A POEM BY GEORGE ELIOT

 

POEM BY GEORGE ELIOT

George Eliot is the name assumed by the English author by Mary Ann Cross (1819-80).  She is famous as a great novelist, not a poet.  Literary critics recognise her as a woman of outstanding intellect with particular interest in philosophy, psychological analysis and matters affecting human personality. During her lifetime she attained  high literary reputation, which declined after death. Her masterpieces in English fiction are Adam Bede (1859), The Mill on the Floss (1860), and Silas Marner (1861). These deal with humble rural characters with fidelity, shrewd humour, and unaffected pathos. Her later novels like Middlemarch (1872) deal mostly with social and moral problems and present her as a modern novelist.

            The short poem which is quoted below is of inspirational character and is listed among the best loved poems in English literature. Its title is:

                                    COUNT THAT DAY LOST

Briefly speaking the poetess differentiates between a wasted day and a well-spent day. A well-spent day is one when you have cheered up some body. On such a day you have done some self-denying deed and said a word “That eased the heart of him who heard.” On a wasted day you realise that “You’ve nothing done that you can trace/That brought the sunshine to one face.”

Life, according to Eliot, is a bunch of wasted and well-spent days. Through her poem, she wants to inspire the readers to avoid wasted days.  The chief aim of a man’s life should be to help others by his little deeds of kindness. Here is the full text of the poem:

            IF you sit down at set of sun

            And count the acts that you have done,

            And, counting find

One self-denying deed, one word

That eased the heart of him who heard;

One glance most kind,

That fell like sunshine where it went—

Then you may count that day well-spent.

 

But if, through all the livelong day,

You’ve cheered no heart, by yea or nay---

If, through it all

You’ve nothing done that  you can trace

That brought the sunshine to one face-

No act most small

That  helped some soul and nothing cost----

Then count that day as worse than lost.

 

            According to Eliot, to bring sunshine to at least one face a day should be the  aim of each one of us. It costs nothing except that spiritual love which heals the wounds of afflicted humanity.     

                                               

                                                ** ******

28^th May 2022                                                                    G.R.Kanwal

   

 

SMALL THINGS

 

SMALL THINGS

‘SMALL THINGS’ is the title of a small poem written by the English poet Richard Monckton Milnes (1809-1885) , who was also a politician who fought for social justice.

His poem reads as follows:

A SENSE of an earnest will

To help the lowly living,

And a terrible heart-thrill,

If you have no power of giving;

An arm of aid to the weak,

A friendly hand to the friendless;

Kind words, so short to speak,

But whose echo is endless:

The world is wide, ----these things are small,

They may be nothing --- but they may be all.

 

            As a poet of social justice, Milne wants that those who belong to the upper strata should have a strong , genuine will to help the people of disadvantaged groups of society. The power of giving is a great  blessing but that of non-giving is a terrible curse. A little physical help to the weak; an attitude of friendliness to the friendless and a few kind words to the depressed which look small things are in fact too big. They are physically short but spatially vast. A cup of water to a man who is dying of thirst is  like a whole ocean.

According to Milne, the  impact of helpful small things is extremely huge in its scope. Though the actual sound of kind words is limited in its range, the expanse of its reverberations are endless.

 

Milne aptly concludes his poem with the following  words:

 

The world is wide, ---- these things are small,

They may be nothing, but they may be all.
                                                *******

 

25^th May 2022                                                                    G.R.Kanwal

 

 

SIX BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT

 

SIX BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT

‘Six Blind Men and the Elephant’ is an ancient fable attributed to the religious literature of the Hindus.   It has been translated into  many world languages and by many poets. Each translation is literally faithful to the Hindu text though it has used different  diction and different metre.

The central idea of the poem is that it is erratic to observe anything partially.  The part does not tell the whole. Moreover, each part has its own limited reality. 

In a broader sense, absolute reality is outside the reach of anybody. Reality is multi-dimensional and one man’s idea of reality is varied from that of another.  The Jains call it Anekantava, signifying that reality is complex. Hence, no single statement about it can be perfectly true.

The concept of non-absolutism about reality  is important to learn by all those  leaders of society who indulge in discussions.  

Metaphorically speaking each one of us , in some way or the other, is intellectually blind.

  The full text of the poem which follows ends with the following stanza:

 And so, these men of Indostan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right

And all were in the wrong!

 

‘Indostan’ is a different version of Hindustan, meaning India.

The English translation of the fable given below  is  by the American poet John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887).

 

                        The Blind Men and the Elephant

 

It was six men of Indostan

To leaning much inclined,

Who went to see the Elephant

(Though all of them were blind),

That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

 

The First approached  the Elephant

And happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,

At once began to bawl:

‘God bless me ! ---- but the Elephant

Is very like a wall.’

 

The Second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried: ‘Ho! ----what have we here

So very round and smooth and sharp?

