Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), was an Indian poet, novelist, playwright, educator and philosopher. He began to write poetry as a child, lived in England as a young man and even spent some time studyng agriculture at the University of Illinois. He became most important writer of the British colonial era in India. When he won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, he was the first non westerner to do so. Tagore wrote primarily in Bengali, but personally translated many of his own works into English. Most Tagore scholars maintain that his work in original Bengali is just totally awesome.

Albert Schweitzer noted that .... With Tagore, ethical world and life affirmation has completely triumphed. It governs his world view and will suffer nothing of world and life negation beside it. This has all the significance of a really great deed. A process of development that has been going on for centuries reaches in him its natural conclusion. He demands that we should belong to God with the soul and serve God actively in the world. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, a great Indian Philosopher who with Charles Moore wrote the Source book in Indian Philosophy (still a classic if you Like Hinduism and Buddhism)noted, "Rabindrantah Tagore was one of the few representatives of the universal person to whom the future of the world belongs." There is, however, a darker side to Tagore a side where he embraces sorrow. Read the poem below and find a sorrow that is almost palpable....

Invocation to Sorrow Come, sorrow, come, I've spread a seat for you. Pull, rip out each blood vessel form my heart, place your thirsty lips on each vein and suck form my bloodstream drop by drop. With a mother's affection I shall nurture you. My heart's treasure, come you to my heart. Within my heart's nest cozily you may sleep. Ah, how heavy you are! A few of my veins may burst, but what do I care? With a mother's affections I shall carry you even on my feeble breast. Sitting alone at home, in a continuous drone I shall sing lullabies in your ears, until your weary eyes are lulled to sleep. My breath, drawn from my innermost recesses, will fan your tired forehead; you'll sleep in peace. Come, sorrow, come. My heart's full of such longing! Press your hands on your mouth, fall tumbling on my heart's ground. Like an orphaned child cry loudly within me once till it echos in all my heart. In my heart of hearts there's a musical instrument that's broken. Pick it up with your hands, play it with all your strength, link a madman strum it twang twang. Bruised by sharp sounds all the echoes, troubled, will cry out in chorus in pain. Come, sorrow, please come. Oh, how lonely this heart is! Just do this, nothing else: come close, lift my heart's face, set your eyes on it and gaze. This homeless heart wants a companion -- that's all. You, sorrow, come, keep it company. You may not wish to speak; just sit without words day and night by my heart's side. When you want to play, you can play with it, for my heart dos need a playmate. Come, sorrow, treasure of my heart. Right here I've spread your seat. Whatever little blood is left in my heart of hearts, all of that you may drain if you wish. Autumn 1880, trans Ketaki Kushari Dyson in Rabindranath Tagore I Won?FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF92t Let You Go: Selected Poems

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