46. FAVOURITE POEMS
POETRY is the perfect form of literature. It is the only vehicle which can convey sublime thoughts. It is the result of genius, beyond human intelligence and exertion. True poets are inspired, and they combine sense and sound in ways which defy human limitations. In all the languages of the world, ancient literature is only in the form of poetry! The words poets employ are mere symbols, and convey much more than the words themselves mean individually. In this it is akin to music, where the combination of notes or swaras create something which far exceed the individual notes in beauty and power. Robert Browning expressed this wonderfully in his great poem " Abt Vogler" :
And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man,
That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
However, Browning felt that poetry obeyed laws and hence was somewhat limited, while music was beyond such limits.
Had I written the same, made verse—still, effect proceeds from cause,
Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told;
It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws,
Painter and poet are proud in the artist-list enrolled:—
But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can,
Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are!
But I have always felt that true poetry, great poetry rises above all limitations of time, place and language. As Robert Frost asked:
"Why not have it imply everything?" And poetry is meant to be sung, recited or read aloud !It connects us with eternity, with the inner core of ourselves and the universe! True poetry is a product of inspiration, a spark of divinity, no less than music. The Indian tradition holds the poet to be KAVI ie Jnani- man of Wisdom, not merely knowledge. The most sublime form of such poetry is the Mantra.
And in India, we have always sung our poems- be it a hymn to the Gods or lullaby to the baby! The outstanding example of this tradition in the modern day is Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore and Rabindra Sangeet!
And in India, we have always sung our poems- be it a hymn to the Gods or lullaby to the baby! The outstanding example of this tradition in the modern day is Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore and Rabindra Sangeet!
Often, people break into spontaneous dancing singing their songs! This tradition is revealed in the ancient Tamil classification of their language as poetry, song and dance! This is rather universal. Even today, we cannot help swaying or swinging to a good tune! This tradition too is preserved in Rabindra Sangeet where dance often accompanies singing.
By Biswarup Ganguly (Own Work) CC BY 3. creativecommons via Wikimedia Commons.
In the modern day, poetry has lost its primacy, and music,its melody, and dance, its rhythmic beauty.. The vulgar commercialism promotes any damn thing in the name of poetry, music and dance. Oliver Goldsmith foresaw this trend and wrote. like the angel he was, in the 18th century:
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell,
From: The Deserted Village, 407- 417
Academics keep inventing theories about what poetry is or should be; these views deserve to be dumped on the dung heap. Those who can, write poetry; those who can't, invent theories! But there are enough people still in civilised societies to appreciate poetry. Surveys have been conducted about the poems people in general appreciate and we have surprising results! In a survey in England, T.S.Eliot was voted the favourite poet. In another survey, Rudyard Kipling's "IF" emerged as the most popular poem! There is no doubt it is a great poem,but is it the greatest? Read and judge it for yourself!
IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Alongside, read this beautiful, moving poem on why the caged
bird sings, which is considered one of the top thirty poems:
bird sings, which is considered one of the top thirty poems:
Caged Bird
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
Speaking of birds, I am reminded of another poem- in Hindi. Most Indians might not remember that Chandrashekar was our Prime Minister for a few months. Either at his swearing in or later, he recited a small poem, which registered on me strongly. It is about a small bird. On a stormy, rainy night it loses its nest and is thrown about. Yet, it addresses the storm and lighting and dares:
Mujhe dena gaizae mein dhamkiyan
Gire lakh baar ye bijliyaan
Mere sultanat e aashiaan
Mera milkiyat ye char pankh.
O ye lightning! Don't try to threaten me! You may strike a hundred thousand times; you may take away my territory and my home. But I retain my true wealth- my wings. [ The idea is that so long as its wings are in tact, it can rise again!]
It appears to me that this charming little poem combines the essence of both the songs by Kipling and Maya Angelou!
We modern Indians are like caged birds. The English language has encaged us! We see the world only through English ways! We have not much acquaintance either with our own poetry or with the poets of other European languages. But even English is not spoken or written the same way everywhere, and that lends the language its great beauty, variety, depth and charm. We are not familiar with most American poets. May be, most have only heard of Robert Frost- and that due to the lines quoted by President Kennedy and Nehru :
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
But there is another poem of his, more philosophical.
Directive
Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
There is a house that is no more a house
Upon a farm that is no more a farm
And in a town that is no more a town.
The road there, if you'll let a guide direct you
Who only has at heart your getting lost,
May seem as if it should have been a quarry –
Great monolithic knees the former town
Long since gave up pretense of keeping covered.
And there's a story in a book about it:
.............
I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it,
So can't get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn't.
(I stole the goblet from the children's playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.
This is about the way the world has lost its way in the name of modernity. And in that sense, recalls T.S.Eliot's " The Waste Land". We have lost , and have to rediscover, ourselves. This is a long poem, and tough too. It is profound, but the ultimate message is simple: we need simple wisdom to be whole, like the ancients! We have to redeem ourselves through memory and introspection, going to the very sources of inspiration! Like all great poets, Frost too relies on the springs of Wisdom whose waters we need to drink to be rid of confusion!
If a people can choose such sublime poems as their favourites, we have to salute them! In a way, such poems express the very life of the poet- not merely his thoughts! Indeed, Henry David Thoreau wrote:
My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.
I salute all great poets, and lovers of such poetry! Hearty welcome to all budding and aspiring poets! Godspeed to them!
Created by Denis Besim.
From: www.playbuzz.com
From: www.playbuzz.com
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