Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines.. ~ Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.


~ Pablo Neruda 



(Translated by W. S. Merwin)

Pandit Ravi Shankar : Oh Man, What A Life!

Robindro Shaunkor Chowdhury

(B. 1920)

The Young Ravi Shankar

Ravi Shankar posing as an old man along with his legendary brother Uday Shankar in a Bhil Dance (1937)

He moves on the stage like a semi-divine being. Believe me, there are still some beautiful things left in this world..

~ James Joyce on Uday Shankar

My dada (Uday Shankar) was the first one to direct my attention towards stagecraft, showmanship, manners and discipline on the stage. And yes, his insatiable passion for women and sex influenced me greatly in my life too!

~ Ravi Shankar, in his autobiography, Raga Mala

Baba always said that music is not meant for commercial purpose. Music is like worshipping, and through music you worship God. However, like many other people's, mine is an imperfect quest... We can never count on quite getting there..

~ Ravi Shankar, in his autobiography, Raga Mala

Without Ravi, I would have ended up a boring old fart. Some people may still say I'm a boring old fart, but atleast my life was enhanced and given much more depth..

~ George Harrison

Norah Jones (b.1979) with her sister 

Anoushka Shankar Wright (b.1982)

I remember when I found out that John Coltrane had come to my Dad once to study... That impressed me at the time, more than the George Harrison thing just because I was such a jazz nerd.

~ Norah Jones

I felt I could be in love with different women in diferent places. It was like having a girl in every port - and sometimes there was more than one!

~ Ravi Shankar, in his autobiography, Raga Mala

My love life now evokes in me is a mixed feeling, you know. I am grateful for everything that I got, but I had to pay for it with pain and torture. Many of my lady loves are now dead and gone. A couple of them I still meet and try and be friendly with. With some, of course, things are not good..

~ Ravi Shankar

Her instant reaction was one of shock heart wrenching loss. But soon it gave way to tears. I let her sob hard in the hope that it would offer her natural catharsis..

~ Rooshi Kumar Pandya, present husband of the 83 year old Annapurna Devi, one among the estranged wives of Ravi Shankar

He was 58 when we got married and told me he couldn't change. I realised I was too much in love... I really couldn't care. Even if he gave me a few days in a year, I was fine. That experience would help me tide over a whole year. He was a gypsy. I wanted to give him the home he never had.. 

~ Sukanya Shankar

When I am gone, don't wait too long to be born again for me..

~ Ravi Shankar to Shukanya Shankar

Singing In The Rain ~ Gene Kelly

Singing In The Rain

Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo
Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo
Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo
Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo...

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love
Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin',
Singin' in the rain

Dancin' in the rain
Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah
Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah
I'm happy again!
I'm singin' and dancin' in the rain!

I'm dancin' and singin' in the rain...


~ Gene Kelly

The Art Of Poetry ~ Jorge Luis Borges

The Art of Poetry

To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.

To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.

To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.

To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.

Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.

They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.

Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.

~ Jorge Luis Borges 

      (1899 ~ 1986)

Borges, at the age of three

The younger Borges

Borges visiting the Galleria Nazionale, Palermo (Italy) in 1984 

(Photograph : Ferdinando Scianna)

Ganapathim Bhaje

Karpaga Vinayagar, Pillaiyar Patti

Muthuswamy Dikshitar's Vatapi Ganapathim 

Rendered By MS Subbulakshmi

Pallavi:

Vathapi Ganapathim Bhajeham

Vaaranaasyam Vara Pradham Sri

Anupallavi:

Bhoothaadhi Samsevitha Charanam

Bhootha Bhautika Prapancha Bharanam

Madhyamakala Sahityam:

Veetharaaginam Vinutha Yoginam

Vishwakaaranam Vigna Vaaranam

Charanam:

Puraa Kumbha Sambhava Munivara Prapoojitham Trikona Madhyagatham

Muraari Pramukhaadhyupaasitham Moolaadhaara Kshetrasthitham

Paraadhi Chathvaari Vaagaathmakam Pranava Swaroopa Vakrathundam

Nirantharam Nithila Chandrakandam Nijavaamakara Vidhrutekshu Dandam

Madhyamakala Sahithyam:

Karaambujapaasha Beejaapooram Kalushavidooram Bhoothaakaaram

Haraadhi Guruguha Toshitha Bimbam Hamsadhwani Bhooshitha Herambham

I sing in praise of Vatapi Ganapati, who has the face of an elephant, and who is a giver of all boons. All the living beings worship His feet. He transcends the past, the future and the universe, comprising the five elements. He is devoid of passion, and is saluted by the Yogis  He is the cause of the  creation of the world and He is the remover of all obstacles.

