Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.
One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.
Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.
Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.
Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.
No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What had has gone: the golden boat took all.
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Comments
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Different interpretation..
I somehow do not see this as a sad write as others have commented before me...the person waiting on the shore reminds me of the separation of body and spirit at death, noted by the line "trees on the far bank, smear shadows like ink' followed by, "on this side a paddy field, no one but me"...seems indicative, to my mind, of the end of life...the paddy-field is the fruit of his labors, he is seated and finished and so along comes the Golden Boat to, "Take away my golden paddy as you sail" but the physical body of the man has no part in the gathering of the soul's harvest, so there is no "room no room" and he "remains alone" or rather his physical body returns to the paddy...I may be reading this with a fully western mindset, but I am content with my ideas here expressed. Tagore is a wonderful teacher with his writing. I appreciate this being available here at Old Poetry. Thank you. -
From guest Shumon Sengupta (contact)
An amazing poetry on total surrender for love that remains unrequited .. how tender yet how tragic! This poem never ceases to move me. -
Another brilliant piece from Uncle Tagore, as I so fondly love to call him ^_^ lovely write...the form is unique...I'm not sure if it's supposed to be the way it is, but what does it matter? If it's by Tagore, it's brilliant ^_^ much love
Amritha
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Seems a bit analogical but as well not. Because if a boat was made of gold, it would seem it would sink. Of course they do have iron ships out there that don't sink but I think this is a bit different.
I feel the underlining effect is, grab a life-saver before you go in a boat. I could be wrong.
I just may be.
Either way, a good piece by Tagore.
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