Sri Aurobindo
Letters of Sri Aurobindo
Volume 1
I am feeling as well as well can be. I enclose herewith Tagore’s translation of Harin’s poem with his letter. You will note his apology: Tagore had rendered Shelley’s “I cannot give thee what men call love” which was very mediocre. This poem I think you will find good, but surely Tagore’s powers are on the wane, don’t you think. His contention that he could not keep any rhymes is a confession of his failure: but he makes no ado: he confesses he has no power to translate poetry into poetry.
I am afraid his powers are very much on the wane, but let us not whisper it too loud. The setting of a great genius and one that after all, created on a very high level for a very long time.
But that does not mean that I am not grateful to him for his great favour. I want to do my little best with your and Mother’s grace to publish a number of Harin’s translations in the prospective anthology and for that Tagore’s favour cannot be prized too much. I am sure Harin too will appreciate it. Tagore was unwilling to translate: in another letter which I did not send you, as I was disappointed by his refusal he paid a tribute to Harin’s verse but declined to translate any – very politely. So I strategically sent him just this poem with a request on the margin. My importunity has been crowned with success: so your prophecy is fulfilled: that I am not cut out for defeat. But jokes apart, this is a victory for Harin’s verse: that he could by the compelling beauty of his poems extort a translation of an unwilling Tagore who reasonably fears that qua translation Buddhadev’s rendering will be adjudged as superior. I will send you tomorrow his translation of Shelley. But I don’t mean, mind you, that this translation is as indifferent as the former: only I had expected a better achievement at the hands of Tagore. But please send me back this letter of mine with Tagore’s translation I will show it to Harin. If possible send me your verdict. Of course I won’t tell it to Tagore. Tagore’s translation of Shelley was not liked by Nolini either, but this one is likeable – but far from achievement. Anyway I will be grateful for your verdict.
It is good, of course, but I am bound to say I miss the rhymes. In order to make up for their absence he has had to replace Harin’s lyrical grace and charm of simple delicate emotion by a gravity and power in the diction which has its value but is not the same thing. However, a translation by Tagore is in itself an éclatant homage.
So rippling along once more on the waters of Poesy! There is really no holding me, don’t you think?
I hope so – why should the divine waters be held?