To me ‘tis mighty clear

This wonder of an Elephant

Is very like a spear !’

 

The Third approached the animal,

And happening to take

The squirming trunk within his hands,

Thus, boldly up and spake :

‘I see,’ quoth he, ‘the Elephant

Is very like a snake !’

 

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,

And felt about the knee.

‘What most this wondrous beast is like

Is mighty plain, ‘ quoth he;

‘Tis clear enough the Elephant

Is very like a tree!’

 

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear

Said, ‘Even the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

‘This marvel of an Elephant

Is very like a fan !’

 

The Sixth no sooner had begun

About the beast to grope,

Than, seizing on the swinging tail

That fell within his scope,

‘I see,’ quoth he, ‘the Elephant

Is very like a rope !’

 

And so, these men of Indostan

Disputed loud and long,

Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right

And all were in the wrong !

                                                            **********

23 May 2022                                                                               G.R.Kanwal   

 

 

 

LORD BUDDHA

 

LORD BUDDHA

On this birthday of Lord Buddha, let us enjoy a poem written about him by the Indian poet-politician Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949).  She was a most beloved personality during the freedom movement and was rightly called ‘The Nightingale of India’. Her intellectual calibre won her a fellowship of the Royal Society of Literature, London,  and her political services enabled her to become Governor of a state in free India.

                Gautama Buddha, popularly called Lord Buddha,  was born c.563-483 BCE in Lumbini, Nepal. Realising in his youthful days that pain and suffering are the constant part of terrestrial existence, he abandoned his princely life in set out in search of a remedy against these horrors . The remedy he found is known as eightfold path comprising : Right View, Right Understanding; ; Right Intention; Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort; Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration.  Followed strictly, this path is bound to  provide humans liberation from  suffering in their  worldly life. Lord Buddha himself achieved it. This is what  Sarojini Naidu reflects in her poem that follows:

                                TO A BUDDHA SEATED ON A LOTUS

LORD BUDDHA, on thy Lotus-throne,

With praying eyes and hands elate,

What mystic rapture dost thou own,

Immutable and ultimate?

What peace, unravished of our ken,

Annihilate from the world of men?

 

The wind of change for ever blows

Across  the tumult of our way,

Tomorrow’s unborn griefs depose

The sorrows of our yesterday,

Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife,

And Death unweaves the webs of life.

 

For us the travail and the heat,

The broken secrets of our pride,

The strenuous lessons of defeat,

The flower deferred, the fruit denied;

But not the peace, supremely won,

Lord Buddha, of thy  Lotus-throne.

 

With futile hands we seek to gain

Our inaccessible desire,

Diviner summits to attain,

With faith that sinks and feet that tire;

But nought shall conquer or control

The heavenward hunger of our soul.

 

The end, elusive and afar,

Still lures us with its  beckoning flight,

And all our moments are

A session of the Infinite.

How shall we reach the great, unknown

Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne?

 

                                                ---------

16^th May 2022                                                 G.R.Kanwal

 

      

 

 

AN ANCIENT PRAYER

 

AN ANCIENT PRAYER

GIVE ME a good digestion, Lord, and also something to digest;

Give me a healthy body, Lord, and sense to keep it at its best.

Give me a healthy mind, good Lord, to keep the good and pure in sight,

Which, seeing sin, is not appalled, but finds a way to set it right.

 

Give me a mind that is not bound, that does not whimper, whine or sigh.

Don’t let me worry overmuch about the fussy thing called I.

Give me a sense of humour, Lord; give me the grace to see a joke,

To get some happiness from life and pass it on to other folk.

 

            This short prayer is written by the British poet Thomas Henry Basil Webb (28 July 1866 – 29 October 1940) . It is included among the best loved poems. The word ‘Ancient’ in the title does not mean primeval or pre-historic. It also does not mean archaic or obsolete.  It may be interpreted as very old, the one which has been addressed to God for several centuries,  but it should not  be interpreted as the one which has become outmoded. The entreaties, petitions and requests which have been made in the poem  are everlasting as far as their contribution to human happiness is concerned.

 

            What is the poet praying for which  the modern man would not like to have? His list includes :  digestion with something to digest; a healthy body with the ability to maintain it at its best; a healthy mind that sees only good and natural things;  the ability to see sin not only by remaining unappalled but also by having the power to set it right; and along with all this  the good luck of having  a mind which does not whimper or whine.

 

            He wants an ego which is not fussy. He does not want to worry overmuch about it.

           

            And finally,  he wants a sense of humour; the decency to treat a joke as a joke  not as an irritant.

 

              If this prayer is granted, he will get some happiness from life which he will pass  on other folks.

             To conclude, shall we call this prayer ‘Ancient” ? No, not at all.  It is as modern as any prayer can be with entreaties  for a  healthy body, healthy mind and peaceful life.

