Rabindranath Tagore: An Anthology

This anthology was my introduction to Tagore and what a spectacular discovery! It was like being introduced to several writers, each one distinctly different, dependent upon the medium.Tagore's five short stories in this anthology are folkloric, sometimes sad or humorous, somewhat other worldly, and always entertaining. They expose the hues of Bengal better than paintings with their brilliant characterizations and finite details of place and time. Here's a sampling from The Raj Seal: "An old story came to his mind. An ass was pulling a temple car along the sacred way, and the passers-by, prostrating themselves in the dust before it were offering their pranams. 'They are all worshipping me,' the foolish ass thought. 'There's only one small difference between that ass and me,' the elder brother told himself. 'I have at last realized that it is not my person the British sahibs respect, but the jacket weighing on my shoulders.'"Tagore's play The Post Office is included in its entirety. It's very childlike and simplistic in structure, yet it is poignantly profound with its message that death is serene; "...that great ocean of truth to which all life returns".The Nobel Prize for literature was awarded to him in 1913. Part of the tribute was for Tagore's poetry, particularly Gitanjali; however, there is too small of a sample (four stanzas) to truly appreciate it. My favorite from the anthology was Flute Music, an autobiographical poem.Tagore the philosopher is evident in his essays and letters. In his letters he takes on the persona to whom the letter is addressed. The debate with Einstein "On the Nature of Reality" leaves the reader uncertain as to who was more convincing. A rebuke to Gandhi reads like the good counsel of a loving older brother. (It was Tagore who gave Gandhi the honorific title, Mahatma.)The three excerpts from his novel The Home and the World have induced me to order the book, which is still in print. When Hermann Hesse reviewed the German translation, he praised it for its "purity and grandeur".Now, I could only hope for more of his writings to become translated and accessible.

With immense pleasure and great anticipation I read this Anthology. I feel the world is ready for Tagore's poems, short stories, and plays once more. His interest in world peace, his sensitivity for the human condition, and love of humanity is the kind of message the world needs, perhaps *even* more today than when the author first wrote his words. As with most translations of this author's famous work - there is a wonderful and necessary "Introduction" which gives many examples of his life experiences, interests, and achievements, helping one to sense the broad scope of knowledge and range of ideas to which the reader will be exposed. Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson so wisely selected his play, "The Post Office" as the first chapter. This play is like a pearl found in an oyster shell ... the outside appearance gives no impression of the valuable gem to be found within. The message is breath-taking in its simplicity and sublime due to its universal message which transcends culture and time. The beauty of this Anthology is the wide range and depth of Tagore's writing to which the reader is exposed. His writing is awesome and inspiring, filled with love for mankind, by one who sees the complete picture, but nonetheless is filled with hope. We read Rabindranath Tagore's memoirs in "My Remininscences" - we learn about his relationship with his father, a journey into the Himalayas, and his boyhood days. Tagore's travel writings about Russia, Japan, England, Java, Persia, and a day at the spa in Balatonfured, Hungary are fascinating to read. We have the privilege of reading Tagore's personal letters to his neice, the poet Yeats, the poet Ezra Pound, many of his friends, the philosopher, Bertrand Russell, and many other people with whom he corresponded. From this one garner's more about the personality of the man whom Tagore was, a person who lived his values and beliefs, not one who merely just wrote about them. We read a fascinating exchange of ideas with Albert Einstein on "The Nature of Reality." Tagore's mastery of the short story has won him recognition in Bengal and throughout the world. He conveys social, political, and human relationships of the villager and city dweller with equal ability. He gradually exposes feelings and conflicts, and carefully builds suspense until the mystery is revealed or the situation is resolved often with unexpected consequences. Although fewer poems are included than one would expect, two important ones, "The Sick Bed" and "The Recovery", written toward the end of his life are included. Also, "The Ocean of Peace" a song Tagore himself planned to sing after a play, was instead sung for him at his funeral, which he requested while he was ill. If someone is unfamiliar with Tagore's writing this book is highly recommended as a starting point. It contains a full measure of the author's broad interests and truly represents the universal message, "the unity of mankind" which he attempted to convey in his writing. Erik

