The Fugitive

by Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore was born to a Brahmin family in Calcutta and through his writings became the literary voice of India. He developed a following for his work in Bengali, but he became a worldwide sensation after the English translation of his poem Gitanjali caught the attention of W.B. Yeats. He toured the world and became known for his spiritual and artistic presence and global views that bridged the East and West. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913, the first non-Western writer to achieve such an honor. In addition to poetry, Tagore also wrote short stories, plays, novels, and essays, and many of his paintings hang in museums. He also founded a school, Visva Bharati, which combined Hindu and Western influences. Tagore loved music, and two of his songs became the national anthems for India and Bangladesh. The Fugitive is one example of his artistic powers: We came hither together, friend, and now at the cross-roads I stop to bid you farewell. Your path is wide and straight before you, but my call comes up by ways from the unknown. I shall follow wind and cloud; I shall follow the stars to where day breaks behind the hills; I shall follow lovers who, as they walk, twine their days into a wreath on a single thread of song, "I love."

Genres: Poetry, India, Classics, Nobel Prize, Fiction

204 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1918

About the author

Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913 "because of his profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse, by which, with consummate skill, he has made his poetic thought, expressed in his own English words, a part of the literature of the West."

Tagore modernised Bengali art by spurning rigid classical forms and resisting linguistic strictures. His novels, stories, songs, dance-dramas, and essays spoke to topics political and personal. Gitanjali (Song Offerings), Gora (Fair-Faced), and Ghare-Baire (The Home and the World) are his best-known works, and his verse, short stories, and novels were acclaimed—or panned—for their lyricism, colloquialism, naturalism, and unnatural contemplation. His compositions were chosen by two nations as national anthems: India's Jana Gana Mana and Bangladesh's Amar Shonar Bangla.

The complete works of Rabindranath Tagore (রবীন্দ্র রচনাবলী) in the original Bengali are now available at these third-party websites:
http://www.tagoreweb.in/
http://www.rabindra-rachanabali.nltr....

Reviews

[Vidushi · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is all about of love and love lost and so from me, the romantic, a big thumbs up!!! I love the poet's metaphors and the Indian- ness in them. The tales are deeply rooted in Indian cultural mores, a bit of mythology thrown in. It's a completely Indian book if there is a genre as such. Here are some of my favorite verses,

"O that I were stored with a secret, like unshed rain in summer clouds—a secret, folded up in silence, that I could wander away with.
O that I had some one to whisper to, where slow waters lap under trees that doze in the sun.
The hush this evening seems to expect a footfall, and you ask me for the cause of my tears.
I cannot give a reason why I weep, for that is a secret still withheld from me."


"While stepping into the carriage she turned her head and threw me a swift glance of farewell.
This was her last gift to me. But where can I keep it safe from the trampling hours?
Must evening sweep this gleam of anguish away, as it will the last flicker of fire from the sunset?
Ought it to be washed off by the rain, as treasured pollens are from heart-broken flowers?
Leave kingly glory and the wealth of the rich to death. But may not tears keep ever fresh the memory of a glance flung through a passionate
moment?
"Give it to me to keep," said my song; "I never touch kings' glory or the wealth of the rich, but these small things are mine for ever." "


"Lay down your lute, my love, leave your arms free to embrace me.
Let your touch bring my overflowing heart to my body's utmost brink.
Do not bend your neck and turn away your face, but offer up a kiss to me, which has been like some perfume long closed in a bud.
Do not smother this moment under vain words, but let our hearts quake in a rush of silence sweeping all thoughts to the shoreless delight."


"You have made me great with your love, though I am but one among the many, drifting in the common tide, rocking in the fluctuant favour of the
world.
You have given me a seat where poets of all time bring their tribute, and lovers with deathless names greet one another across the ages.
Men hastily pass me in the market,—never noting how my body has grown precious with your caress, how I carry your kiss within, as the sun carries
in its orb the fire of the divine touch and shines for ever."



