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  ¹Ù´å°¡¿¡                             On The Seashore
  ±âµµ                                           -
  À¯Àû(ë¶îã)ÀÇ ¶¥                   The Land Of The Exile
  ³ª È¥ÀÚ ¸¸³ª·¯ °¡´Â ¹ã         When I Go Alone at Night to My Love-Tryst,
  µ¿¹æÀÇ µîºÒ                                 -
  »î - ÆÐÀÚÀÇ ³ë·¡                           -
           -                              On the Nature of Love
           -                              The Kiss
           -                              When and Why
  ³»°¡ ºÎ¸¦ ³ë·¡ - ±âźÀ߸®13         -
 

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                               - Ÿ°ñ

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Çì¾öÄ¥ ÁÙµµ, °í±âÀâÀÌÇÒ ÁÙµµ,

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Ÿ°ñÀº º»¿ø¹ÝÁ¶, ÀÚ¼º°üÁ¶, ¿øÇüȸº¹, Àΰ£¼º ȸº¹ µî
¸»Àº ´Ù¸£³ª ¶æÀº ¼­·Î ÅëÇÏ´Â ¸»À» Çϰí ÀÖ´Ù.



On The Seashore

               - Rabindranath Tagore


ON the seashore of endless worlds children meet.


The infinite sky is motionless overhead

and the restless water is boisterous.

On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet

with shouts and dances.


They build their houses with sand,

and they play with empty shells.

With withered leaves they weave their boats

and smilingly float them on the vast deep.

Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.


They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.

Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,

while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.

They seek not for hidden treasures,

they know not how to cast nets.


The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams

the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing

meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother

while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children,

and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.


On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.

Tempest roams in the pathless sky,

ships are wrecked in the trackless water,

death is abroad and children play.

On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

 

±âµµ
 
                     - Ÿ°í¸£


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The Land Of The Exile

                     - Rabindranath Tagore


MOTHER, the light has grown grey in the sky;

I do not know what the time is.

There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you.

It is Saturday, our holiday.

Leave off your work, mother; sit here by the window

and tell me where the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale is?


The shadow of the rains has covered the day from end to end.

The fierce lightning is scratching the sky with its nails.

When the clouds rumble and it thunders,

I love to be afraid in my heart and cling to you.

When the heavy rain patters for hours on the bamboo leaves,

and our windows shake and rattle at the gusts of wind,

I like to sit alone in the room, mother, with you, and hear

you talk about the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale.


Where is it, mother, on the shore of what sea, at the foot of

what hills, in the kingdom of what king?

There are no hedges there to mark the fields,

no footpath across it by which the villagers reach their village

in the evening, or the woman who gathers dry sticks in the forest

can bring her load to the market.

With patches of yellow grass in the sand and only one tree

where the pair of wise old birds have their nest,

lies the desert of Tepantar.


I can imagine how, on just such a cloudy day,

the young son of the king is riding alone on a grey horse

through the desert, in search of the princess who lies

imprisoned in the giant's palace across that unknown water.

When the haze of the rain comes down in the distant sky,

and lightning starts up like a sudden fit of pain, does he remember

his unhappy mother, abandoned by the king,

sweeping the cow-stall and wiping her eyes,

while he rides through the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale?


See, mother, it is almost dark before the day is over,

and there are no travellers yonder on the village road.

The shepherd boy has gone home early from the pasture,

and men have left their fields to sit on mats

under the eaves of their huts, watching the scowling clouds.


Mother, I have left all my books on the shelf--do not ask me

to do my lessons now.

When I grow up and am big like my father,

I shall learn all that must be learnt.


But just for to-day, tell me, mother,

where the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale is?



³ª È¥ÀÚ ¸¸³ª·¯ °¡´Â ¹ã

                           - Ÿ°ñ


»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ÀÌ ¸¸³ª·¯ ³ª Ȧ·Î °¡´Â ¹ã
»õµé Á¶¿ëÇÏ°í ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒÁö ¾Ê³×

±æ°¡ÀÇ Áýµéµµ °í¿äÈ÷ ¼­À־
³» ¹ß°ÉÀ½ ¼Ò¸®¸¸ Á¡Á¡ Ä¿Á® ºÎ²ô·´±¸³ª


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Àáµç º¸ÃÊÀÇ ¹«¸­¿¡ ³õÀΠĮó·³.
°ÅÄ¥°Ô ¶Ù´Â ³ªÀÇ °¡½¿Àº

¾îÀÌÇØ¾ß ÁøÁ¤µÉ±î.


»ç¶ûÇÏ´Â ÀÌ ¿À½Ã¾î ³» °ç¿¡ ¾ÉÀ¸½Ã¾î
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¹ã ¾îµÎ¾îÁö°í ¹Ù¶÷Àº µîºÒÀ» ²ô°í
±¸¸§Àº º°À» °¡¸®¿ì´Â±¸³ª

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¾îÀÌÇØ¾ß °¨Ãâ ¼ö ÀÖÀ»±î



When I Go Alone at Night to My Love-Tryst,

                           - Rabindranath Tagore


When I go alone at night to my love-tryst,

birds do not sing, the wind does not stir,

the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.

It is my own anklets that grow loud

at every step and I am ashamed.


