Poetry should be savoured, not devoured.
This is a book to pick up between reads, or before drifting into slumber.
These are not, excuse the expression, “run-of-the-mill” poems. They do not lean on rhyme as a crutch, nor do they follow predictable patterns. Instead, they are deeply philosophical, crafted to make you think. The figurative language stands out within this anthology; each symbol and idea urging the reader to slow down, to savour the simplicity of each word and the power of each phrase strung along.
At first, I had a singular favorite poem, a singular piece that profoundly resonated with me. But quickly, that number grew to a handful, then a dozen and now I’ve lost count. Each ode revealing something new; another layer waiting to be uncovered which drew me deeper into Tagore'S world.
With time to ponder, its intricate and enriched vocabulary became more and more enlaced in beauty. There was a poem, in particular, I did not understand at first. I reread it on loop, minutes stretching into eternity, grasping at its meaning, its symbolism, its depths. I pondered for what felt like forty days and forty nights. And today, in this very moment, I find myself able to articulate my interpretation at last. The beautiful thing is, every poem was like this; a period of reflection, a slow unraveling of Tagore’s true meaning. And as I sifted through his words, I began to see patterns emerging. Love, Religion, and Life. These three themes wove themselves through my favorite poems, each one inviting endless interpretation, each one offering something new with every reading.
Had I been blessed with immortality, I would spend a millennium meticulously decoding and interpreting Tagore’s work. Yet even that amount of time would not be enough. It wouldn’t do him justice. Tagore was a genius. And now, if ever I am asked the age old question, “If you could talk to anyone, dead or alive, who would you choose? ” I will know my answer.