"All that I had I gave to you, keeping but the barest veil of reserve.
It is so thin that you secretly smile at it and I feel ashamed.
The gust of the spring breeze sweeps it away unawares, and the flutter of my own heart moves it as the waves move their foam.
My love, do not grieve if I keep this flimsy mist of distance round me.
This frail reserve of mine is no mere woman's coyness, but a slender stem on which the flower of my self-surrender bends towards you with reticent
grace."


"I have donned this new robe to-day because my body feels like singing.
It is not enough that I am given to my love once and for ever, but out of that I must fashion new gifts every day; and shall I not seem a fresh offering,
dressed in a new robe?
My heart, like the evening sky, has its endless passion for colour, and therefore I change my veils, which have now the green of the cool young grass
and now that of the winter rice.
To-day my robe is tinted with the rain-rimmed blue of the sky. It brings to my limbs the colour of the boundless, the colour of the oversea hills; and it
carries in its folds the delight of summer clouds flying in the wind."

[Preetam Chatterjee · Rating 5 out of 5]

In this tome the poet travels downhill from metaphysical heights to a treatment of the ordinary middle class domestic life. It is a gathering of short stories in verse in which the poet reconnoiters the humbler walks of life. The stories reveal the misfortune and the magnificence of inaudible tragedies --- frequently of women of middle-class life in Bengal. And the emphasis is not on outer events so much as on the inner, the psychosomatic world. The poems of Palataka are, in a way, Wordsworthian dedication of the petty and the ignored, of the socially troubled, the domestically harassed. Tagore's art creates a world of its own, and entirely reveals the resourcefulness of Tagore's brilliance.

[Riju Ganguly · Rating 5 out of 5]

মাত্র পনেরোটি দীর্ঘ কবিতার এই সংকলনটির মধ্যে কবির অনেক দুঃখ, অনেক দীর্ঘশ্বাস ধরা রয়েছে। কিন্তু ব্যক্তিগত ভাবনার স্তর পেরিয়ে সেই দুঃখেরা আমাদের সমাজের, পল্লীজীবনের, এমনকি নিভৃত অস্তিত্বের অনেক অব্যক্ত কষ্টকেই স্পর্শ করে।
ভারি সরল, বড়ো আন্তরিক এই কবিতাগুলো নিয়ে এর চেয়ে বেশি আর কীই বা লিখি? এরা আমাদের সবার সম্পদ— এটুকুই বলার।

[Melinda · Rating 4 out of 5]

Only one man captures the complexity of emotions, Tagore. With his simple, easy flow this master crafts wonderful prose. The Fugitive a collection of vignette type/style poems focusing on love, sorrow, honor and betrayal. The poems express Tagore's experiences in the Bengali countryside, interactions with his daughter and his love of nature as well as God. ��

I lose myself in Tagore's words, they resonate truth from life's experiences of his as well as others. His work serves as a reminder of our lives - joys, hopes, sorrows and struggles we all experience. His words sing a song to us saying there are times when life���s path is steep and the journey lonely ��� in reality we are not the only travelers. The same path has been tread upon, by people much like us, in the ages past.��

excerpt from The Fugitive
���I am glad you will not wait for me with that lingering pity in��your look.

It is only the spell of the night and my farewell words, startled at their own tune of despair, which bring these tears to my eyes. But day will dawn, my eyes will dry and my heart; and there will be no time for weeping.

Who says it is hard to forget?

The mercy of death works at��life's core, bringing it respite from its own foolish persistence.

The stormy sea is lulled at last in its rocking cradle; the forest fire falls to sleep on its bed of ashes.