When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps,

leaves do not rustle on the trees ,

and the water is still in the river

like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.

It is my own heart that beats wildly

I do not know how to quite it.


When my love comes and sits by my side,

when my body trembles and my eyelids droop,

the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp,

and the clouds veils over the stars.

It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light.

I do not know how to hide it.



µ¿¹æÀÇ µîºÒ

                     - Ÿ°ñ


ÀÏÂïÀÌ ¾Æ½Ã¾ÆÀÇ È²±Ý ½Ã´ë¿¡
ºû³ª´Â µîºÒÀÌ´ø ÄÚ¸®¾Æ,

±× µîºÒ ´Ù½Ã ÄÑÁö´Â ³¯
³Ê´Â µ¿¹æÀÇ ¹àÀº ºûÀÌ µÇ¸®¶ó,

¸¶À½¿¡´Â µÎ·Á¿ò ¾ø°í
¸Ó¸®´Â ³ôÀÌ Ãĵ鸰 °÷,

Áö½ÄÀº ÀÚÀ¯·Ó°í
Á¼Àº ¿ïŸ¸®·Î ¼¼»óÀÌ Á¶°¢Á¶°¢ °¥¶óÁöÁö ¾Ê´Â °÷,

Áø½ÇÀÇ ±íÀº °÷¿¡¼­ ¸»¾¸ÀÌ ¼Ú¾Æ³ª´Â °÷,

Áö¼ºÀÇ ¸¼Àº È帧ÀÌ
±»¾îÁø ½À°üÀÇ ¸ð·¡¹úÆÇ¿¡¼­ ±æÀ» ÀÒÁö ¾Ê´Â °÷,

¹«ÇÑÈ÷ ÆÛÁ®³ª°¡´Â »ý°¢°ú ÇൿÀ¸·Î
¿ì¸®µéÀÇ ¸¶À½À» ÀÚÀ¯ÀÇ Ãµ±¹¿¡ Àεµ ÇÏ´Â °÷,

³» ¸¶À½ÀÇ Á¶±¹ ÄÚ¸®¾Æ¿© ±ú¾î³ª¼Ò¼­.



»î - ÆÐÀÚÀÇ ³ë·¡

                 - Ÿ°ñ


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¼±»ýÀº ³ª¿¡°Ô ¿ä±¸Çϳª´Ï,

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À̽½¿¡ Á¥Àº ²É ¼Õ¿¡ µé°í ¹Ù¶ó°í ÀÖ³×.
½Å¿¡°Ô ±¤¸íÀ» °¡Á®´ÙÁֱ⸦ ¸»¾øÀÌ ´«À» ³»¸® °¨Àº ä·Î

¹Ù¶÷°ú ÇÔ²² ºÒÆòÀÇ ¼Ò¸® ³ªµµ´Â ±×ÀÇ ÁýÀ» ±×³à´Â µÚ·ÎÇÏ¿´³×.
±×·¯³ª, º°µéÀº °í¿åÀ» ³ªÅ¸³»´Â »ç¶û½º·± ¾ó±¼À» Áö´Ñ

±×³àÀÇ ¿µ¿øÇÑ »ç¶ûÀÇ ³ë·¡¿¡ ¾ï¾çÀ» ÁØ´Ù.
°íµ¶ÀÇ ¹æ¹®ÀÌ ¿­·È±¸³ª, ºÎ¸§ÀÌ ¿Ô³×.

±×·¡¼­ °¡½¿À» µÎ±Ù°Å¸®³×, ¾îµÎ¿î °¡¿îµ¥¼­,
¶æ ÀÖ´Â ½Ã°¢ÀÇ ºÒ¾È °¡¿îµ¥¼­



On the Nature of Love

                 - Rabindranath Tagore

 
The night is black and the forest has no end;

a million people thread it in a million ways.

We have trysts to keep in the darkness, but where

or with whom- of that we are unaware.

But we have this faith- that a lifetime's bliss

will appear any minute, with a smile upon its lips.

Scents, touches, sounds, snatches of songs

brush us, pass us, give us delightful shocks.

Then peradventure there's a flash of lightning:

whomever I see that instant I fall in love with.

I call that person and cry: `This life is blest!

For your sake such miles have I traversed!'

All those others who come close and moved off

in the darkness- I dont know if they exist or not.


* Translated from Bengali by Ketaki Kushari Dyson.



The Kiss

                   - Rabindranath Tagore

 
Lips' language to lips' ears.

Two drinking each other's heart, it seems.

Two roving loves who have left home,

pilgrims to the confluence of lips.

Two waves rise by the law of love

to break and die on two sets of lips.

Two wild desires craving each other

meet at last at the body's limits.

Love's writing a song in dainty letters,

layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.

Plucking flowers from two sets of lips

perhaps to thread them into a chain later.

This sweet union of lips

is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles.



When and Why

                       - Rabindranath Tagore


When I bring you coloured toys, my child,

I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds,

on water, and why flowers are painted in tints-

when I give coloured toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance,

I truly know why there is music in leaves,

and why waves send their chorus of voices

to the heart of the listening earth-

when I sing to make you dance.


When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands,

I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower,

and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice-

when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,

I surely understand what pleasure streams

from the sky in morning light,

and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body-

when I kiss you to make you smile.



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