो मुझे तुम प्राणधन ।

यह दिन दिया, यह द्युति दिया ऐसी दिया काया भली
ऐसा दिया मस्तिष्क प्रभु हो धन्य दी जीवन गली
मुझको न होने दिया मलिना वासनाओं का सदन –
स्वीकृत न कर उनको बचाते हो मुझे तुम प्राणधन ।

आया समय उर को मलिन जब तुच्छ इच्छा ने हरा
जब मैं सजग निज लक्ष्य पाने हेतु दिखलायी त्वरा
तुम दृष्टि ओझल हो गये तत्काल उस क्षण मति प्रवण -
स्वीकृत न कर उनको बचाते हो मुझे तुम प्राणधन ।

सम्पूर्ण स्वीकृति योग्य प्रतिदिन प्रभु बनाते हो मुझे 
दुत्कार मलिना तुच्छ इच्छायें सजाते हो मुझे
स्वीकृत नहीं करते विनश्वर वासना ’पंकिल’ सुमन
स्वीकृत न कर उनको बचाते हो मुझे तुम प्राणधन ।

un gattaccio pieno di poesia…che poi la Poesia è l’unica arma che davvero li può battere, solo la poesia può cancellare questo assurdo “milanesame” mafioso cammoristico che ci umilia ogni giorno!

Una poesia per voi del grande Rabindranath Tagore

Afferro le sue mani

Afferro le sue mani
e la stringo al mio petto.
Tento di riempire le mie braccia
della sua bellezza,
di depredare con i baci
il suo dolce sorriso,
di bere i suoi bruni sguardi
con i miei occhi.
Ma dov’è?
Chi può spremere l’azzurro dal cielo?

Cerco di afferrare la bellezza;
essa mi elude
lasciando soltanto il corpo
nelle mie mani.
Stanco e frustrato mi ritraggo.
Come può il corpo toccare
il fiore che soltanto
lo spirito riesce a sfiorare?

Quello che vi diciamo noi?

Date valore alle vostre mani, curatele, nutritele, perchè anche attraverso di esse conoscete il mondo

A presto,

J.

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Tagore
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