Kada uvece podjem sam na nas sastanak,
ptice ne pjevaju, povjetarac prekine svoj pohod,
a kuce pokraj ceste stoje utisane.

To su moje narukvice sto zvece sa svakim mojim korakom.
I stidim se.

Kad sjedim na terasi i slusam njegove korake,
Lisce ne sumi na drvecu, i voda
miruje u rijeci kao mac
u krilu zaspalog viteza.

To je moje srce sto tuce glasno -
Ne mogu ga utisati.

Kad mi ljubav dodje i sjedne do mene,
Kada mi tijelo drhti i kapci se spustaju,
noc postaje tamnija, vjetar gasi moju lampu,
I oblaci skrivaju zvijezde svojim velom.

To je dragulj u mojim grudima sto svijetli i obasjava put.
Ne znam kako da ga sakrijem.

                    Rabindranat Tagore, zbirka "Vrtlar". Prijevod s engleskog: Damir Kalajdzic

(This short poem is an excerpt from 'The Gardener' by Tagore)

When I go alone at night to my love-tryst,
birds do not sing, the wind does not stir,
the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.

It is my own anklets that grow loud at
every step and I am ashamed.

When I sit on my balcony and listen to his footsteps,
leaves do not rustle on the trees, and the water
is still in the river like the sword on the
knees of a sentry fallen asleep.

It is my own heart that beats wildly -
I do not know how to quiet it.

When my love comes and sits by my side,
when my body trembles and my eyelids droop,
the night darkens, the winds blow out the lamp,
and the clouds draw veils over the stars.

It is the jewel at my own breast that shines
and gives light. I do not know how to hide it.
 

Majko, da sam malo stene a ne tvoj sin,
i da gladan pridjem tvom tanjuru
da li bi me otjerala govoreci "Odlazi odavde ti malo zlocesto stene"?
Onda idi, majko, idi! Nikad vise ti necu doci kad me zoves
i nikad vise necu dopustiti da me hranis.

Da sam ja samo mala zelena papiga, majko, a ne tvoj sin
da li bi me drzala svezanog da ne odletim?
Da li bi zatresla prstom prema meni govoreci
"Kakva nezahvalna bezvrijedna ptica!
Samo grize lanac dan i noc!"
Onda idi, majko, idi! Ja cu pobjeci i odletjeti medju drvece
i nikad vise necu dozvoliti da me uzmes u svoje narucje.

                     Rabindranat Tagore. Slobodan prijevod: Damir Kalajdzic

12

If you would be busy and fill your
pitcher, come, O come to my lake.
     The water will cling round your
feet and babble its secret.
     The shadow of the coming rain is
on the sands, and the clouds hang low
upon the blue lines of the trees like
the heavy hair above your eyebrows.
     I know well the rhythm of your
steps, they are beating in my heart.
     Come, O come to my lake, if you
must fill your pitcher.
     If you would be idle and sit listless
and let you pitcher float on the
water, come, O come to my lake.
     The grassy slop is green, and the
wild flowers beyond number.
     Your thoughts will stray out of
your dark eyes like the birds from their
nests.
     Your veil will drop to your feet.
     Come , O come to my lake if you
must sit idle.
     If you would leave off your play
and dive in the water, come, O come
to my lake.
     Let your blue mantle lie on the
shore; the blue water will cover you
and hide you.
     The waves will stand a-tiptoe to kiss
your neck and whisper in your ears.
     Come, O come to my lake, if you
would dive in the water.
     If you must be mad and leap to
your death, come, O come to my
lake.
     It is cool and fathomlessly deep.
     It is dark like a sleep that is dream-
less.
     There in its depths nights and days
are one, and songs are silence.
     Come, O come to my lake, if you
would plunge to your death.

Tagore, from "Gardener"

58

One morning in the flower garden a blind girl came to offer me a
flower chain in the cover of a lotus leaf.
I put it round my neck, and tears came to my eyes.
I kissed her and said, “You are blind even as the flowers are.
“You yourself know not how beautiful is your gift.”

27

"Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart."
     "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
     "Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop,
while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is
strong and abiding. Let sorrowful
love wake in your eyes."
     "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
     "The lotus blooms in the sight of
the sun, and loses all that it has. It
would not remain in bud in the
eternal winter mist."
     "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."

Tagore, from "Gardener"

Day after day he comes and goes
away.
Go, and give him a flower from my 
hair, my friend.
If he asks who was it that sent it, I
entreat you do not tell him my name--
for he only comes and goes away.
He sits on the dust under the tree.
Spread there a seat with flowers and
leaves, my friend.
His eyes are sad, and they bring
sadness to my heart.
He does not speak what he has in
mind; he only comes and goes away.

Tagore
 

49

Cuvam joj ruke, grlim je i trazim
Da poljupcima opljackam njen smijeh,
U narucju da otmem joj drazi
Da ispijem joj usne, tamne kao grijeh.

