Chapter 72 Preface to the Translator of Gitanjali

Tagore was the most admired foreign poet in my youth.He was a patriot, philosopher and poet.His poems overflow with his love for his country, his sympathy for women and his love for children.With strong love comes strong hate, and when everything he loves is violated, he will utter a strong roar.His love and hate are like sea waves, rippling and spreading all over the world. Indians say that he is a child born in the nest of songbirds. His plays, novels, and essays all exude a strong smell of poetry.His people loved the natural and heartfelt poetry he wrote.When farmers, fishermen, and all laborers sing Tagore's poems to express their joy and sorrow in the field, at sea, or other places of labor, with their own rhythm of labor, they don't know that these songs express themselves. Which poet wrote the emotional lyrics.

I chose his at first because it was my favorite among Tagore's poems.I later learned that it is also the most representative of his poems.From this poem, I traveled to his beautiful and rich land, got to know his tough and gentle women, and got in touch with his innocent and lively children.After 1953, I went to India many times and had the opportunity to see everything he described, and I fully admitted that Tagore belonged to the Indian people. Tagore's poem titles go far beyond his national borders.I deeply regret that I did not learn musical Bengali.I translated the poems and poems from English—although the English of these two poems is also written by Tagore—even if I try my best, I can only convey a little bit of poetry and philosophy in these poems , As for the musicality of the original text, there is no way to get it.

I love Tagore so much, I have also been to his home in Bangladesh, and stood for a long time under the horse chestnut tree where he sat, and I have also visited the international school he founded. However, "the room is far away", I have never visited him in person.When Tagore came to China in 1924, I was still studying in the United States.Later I heard one of his hosts say that when he left Beijing and walked out of his apartment, someone asked him: "Anything left?" He shook his head resignedly and said: "Except for my heart, I have nothing left (Nothing but my heart)." This is what I heard indirectly.What a sentimental old man!

It is eight o'clock in the morning, and the roses in the vase on the window sill by my desk are lingering on my pen with a refreshing fragrance from time to time.I believe that at this moment, this kind of environment is the most appropriate for the preface to my translation of Tagore's poems.June 23, 1981