You and I shall part, and the cleavage will be hidden under living grass and flowers that laugh in the sun.���

[PRINCESS · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was walking along a path overgrown with grass, when
suddenly I heard from someone behind, “See if you
know me?”
I turned around and looked at her and said, “I cannot
remember your name.”
She said, “I am the first great Sorrow whom you met
when you were young.”
Her eyes looked like a morning dew is still in
the air.
I stood silent for some time till I said, “Have you
lost all the great burden of your tears?”
She smiled and said nothing. I felt that her tears had
had time to learn the language of smiles.
“Once you said,” she whispered, “that you would
cherish your grief for ever.”
I blushed and said, “Yes, but years have passed and I
forget.”
Then I took her hand in mine and said, “But you
have changed?”
“What was sorrow has now become peace,” she
said.

[Sanjay Tillani · Rating 5 out of 5]

Whenever I read anything written by Rabindranath Tagore, a lot is lost in translation because I can only read the translations done by other people of his work, but there is always a sublime feeling that forms inside me, which is between romanticism and nostalgia. This book is not different in that aspect but has another layer of melancholia in it.

the book contains chapters that have mini scripts of a play sometimes or translation of songs, deepening the dilemma of being a human. This book brings about the journey of birth which follows the struggle and then death, I mean that is what I understood. The most interesting thing is that anyone reading this would have different subjective meanings.

In short, It is a very small book that has the ability to bring out the inner poet residing in every one of us, which is what should be expected by the writer.

[Vani · Rating 4 out of 5]

Profound and pure.

[Greg · Rating 5 out of 5]

The “The Fugitive and Other Poems” is a deeply introspective volume of poetry, but one meant for the whole of the world.

“The Son of Man”
From His eternal seat Christ comes down to this earth, where, ages ago, in the bitter cup of death He poured his deathless life for those who came to the call and those who remained away.
He looks about Him, and sees the weapons of evil that wounded His own age.
The arrogant spikes and spears, the slim, sly knives, the scimitar in diplomatic sheath, crooked and cruel, are hissing and raining sparks as they are sharpened on monster wheels.
But the most fearful of them all, at the hands of the slaughterers, are those on which has been engraved His own name, that are fashioned from the texts of His own words fused in the fire of hatred and hammered by hypocritical greed.
He presses His hand upon His heart; He feels that the age-long moment of His death has not yet ended, that new nails, turned out in countless numbers by those who are learned in cunning craftsmanship, pierce Him in every joint.
They had hurt Him once, standing at the shadow of their temple; they are born anew in crods.
From before their sacred altar they shout to the soldiers, “Strike!”
And the Son of Man in agony cries, “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”

See my other reviews here!

[Srikanth · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thoroughly enjoyed reading through the poetry on love and the poetic dialog based on hindu epics.

Some excerpts I loved --

"I was walking along a path overgrown with grass, when suddenly I heard from some one behind, "See if you know me?" I turned round and looked at her and said, "I cannot remember your name." She said, "I am that first great Sorrow whom you met when you were young." Her eyes looked like a morning whose dew is still in the air. I stood silent for some time till I said, "Have you lost all the great burden of your tears?" She smiled and said nothing. I felt that her tears had had time to learn the language of smiles. "Once you said," she whispered, "that you would cherish your grief for ever." I blushed and said, "Yes, but years have passed and I forget." Then I took her hand in mine and said, "But you have changed." "What was sorrow once has now become peace," she said."

"I sit here on the road; do not ask me to walk further. If your love can be complete without mine let me turn back from seeking you. I refuse to beg a sight of you if you do not feel my need. I am blind with market dust and mid -day glare, and so wait, in hopes that your heart, my heart's lover, will send you to find me."

"You, like a rivulet swift and sinuous, laugh and dance, and your steps sing as you trip along. I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and darkly gaze at you. I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion. You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter."

[Mèo Nuôi Râu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Thật xấu hổ khi mình đã từng nói ở bài cảm nhận trước về quyển Mùa Hái Quả của Tagore, là rằng mình không thấy được tinh thần công bằng cho các giai cấp trong thơ ông. Đến nay, khi đọc Người Thoáng Hiện, mình đã thấy rõ ràng hơn điều đó.

