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Author: Rabindranath Tagore
Painter/Illustrator/Animator: Kabita Mukhopadhyaya
Publisher: D C Books
ISBN/UPC (if available): 8126409010
A Few Days ago I said to a distinguished Bengali doctor of medicine, I know no German, yet if a translation of a German poet had moved me, I would go to the British Museum and find books in English that would tell me something of his life, and of the history of his thought. But thought these prose translations from Rabindranath Tagore have stirred my blood as nothing has for years, I shall not know anything of his life, and of the movements of thought that have made them possible, if some Indian traveler will not tell me. It seemed to him natural that I should be moved, for he said, I read Rabindranath every day to read one line of his is to forget all the troubles of the world.
We write long books where no page perhaps has any quality to make writing a pleasure, being confident in some general design, just as we fight and make money and fill our heads with politics-all dull things in the doing-while Mr Tagore, like the Indian civilization itself, has been content to discover the soul and surrender himself to its spontaneity. He often seems to contrast his life with that of those who have lived more after our fashion, and have more seeming weight in the world, and always humbly as though he were only sure his way is best for him: Men going home glance at me and smile and fill me with shame.
I have carried the manuscript of these translations about with me for days, reading it in railway trains, or on the top of omnibuses and in restaurants, and I have often had to close it lest some stranger would see how much it moved me, These lyrics which are in the original, full of subtlety of rhythm, of untranslatable delicacies of colour, of metrical invention-display in their thought a world I have dreamed of all my life long.
-W B Yeats