Tagore Poetry Collection

Author: Tagore
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-01-01
Features: Who are you, reader, to read my poems a hundred years later? I cannot send you a single flower from the abundance of this spring, or a touch of golden light from the distant clouds. Open your door and look around, gather the fragrance of flowers that have long since faded from your garden a hundred years ago. In the joy of your heart, perhaps you can sense the vibrant happiness of the morning spring song, letting its joyful voice cross the centuries. From last year's late spring to now, a year of work has finally come to an end! Most of the time this year was spent on the translation of this poetry collection, and it required a lot of thought. I don’t know what words to use to describe the feelings throughout the process—there was a lot of carefulness like holding a treasure in one’s hands, but there were also moments of uncontrollable joy, and many times I wanted to grab someone to read it to them. Of course, there were also many difficulties. First, Mr. Tagore’s works are exquisitely brilliant, every word and phrase so perfectly chosen, with deep meanings that require careful reflection. Often, a single word needed to be pondered for a long time and revised many times. Fortunately, I was writing on a computer, so the changes didn’t leave traces, or otherwise, the paper would have been covered in corrections. Second, the translations of the predecessors were truly accurate and surpassing. Decades ago, when I first read Mr. Tagore’s poems, I was reading the works of Mr. Bing Xin, Mr. Zheng Zhenduo, and others. After long contemplation, they had deeply permeated my heart. This time, translating directly from the original works was inevitably a great challenge. The main motivation to proceed smoothly was the deep love, understanding, and realization I had accumulated over the years, and the solid foundation I stood on. So, even though it was a high mountain, I still wanted to climb it. To ensure the original’s brilliance, we have added the English translations of the concise and enduring The Flight of Birds and The Fireflies to help everyone better appreciate them. And so, step by step, the initially planned eight months were extended to a year, and upon completion, we were greeted by the gentle breeze of spring. The peach tree outside was in bloom, the willow branches sprouted green, and the sunlight was bright. What a clear and bright scene—just like Mr. Tagore’s poems, or rather, some of the realms within them. If one must make a comparison, then Mr. Tagore’s poems can only be likened to a diamond with ever-changing brilliance, forever inscrutable. However, we secretly hope that our efforts can become gentle breezes, spreading out to add some flavor to everyone’s reading life. But we also fear that our strength may not be enough, and we are deeply troubled.