Lần trước mình cũng đã chê thơ đọc lên không êm nên mình không thích, thì có lẽ đến nay mình đã "quen", và mình bắt đầu công nhận thể thơ văn xuôi này. Hiểu biết hạn hẹp đã được nới ra thêm một chút, mong được thứ lỗi.

Thơ ẩn dụ rất nhiều, cần đọc chậm, đọc nhiều lần, nghiền ngẫm thì mới ra được ý của tác giả.

Sách giá tiền hợp lý, có vài lỗi biên tập nhỏ, dịch thuật vẫn có nhiều chỗ mình thấy hơi chỏi.

#meonuoirau #nguoithoanghien #rabindranathtagore

[Arkish · Rating 5 out of 5]

One says, "I want freedom."
The other asks, "To what extent?"

Reading The Fugitive feels like listening to my own quiet thoughts put into transcending verse. Tagore’s poems move through love, loss, and restraint. But alongside he carries a gentle sadness, where freedom is desired but again never simple. It is all inward, slow, and honest.

[Lucas Ladeia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Marvelous. Unique, it is even impossible, I would say, to define exactly what kind of text we are dealing with, it is sensible, deep, it is pure art, Tagore broke the barriers of style and structure and opened up his beautiful soul, the light in which his eyes sees the universe.

[Thái Nhựt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tagore người Châu Á đầu tiên đạt giải Nobel Văn Học. Với một kho tàng tác phẩm đồ sộ. Thật lòng khi đọc Người Thoáng Hiện tôi hoàn toàn không hiểu hết được ý thơ của tác giả. Một tác phẩm đòi hỏi người đọc có nhiều kiến thức và hiểu biết hơn để hiểu hết những thông điệp tác giả truyền tải.

[Sanaaaaaaahhhhh · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tell me, for whom do you wait?
She looks in my face and says, "No one, no one at all!"

A beautiful couplet of a most Prestigious writer Rabindranath Tagore. Tagore has penned the most heart wrenching lines . It provides a sweet melancholy.

[ĐỌC · Rating 4 out of 5]

I don't read poems much but Tagore has impressed me. His poems, his words are amazing, a lot of metaphors which require us to read slowly and repeatedly many times to understand but still it's such a very satisfied reading.

[Cường Nguyễn · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tổng hợp Quotes hay =))

[shashwati gupta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Journey through an endless river.

An enthralling journey through the rivers of words which often evokes the feeling of love and joy through the passing stream.

[Ruchika Pahwa · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautiful! It is always a delight to read Tagore poetry. I get lost into a natural divine world where God is the central point.

[Utsob Roy · Rating 5 out of 5]

এই কাব্যগ্রন্থে আছে ১৫টি কবিতা। বিষয়বস্তু মানুষ, মানুষের সাথে মানুষের সম্পর্ক, মানুষের ব্যথা এবং প্রধানত নারী। নারীচরিত্রগুলো মূখ্য অধিকাংশ কবিতায়, তাদের ব্যথাই উপজীব্য।

কবিতাগুলো অধিকাংশ একইভাবে লেখা। অসমপার্বিক, অনুপ্রাসনির্ভর। একটু দুর্বল কোনো কোনো জায়গায়। তবুও মানোত্তীর্ণ রবীন্দ্রনাথ বলেই হয়ত। মানুষের শুদ্ধতম আবেগ না ছবিতে না কবিতায় বা আর কোনো শিল্পমাধ্যম কোনোকিছুতেই শতভাগ প্রকাশ করা যায় না। রবীন্দ্রনাথ যা পারতেন তা হলো অন্য সবারচেয়ে সহজ করে সুক্ষ্ম আবেগগুলো প্রকাশ করতে।

[torque · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rabindranath is turning me on to poetry.

[Meghrajsinh Gohil · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very nice book