Tagore/Kabir II. the dallying dollopful deity

This is the first of a series posts tagged Tagore/Kabir. Basically, a few of my rend(er)ing of Tagore’s rendition of Kabir from his Songs of Kabir.

It is only in active play that being is discovered. Every act of hoarding is fundamentally static, and it turns being on its head as you end up revering icons and symbols.

Versified Exegis
the dallying dollopful deity
drips a symmetrical drop of
godful godliness; even Raidas
gets a handful, imagine that

the dallying dollopful deity
trills the songs; the caste of
the casteful castigated is
cast aside; rammed in the

sloppy merryness of the car
pentar, the washerwoman, the
priest who knows no name but
the dallying dollopful deity

Tagore’s translation of Kabir

I. 16. Santan jât na pûcho nirguniyân

  It is needless to ask of a saint the caste to which he belongs;
  For the priest, the warrior. the tradesman, and all the
    thirty-six castes, alike are seeking for God.
  It is but folly to ask what the caste of a saint may be;
  The barber has sought God, the washerwoman, and the carpenter—
  Even Raidas was a seeker after God.
  The Rishi Swapacha was a tanner by caste.
  Hindus and Moslems alike have achieved that End, where remains no
    mark of distinction.

5 comments on “Tagore/Kabir II. the dallying dollopful deity

  1. tmezpoetry says:

    Reads like singsong, lapping the word oars on a fun escapade 🙂 I really have to catch up with your writing!

  2. Anita Lubesh says:

    Nice rebirth and the alliteration gave it an individual stamp. These are very interesting. I am a godless person myself and my dad was from a Hindu background though a scientist first and foremost. He, like the brood he spawned was atheist. It is always fascinating but contentious obviously and I believe we should first to look inside ourselves and be ourselves…believe in ourselves.

    • huzaifazoom says:

      Glad you liked it. For poets (at least), the god/no-god contention could fade away if we give our words their due gravity and treat poetry as evidence. So in this sense, verse is not unlike scientific truth: never final, always becoming in the act of discovery. The mystical obfuscates both science and verse.

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