As I flipped through the pages of this 400-pg assortment of Tagore's Letters, Essays, Anecdotes and other like items, I could not help comparing the same to Barbara Holland's "Endangered Pleasures". The parallells are quite striking; however, An Anthology is in a completely different league of it's own. It's always a welcoming experience to read about Noble laureates, but Tagore wasn't just another Noble prize recipient - a man whose works had left the indelible etching in the minds of millions of Indians and steered the country to independence, inspired hopeless souls and rekindled the hopes of victory in a god-forsaken land. Striking yet more are the personal letters of Tagore, letters to his nephew Indira Tagore which I must admit were humorous far beyond what we expect out of a man whom we usually associate with sterner and solemn works. The book clearly draws a calm and serene picture of Calcutta back in those days. Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson has produced a magnificent compilation of Tagore's works that appeal directly to the Westerners and Easterners alike. The book begins with a translation of 'Dak Ghar' (The Post office), and recursively descends down the various phases of his life through essays, letters and other small works. I'd recommend this book to anyone interested in learnign more about the man and his most interesting escapades and experiences in life - a truly refreshing journey indeed.An excerpt - "In certain years in Calcutta, birds strange to the city used to come and build in our banyan tree. They would be off again almost before I had learnt to recognize the dance of their wings, but they brought with them a strange lovely music from their distant jungle homes. So, in the course of our life's journey, some angel from a strange and unexpected quarter may cross our path, speaking of the language of our own soul, and enlarging the boundaries of the heart's possessions. She comes unbidden, and when at last we call for her she is no longer there. But as she goes, she leaves on the drab web of our lives a border of embroidered flowers, and our night and day are for ever enriched."

To review such a Tagore's work is a terrible task, though you've got the pleasure and adventage of going through pure still unknown masterpieces, a feeling that makes you believe that you've entered the Temple of Solomon delivering its secrets. Besides, to complete a biography of such a "myriad-minded" man, I believe that you need both to love the author, or at least his creations. I doubt that, although they have a high knowledge about the great man, Dutta and Robinson (this seems to be William Radice's opinion too) have preserved the bases of his syncretist and pantheist thought, they forgot the message and rather focussed on tiny anechdoctical passages of his tremendous life. I propose you to go through another biographies, such as Krishna Kripalani's or even E.J.Thompson's rather than focussing on such critical pieces of works that would tend to produce a negative effect on your love for Tagore's poetry --which I totally share with you. Take care though to the biased statement of Kripalani, who lacks objectivity being an in-law of Rabindranath and one of his rare truly close friends. However his report is both detailed and representative of the Bengali thought towards its greatest modern artist. I am working out on a thesis reflecting the influences on Tagore, and am ready to share my point of view. And best would be not to spend so much time on your computor but read once more one poems of Gitanjali. Just kidding.

Rabindranath Tagore is widely believed to have been the greatest writer in the Bengali language. His ouvre, which include voluminous prose and poetry works, profoundly changed the landscpe of Bengali literature, and also modernised the language into its current form. Dutta and Robinson's biography of Tagore represents a detailed, meticulous study of Tagore's life, and to a lesser degree, his literary works. While they present much useful information about the man, including his own awkward relationship with his fame, the overall impression of Tagore provided by the book remains rather dissatisfying. Many of the chapters read as little more than accounts of his trips, or chronological descriptions of his works, chock full of information, still rather distant--having the quality of a detailed resume. After reading the book I remembered many disparate incidents and jibes, but the overall effect was dissatisfying, like having spent many months in close contact with a person only to realize that I did not know him as well as I would have wished. Tagore's extraordinary contributions to modern Bengali culture make him somebody important not merely to appreciate, but also to understand, in a way that geniuses in most other fields do not. I wish I could have grasped more of Tagore thoughts, his wars with his demons (which the biographers do mention), the brilliant environment which produced him, his personality, his passions. He remains, unfortunately, still a benign, if distant, sage figure in my mind.