In ancient times, He was worshiped by Saint Agastya (born out of a pot). He resides in the middle of the mystic triangle. He is saluted by the prominent Gods, Vishnu and Others. He resides in the Mooladhara Chakram (cosmic circle). He represents the four forms of speech, beginning with the inaudible Shabdam namely Paraa. His trunk is curved in the form of the sacred syllable Ohm. He is eternal, and His forehead bears the crescent moon. In His left hand He carries the stack of  sugar cane. He also carries a noose and a pomegranate fruit in His lotus-like hand. He is of an immeasurable form, and He is faultless. He is the protector of the meek, and His figure is adorned by the Hamsadhvani Raaga.

e.e.cummings

Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(I do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

~ e.e.cummings

Pink Floyd ~ Another Brick In The Wall

Another Brick In The Wall

Daddy's flown across the ocean
Leaving just a memory
Snapshot in the family album
Daddy what else did you leave for me?
Daddy, what'd'ja leave behind for me?!?
All in all it was just a brick in the wall.
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.

"You! Yes, you! Stand still laddy!

We don't need no education
We dont need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.

We don't need no education
We dont need no thought control
No dark sarcasm in the classroom
Teachers leave them kids alone
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.

"Wrong, Do it again!"
"If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you
have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?"
"You! Yes, you behind the bikesheds, stand still laddy!"
 "The Bulls are already out there"

Pink: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!"
"This Roman Meal bakery thought you'd like to know."

I don't need no arms around me
And I dont need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don't think I need anything at all.
No! Don't think I'll need anything at all.
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.
All in all you were all just bricks in the wall.
 

~ Pink Floyd

The Hollow Men ~ T.S. Eliot

The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

      A penny for the Old Guy

      I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

      II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

      III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

      IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

      V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
                                Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
                                For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

~T. S. Eliot

Borges and I : Jorge Luis Borges

 BORGES and I 

The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary. I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things.

Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar. Years ago, I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this page.

~ Jorge Luis Borges (1899~1986)

The Moonlight Sonata

1. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

   July 6, in the morning
         My angel, my all, my very self - Only a few words today and at that with pencil (with yours) - Not till tomorrow will my lodgings be definitely determined upon - what a useless waste of time - Why this deep sorrow when necessity speaks - can our love endure except through sacrifices, through not demanding everything from one another; can you change the fact that you are not wholly mine, I not wholly thine - Oh God, look out into the beauties of nature and comfort your heart with that which must be - Love demands everything and that very justly - thus it is to me with you, and to your with me. But you forget so easily that I must live for me and for you; if we were wholly united you would feel the pain of it as little as I - My journey was a fearful one; I did not reach here until 4 o'clock yesterday morning. Lacking horses the post-coach chose another route, but what an awful one; at the stage before the last I was warned not to travel at night; I was made fearful of a forest, but that only made me the more eager - and I was wrong. The coach must needs break down on the wretched road, a bottomless mud road. Without such postilions as I had with me I should have remained stuck in the road. Esterhazy, traveling the usual road here, had the same fate with eight horses that I had with four - Yet I got some pleasure out of it, as I always do when I successfully overcome difficulties - Now a quick change to things internal from things external. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life - If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these. My heart is full of so many things to say to you - ah - there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all - Cheer up - remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. The gods must send us the rest, what for us must and shall be -
   Your faithful LUDWIG

   
   

   Evening, Monday, July 6
         You are suffering, my dearest creature - only now have I learned that letters must be posted very early in the morning on Mondays to Thursdays - the only days on which the mail-coach goes from here to K. - You are suffering - Ah, wherever I am, there you are also - I will arrange it with you and me that I can live with you. What a life!!! thus!!! without you - pursued by the goodness of mankind hither and thither - which I as little want to deserve as I deserve it - Humility of man towards man - it pains me - and when I consider myself in relation to the universe, what am I and what is He - whom we call the greatest - and yet - herein lies the divine in man - I weep when I reflect that you will probably not receive the first report from me until Saturday - Much as you love me - I love you more - But do not ever conceal yourself from me - good night - As I am taking the baths I must go to bed - Oh God - so near! so far! Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven?

   
   

   Good morning, on July 7
         Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I nedd a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a clam consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
   ever thine
   ever mine
   ever ours
   
   
   ~ Ludwig van Beethoven (1812)