 

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13^th May 2022                                                     G.R.Kanwal 

           

     

T O Y S

 

T O Y S

My little son, who look’d from thoughtful eyes

And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,   

Having my law the seventh time disobey’d,

I struck him, and dismiss’d

With hard words and unkiss’d.

----His mother, who was patient , being dead.

Then, fearing lost his grief should hinder sleep,

I visited his bed.

But found him slumbering deep,

With darken’d eyelids, and their lashes yet

From his late sobbing wet.

And I, with moan,

Kissing way his tears, left others of my own;

For, on a table drawn beside his head,

He had put, within his reach,

A box of counters and a red-vein’d stone,

A piece of glass abraded by the beach,

And six or seven shells,

A bottle with bluebells,

And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art,

To comfort his sad heart.

So when that night I pray’d

To God, I wept, and said:

Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,

Not vexing Thee in death,

And Thou rememberest of what toys

Who made our joys,

How weakly understood

Thy great commanded good,

Then, fatherly not less

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,

Thou’lt have thy wrath, and say,

‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’

 

            This is a heart-touching poem by the English poet Coventry Patmore (23-7-1823 ---26-11-1896). The title has many connotations. Toys are playthings for children, so are  they for adults.  Only their forms are different. The purpose of toys is to amuse you, entertain you, engage you in some interesting, uplifting activity.  Toys are a means of physical and mental exercise; they nourish  the mind, gratify our emotions, generate a number of thoughts among us. They are symbols of  so many of our possessions and human relations.

The world Itself is a toy for our Lord God who plays with it incessantly. The entire colourful spectacle of the world is  dependent upon  the presence of innumerable toys.  Everybody chooses his  toys according to his age and personal taste.  Children begin their life’s activities with toys and change them as they grow from month to month, year to year. It is foolish for some fathers to think that to collect toys and play with them is a wasteful, undesirable activity. Toys are the wealth of  children, however mean their size, shape or value may be.  They nourish and gratify their senses and help them to love dearly this otherwise dreary world.

 

Here in this poem, we have a motherless child. The mother was patient, the father is desperate. He is also authoritative. He considers his words as  laws which must not be disobeyed. He strikes the playful child, but soon repents, and visits the child’s bed at night and watches there pathetic scenes which turn him from a father to a small child. Metaphorically, he becomes a second son in  the poem. His father is Lord God. He deeply regrets his act of hitting the child, weeps, and adds his own tears to  the tears already dried up on the cheeks of his little son.  Now  the poem has two fathers and two sons. One is the child as a son , the other is the poet as a son.  There is the  poet as a father and God as  a father of all humanity. 

 

Note these lines of the repentant human father:

 

So when that night I pray’d

To God, I wept, and said:

Ah, when at last we lie with tranc’d breath,

Not vexing Thee in death,

And Thou rememberest of what toys

We made our joys.

How weakly we understood

Thy great commanded good,

Then, fatherly not less

Than I whom though has moulded from the clay,

Thou’lt leave They wrath, and say,

‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’

 

            TOYS is a great, eternal  poem  for all fathers.  Remember, all men and women beathing in the world are toys made of clay. They are so brittle, yet so enduring. All of them are dependent upon God’s love and mercy for their earthly existence.

 

Let none of us think of toys as trivial; they are a vital possession of life.  

 

                               *************

 

9^th May 2022                                                   G.R.Kanwal

 

  

 

A NATION’S STRENGTH

 

A NATION’S STRENGTH

“A Nation’s Strength” is a little poem by the American poet-philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson (25 May 1803- 27 April 1882).

             It reads as follows:

Not gold but only men, can make

A people great and strong  

Men who for truth and honour’s sake

Stand fast and suffer long.

Brave men who work while others sleep

Who dare while others fly –

They build a nation’s pillars deep

And lift them to the sky.

 

          I have read this poem many times, yet I want to read it many times more.  It is the gist of all the qualities which nation builders should acquire and keep on practising till the last breath of their life.

 

It is also a poem which should be placed before school children, college and university scholars, teachers and  professors,

poets , writers, educationists, political leaders, social activists , business magnates, religious heads, army men and  their generals.

 

            What does this poem say?  Just one thing:  man- power, not money-power, is the real strength of a nation. 

 

Truly, gold cannot make a nation strong without all those people who have to work hard in the innumerable fields of life.

Such dynamic men stand fast for truth and  honour, and  prefer to keep awake while others  enjoy sleep . 

It is these extraordinarily industrious  men who “build  a nation’s pillars deep and lift them to the sky.” They are also distinct for their courage as they continue to dare the enemy while others flee.

 

          To conclude:  shouldn’t newspapers and journals carry this poem as frequently as possible to remind their patriotic readers that:

 

          “That not gold, but only men, can make a nation strong.”                   

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4^th May 2022                                 G.R.Kanwal