Ali tko nebu plavetnilo da uzme?
Ljepotu mi se dodirnuti htjelo,
Al' izmedj' ruku ona mi ispuze:
U rukama mi osta samo tijelo.

Gdje je ljepota? Gdje je njezin svijet?
Vracam se natrag prevaren i smozden.
Ah kako tijelom da dotaknem cvijet
Sto samo duh ga dotaknuti moze?

49

I hold her hands and press her to my
breast.
     I try to fill my arms with her loveli-
ness, to plunder her sweet smile with
kisses, to drink her dark glances with
my eyes.
     Ah, but, where is it? Who can
strain the blue from the sky?
     I try to grasp the beauty; it eludes
me, leaving only the body in my
hands.
     Baffled and weary I come back.
     How can the body touch the flower
which only the spirit may touch?

                                             Rabindranat Tagore, zbirka "Vrtlar"

Kada i zasto

Kada ti donesem sarene igracke, dijete moje,
onda razumijem otkud boja razigranim oblacima, vodi i cvijecu-
kada ti donesem sarene igracke, dijete moje.

Kada pozelim gledati kako pleses, ja zapjevam.
Onda zaista znam zasto je muzika u liscu i zasto talasi salju horove
svojih glasova u srce ustreptale zemlje-
kada zapleses uz moju pjesmu.

Kada spustim slatkise u tvoje zeljne ruke,
ja znam zasto postoji med u casici cvijeta,
i od kuda dolazi slast zrelog voca-
kada spustim slatkise u tvoje zeljne ruke.

Kada poljubim tvoje lice da izmamim osmijeh,
onda pouzdano razumijem cari neba u svjetlu zore
i slasti sto ih ljetni povjetarac donosi mome tijelu-
kada poljubim tvoje oci da izmamim osmijeh.

                    Rabindranat Tagore, Vrtlar. Prevao: Damir Kalajdzic

Servant: Have mercy upon your servant, my queen!

Queen: The assembly is over and my servants are all gone. Why do you come at this late hour?

Servant: When you have finished with others, that is my time. I come to ask what remains for your last servant to do.

Queen: What can you expect when it is too late?

Servant: Make me the gardener of your flower garden.

Queen: What folly is this?

Servant: I will give up my other work. I throw my swords and lances down in the dust. Do not send me to distant courts; do not bid me undertake new conquests. But make me the gardener of your flower garden.

Queen: What will your duties be?

Servant: The service of your idle days. I will keep fresh the grassy path where you walk in the morning, where your feet will be greeted with praise at every step by the flowers eager for death.
I will swing you in a swing among the branches of the saptaparna, where the early evening moon will struggle to kiss your skirt through the leaves.
I will replenish with scented oil the lamp that burns by your bedside, and decorate your footstool with sandal and saffron paste in wondrous designs.

Queen: What will you have for your reward?

Servant: To be allowed to hold your little fists like tender lotus-buds and slip flower chains over your wrists; to tinge the soles of your feet with the red juice of ashoka petals and kiss away the speck of dust that may chance to linger there.

Queen: Your prayers are granted, my servant, you will be the gardener of my flower garden.

Tagore
 

80

With a glance of your eyes you
could plunder all the wealth of songs
struck from poets' harps, fair woman!
     But for their praises you have no
ear, therefore I come to praise you.
     You could humble at your feet the
proudest heads in the world.
     But it is your loved ones, unknown
to fame, whom you choose to worship,
therefore I worship you.
     The perfection of your arms would
add glory to kingly splendour with
their touch.
     But you use them to sweep away
the dust, and to make clean your
humble home, therefore I am filled
with awe.

Tagore, from "Gardener"

85

Who are you, reader, reading my
poems an hundred years hence?
     I cannot send you one single flower
from this wealth of spring, one
single streak of gold from yonder
clouds.
     Open you doors and look abroad.
     From you blossoming garden gather
fragrant memories of the vanished
flowers of an hundred years before.
     In the joy of your heart may you
feel the living joy that sang one
spring morning, sending its glad voice
across an hundred years.

Tagore, from "Gardener"

Molitva

Tamo gdje je misao bez straha i glava se drzi uspravno
Gdje je znanje besplatno
Gdje svijet jos nije polomljen u komade
Tijesnim poznatim zidovima
Tamo gdje rijeci izlaze iz dubine istine
Gdje neumorna teznja pruza svoje ruke prema savrsenstvu
Gdje bistra struja razuma jos nije izgubila put
U turobnoj pustinji mrtvih navika
Tamo gdje je um vodjen tvojom rukom
U uvijek rastucu misao i akciju
U tom slobodnom raju, moj Oce,
Probudi moju zemlju

Prayer

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake