quotes – aiume

“Vrije Gemeente” (Paradiso) image © Ludwig Pesch

My freedom lies not in
pursuing detachment.
Amidst a thousand fetters
shall I savour the taste of freedom
in delirious joy.

In 2020 we celebrated the 100th anniversary of a visit to the Netherlands, one that was eagerly expected by many in September 1920

“Believe me, my friend, my heart goes out to you but I am inarticulate. I have to speak to you in a language not my own. The best that I have in me I give out in songs – no, I can not even say that I give it out – it comes out of itself. The superconscious self of mine which has its expression in beauty is beyond my control – and my ordinary self is stupid and awkward before men. Very often I think and feel that I am like a flute – the flute that cannot talk but when the breath is upon it, can sing.” ¹

From a letter to his Dutch translator, writer Frederik van Eeden (signed in London, 9 August 1913)

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), India’s first Nobel laureate, established his Santiniketan school and Viswa-Bharati University on and amidst several Santal villages. It is therefore hardly surprising that he often compared the Infinite Being to a flute player whose “music of beauty and love helps us to transcend our egotistic preoccupations”. ²

Such longings, here reiterated by one of world’s most celebrated poets – belong to a greater tradition that seeks to overcome barriers such as language or faith with the help of music. This is more than evident from sources that reveal his admiration for both, the “mad” Baul minstrels and Kabir, an equally rebellious poet whose song lyrics he knew and recommended: ³

In several plays Tagore introduced a baul inspired character who would voice his message and philosophy […] roles that Tagore himself delighted in playing with abandon.
Reba Som, Rabindranath Tagore: The Singer and His Song (New Delhi, 2009), p. 76

The play he was most fond of himself, playing the role of the “fakir”, is Dakghar, translated into English under the title “The Post Office”, and Dutch (De brief van den koning, first published in 1916 and again as Amal en de brief van de koning in 1992). ⁴

Its essence seems as relevant in today’s world as in Tagore’s own times, as Bhaswati Ghosh would put it: “In Dakghar (The Post Office), young Amal, the protagonist, bonds with numerous strangers with the spontaneity and guilelessness typical of most children. The play cleverly unravels Tagore’s thoughts on freedom.” Quoting from his Foreword to S Radhakrishnan’s The Philosophy of Upanishads,

When our self is illuminated with the light of love, then the negative aspect of its separateness with others loses its finality, and then our relationship with others is no longer that of competition and conflict, but of sympathy and co-operation. ⁵

The essay by Bhaswati Ghosh is aptly prefaced by Tagore’s forceful proclamation, one worth pondering time and again: ours being a moment in history when freedom – human rights and democracy – can no longer be taken for granted, anywhere. So it is may be read as an urgent appeal directed at aspiring artists, educators, even “opinion and decision makers”; namely to take and share responsibility for this may well decide over their own survival when modern society relentlessly puts their very legitimacy into question in times of perpetual crisis:

My freedom lies not in
pursuing detachment.
Amidst a thousand fetters
shall I savour the taste of freedom
in delirious joy.

What makes his all-embracing outlook so relevant for all of us – to this very day – is this: “Tagore remains a staunch votary of exercising individual exploration as a key to finding freedom.” (Bhaswati Ghosh, Parabaas 2011)

Tagore Sketched by Martin Monickendam in September 1920 | Stadsarchief Amsterdam >>

This call for making individual choices in the face of social or political pressures, runs like a red thread through Tagore’s life and work, as can be gleaned from his letter written to the aforementioned Dutch writer, Van Eeden in 1924 (quoted by Rokus De Groot, p. 123):

Men like yourself in Europe prove that her soul is not dead and that the stream of life giving water runs deep under her spiritual soil, seeking its outlets in individual lives.

In hindsight, such high expectations may hardly seem justified given the many failures of judgement among Europe’s leading men (women having little, if any, say in such matters), such as preventing or mitigating the unprecedented suffering of yet another “World War” that was to follow the first one; an equally senseless one yet even more cruel war than the war that had just ended when Tagore visited the Netherlands in September 1920. It had caused untold suffering to millions of Indians.

Historical facts such as armed conflicts must not, however, dishearten those presently working towards lasting peace and intercultural dialogue, irrespective of one’s national, religious or class identity – the very notions Tagore had reason to question when seeking support among responsible fellow citizens at home and abroad. This may explain why music seemed best suited to the purpose of transcending even those obstacles others would have despaired of:

Tagore was “attracted by the distinctive styles of regional music [he] wrote about the great evocative power of tunes wafting across distances–carrying the message of an unknown address whispered in the ear by a traveller – bringing a note of hope and encouragement across oceans of divide.” ⁶

The above quote also reminds us of the fact that reed and bamboo flutes are the world’s most “democratic” to this very day, both literally and figuratively. His interdisciplinary approach to any major challenge – as pioneer in rural education, campaigner for social reform and international peace activist – remains likewise inspiring for countless artists, both well known (especially those with Bengali roots) and otherwise. His continuing influence reflects his prolific output and depth of thought on important issues, in the form of novels, theatre plays, poetry, stories, and essays.

Tagore’s commitment to bridging the divisions in India’s social fabric was unwavering even in the face of enormous pressure and political unrest. The wide appeal of his quest is evident from the fact that over two thousand of his songs continue to be sung by Bengali speakers in and outside India; and this in spite of the fact that these are spontaneous outpourings in need of being memorized while he sung them “without knowing how to write music” (Reba Som). One notable exception from this rule may be a poem that was later arranged in his presence and therefore lent itself to becoming independent India’s national anthem: “Jana-gana-mana”.

In later life he immersed himself in painting. His unusual oeuvre comprises seemingly surreal paintings besides hundreds of drawings resulting from a long habit of “doodling” in his manuscripts. Rejecting both academic Western and “Oriental Art“, Tagore is now regarded as path-breaking visual artist in his own right, initially by the surrealists who arranged an exhibition in Paris at short notice. As he told Romain Rolland during a conversation in Geneva (1930),

Words are too conscious; lines are not. Ideas have their form and colour, which wait for their incarnation in pictorial art. Just now painting has become a mania with me. My morning began with songs and poems; now, in the evening of my life, my mind is filled with forms and colours. ⁷

Tagore believed that art, music, painting and dance elevate man from a mere being to a personal man:

Personality [is] conscious of its inexhaustible abundance; it has the paradox in it that it is more than itself; it is more than as it is seen, as it is known, as it is used. And this consciousness of the infinite, in the personal man, ever strives to make its expressions immortal and to make the whole world its own. ⁸

This he amply illustrated by his own song lyrics, as it were, imbued with synaesthetic connotations such as these:

A light touch do I feel, a few words do I hear / And I conjure in my mind spring’s full moon / The intoxicating red of the ‘palash’ / Mixed with a dash of champa’s heady fragrance / I weave with music into a net of colour and fervour / Whatever comes close through intervals of time / Paints dream in the startled nooks of my mind / Whatever goes afar sets my tunes atremble with emotion / And with these I pass my days / Keeping count to the beat of anklets. ⁹

Ludwig Pesch specialized in the Carnatic bamboo flute under the guidance of H. Ramachandra Shastry (1906-1992) whom he accompanied on many occasions.

H. Ramachandra Shastry (Kalakshetra, ca. 1983)

At the invitation of Smt. Rukmini Devi-Arundale, a gurukulavāsa type of personalized apprenticeship became possible thanks to Kalakshetra College (today known as Rukmini Devi College Of Fine Arts), the “institution of national importance” inspired by Rabindranath Tagore: it was his pioneering institution, Santiniketan, that provided a model for the revival of South Indian performing and visual arts just as related crafts.

For Rabindranath, who was essentially a poet and artist, the realization and the expression of beauty was the supreme objective in human life. His concept of beauty, according to true Indian tradition, was inseparably connected with truth and goodness. Whatever is true and noble in life, nature and art is also beautiful. Thus, aesthetic sensitiveness, in the true sense, is a fundamental aspect of spiritual education. A proper aesthetic culture should also include the perception and expression of the beautiful in human life and social conduct, as well as in art and literature. Rabindranath stated in no uncertain terms that man’s sensory encounter with the environment was as important as his mind’s enquiry into its inner mystery, and any worthwhile society should provide for both. ¹⁰

“Whatever is true and noble in life, nature and art is also beautiful” – Rabindranath Tagore quoted by the Archaeological Survey of India (Unesco) >>

Book recommendation: Pidhana – The Canopy of Life
Tagore’s ideal of uniting practical, academic, artistic and spiritual education amounts to “lifelong education” and “ecology” in the most modern and comprehensive sense, namely in harmony with nature. Kalakshetra’s unique ecology, like Santiniketan, was painstakingly created from a barren stretch of land, over a period of several decades. This process and the unique environment resulting from it are documented in a beautiful book titled Pidhana – The Canopy of Life (Chennai, 2014, ISBN: 978-81-921627-3-7): richly illustrated, this publication tells the story of the trees found in the 99acre campus of Kalakshetra Foundation.

Worldcat lists compiled by Ludwig Pesch

Carnatic (South Indian classical) music

Rabindranath Tagore: works by and about the influential writer, humanist and social reformer

Indian performing arts

History

Publications, book chapters and articles by Ludwig Pesch

See abstract and article (in Dutch) by Rokus De Groot: “Van Eeden En Tagore. Ethiek En Muziek.” Tijdschrift Van De Koninklijke Vereniging Voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, vol. 49, no. 2, 1999, pp. 98–147. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/939183, p. 109 (visited 11 June 2020[↩]
My memories of Einstein (German ed. ’Meine Erinnerungen an Einstein’, 1931) in Das Goldene Boot, Winkler Weltliteratur, Blaue Reihe (2005) – WorldCat.org >>[↩]
“Kabir, (Arabic: “Great”) (born 1440, Varanasi, Jaunpur, India—died 1518, Maghar), iconoclastic Indian poet-saint revered by Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs.” (visited 9 June 2020)
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Kabir-Indian-mystic-and-poet[↩]
“Tagore wrote The Post Office in Bengal in 1911, not long after losing his son, his daughter, and his wife to disease. In the middle of the night, while lying under the stars on the roof of his house in Shantiniketan (the ‘Abode or Peace’), he had a strange experience. ‘My mind took wing. Fly! Fly! – I felt an anguish … There was a call to go somewhere and a premonition of death, together with intense emotion – this feeling of restlessness I expressed in writing Dak Ghar The Post Office.’ Soon afterward, Tagore’s worldwide odyssey began.” – Translators’ Preface to The Post Office, translated by Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson with illustrations by Michael McCurdy and an Introduction by Anita Desai, St. Martin’s press New York, 1996. (Amal’s dialogue with the Thakura, Tagore’s alter ego, is found on p. 35.[↩]
Tagore’s Foreword to S Radhakrishnan’s The Philosophy of Upanishads, quoted by Bhaswati Ghosh in “Freedom in Tagore’s Plays — an essay”. Parabaas Rabindranath Section. (visited 11 June 2020)
https://www.parabaas.com/rabindranath/articles/pBhaswati.html[↩]
Reba Som, Rabindranath Tagore: The Singer and His Song (New Delhi, 2009), p. 147; this can be read quite literally, given “he stepped into the streets singing songs and celebrating Rakshabandhan between members of the Hindu and Muslim communities (1905)” as noted by Abhijit Sen in “In Search of a New Language for Theatre” published on the in a special issue that celebrates the 150th year of Tagore: Indian Horizons, Vol. 24, No. 2/2010 p. 42[↩]
The Oxford India Tagore: Selected Writings on Education and Nationalism, pp. 190-1[↩]
Rabindranath Tagore, “Personality” in The English Writings of Rabindranath Tagore, vol. 2, ed. by Sisir Kumar Das (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2008). Source: © 2012 Arup Jyoti Sarma (visited 21 April 2015) http://www.kritike.org/journal/issue_11/sarma_june2012.pdf[↩]
“Ektuku chhoya lage” in Reba Som, Rabindranath Tagore: The Singer and His Song, p. 260[↩]
The Santiniketan Aesthetic in Unesco’s “World Heritage List Nominations” (visited 9 June 2020)
https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/5495/[↩]

21/04/202421/04/2024

Soms beschouw ik me als een fluit die niet kan praten maar zingt – Rabindranath Tagore

Tagore in Amsterdam door Martin Monickendam >>

Vriend, mijn hart gaat naar u uit. Helaas communiceer ik niet zo goed in een taal die niet de mijne is. Het liefst doe ik dit in liedjes. Die drukken het meest dierbare in me uit. Ofwel het beste uit zich spontaan en oncontroleerbaar in schoonheid.

Voor velen kom ik over als dom en onhandig. Soms beschouw ik me als een fluit die niet kan praten maar zingt dankzij je adem.

Zonder twijfel heeft de lectuur van mijn boek u al een betere indruk van me gegeven dan een persoonlijke ontmoeting; want het lichaam van de lamp is donker, het heeft geen uitdrukking, alleen zijn vlam heeft de taal. ¹

Rabindranath Tagore in een brief aan zijn Nederlandse vertaler: niemand minder dan de dichter, toneelschrijver, romanschrijver en essayist Frederik van Eeden (1860 – 1932) ²

Vrije, beknopte vertaling door Ludwig Pesch; bron: Letter#2: Rabindranath to Van Eeden, August 9, 1913 in “Tagore in The Netherlands” by Liesbeth Meyer[↩]
Voor details, zie Abstract “Van Eeden en Tagore. Ethiek en muziek” door Rokus de Groot in Tijdschrift van de Koninklijke Vereniging voor Nederlandse Muziekgeschiedenis, D. 49ste, Afl. 2de (1999), pp. 98-147[↩]

21/04/202421/04/2024

De bamboe dwarsfluit

Tekst: Ludwig Pesch

Mythes, afbeeldingen en een uit de Indiase oudheid overgeleverde verhandeling over het muziektheater geven een indruk hoe geliefd de fluit was. Zo weten we dat ze al lang als een volwaardig muziekinstrument werd ingezet. Naar gelang de streek wordt ze anders aangeduid, bijvoorbeeld als kuzhal in het Tamil (spreek uit als “kulal” of “kural”); en als bansuri in Noord-India. In gedichten, liederen, dans en film komen ook benamingen voor als venu en murali, waarmee gelijk wordt verwezen naar Krishna, de herder en fluitspeler “met de donkere huid”.

De vroege Tamil en Sanskrit dichtkunst beschrijft het ontstaan van de eerste fluit, zonder toedoen van de mens: doordat zwarte hommels hun nesten bouwen in bamboebossen laten ze gaten achter in de stengels. Die gaten komen in grootte overeen met de blaas- en vingeropeningen van de huidige bamboe dwarsfluit. De wind zorgt dan voor het laten klinken van natuurlijke tonen. Ook het melodieuze gezang van vogels in al zijn nuances vormt een inspiratiebron voor de nauw met de natuur verbonden mens. Dit alles bevordert een muzikale symbiose die op veel plaatsen steeds opnieuw ontstaat.

Het verrast daarom niet dat Pannalal Ghosh, de pionier van de Hindoestaanse fluitmuziek, in zijn jeugd werd beïnvloed door tribale musici van het noord-oostelijke Santal-volk.

Bij Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), die te midden van Santal-dorpen zijn wereldberoemde school Santiniketan stichtte, komen we het ‘Oneindige Wezen’ tegen als fluitspeler: de ‘muziek van de schoonheid en de liefde’ lokt ons weg uit onze egocentrische beperking.¹

“Voor velen kom ik over als dom en onhandig. Soms beschouw ik me als een fluit die niet kan praten maar zingt dankzij je adem“.²

Hier plaatst zich de dichter, pedagoog en invloedrijke geleerde in een lange traditie, die barrières van taal en godsdienst weet te slechten dankzij de muziek. Zo laat Tagore ons de rol van de bamboefluit voelen als het meest ‘democratische’ van alle muziekinstrumenten.

Ludwig Pesch specialiseerde zich op de Zuid-Indiase bamboe dwarsfluit, toen hij studeerde bij Ramachandra Shastry aan de Kalakshetra kunstacademie in Chennai. Samen met zijn leraar gaf hij concerten bij talrijke gelegenheden.

In samenwerking met twee universiteiten ontwikkelde hij e-learning cursussen (carnaticstudent.org). Voor muziekliefhebbers en docenten heeft hij een handboek geschreven, The Oxford Illustrated Companion to South Indian Classical Music. Voor het Concertgebouw Amsterdam heeft hij teksten bijgedragen naar aanleiding van het India Festival in Amsterdam in 2008 (b.v. “Wat is een raga” gepubliceerd in Preludium).

Hij ontwikkelt programma’s waardoor elementen uit de Indiase muziek voor iedereen toegankelijk worden – voor elke leeftijdsgroep, zowel met als zonder muzikale ervaring.

Nederlandse vertaling: Mieke Beumer

Bron: ‘Meine Erinnerungen an Einstein’ (1931) in Das Goldene Boot, Winkler Weltliteratur, Blaue Reihe, 2005[↩]
“Very often I think and feel that I am like a flute – the flute that cannot talk but when the breath is upon it, can sing” schreef Rabindranath Tagore uit London aan zijn vertaler, de Nederlandse schrijver Frederik van Eeden, London op 9 augustus 1913[↩]

16/04/202416/04/2024

How prehistoric societies were transformed by the sound of music

Amidst lively debates within and beyond India, ¹ these perspectives on our shared legacy make interesting reading:

Savithri Rajan who believed that Tyagaraja, like these other great men, was always meditating, but his medium of expression was nādam, “sound”. ²
In the introduction to his unfinished yet voluminous magnum opus Karunamirtha Sagaram, titled “The dignity and Origin of music”, Abraham Pandither ³ entices readers to embark on a virtual journey through time and space; a discovery of nature that for him would have gone hand in hand with musical evolution if not advanced civilization itself.
A summary of findings by archaeologists titled “How prehistoric societies were transformed by the sound of music“. ⁴

Learn more

Read excerpts from Abraham Pandither’s work (Karunamirtha Sagaram, 1918 ed., pp. 4-5)

The devotees who worshiped the deity in such a manner, found Him, according to the several conceptions, either as a King, or as a parent, or as a Guru, or as a timely helper, or as one who relieved them from all difficulties, or as a loving son, or is the loving bride-groom, and gave vent to the feelings in singing His praises; some worshipped by prostrating themselves before Him; some prayed to Him to deliver them from all their troubles; some prayed for the gift of obtaining whatever they desired; some bewailed their fate owing to separation from the deity; some, who realized His presence in themselves, danced for joy; many who desired His presence sent messengers for enquiry; others, filled with love, praised Him fervently. They described His several virtues and told the others about them by means of verse. They deplored their own unworthiness; conscious of their own faults, they implored pardon; some, owing to intense love, were so taken up with the contemplation of His image that they completely forgot this world and their food. […]

p. 5

In the same manner, little children, playing in the streets, rolled the leaves of the Poovarasu tree [“Indian tulip” or “umbrella tree”], made the kind of reed out of the thinner end and produced music by blowing through it finding that the sound was in proportion to the size and the mouthpiece, they played together three or four such reeds and felt elated when they found a certain kind of harmony existing between them. Then they may reeds out of the stems of the leaves of the pumpkin and attached rolled up leaves to them and were delighted to find that the sound was either dull of bright in proportion to the length of the rolled up leaves. Of these, those those who had a special ear for Music when they advanced in age, made reeds of horns, conches and bamboo, and later on of wood, gold, silver and brass of various shapes. In the same way, they made progress in stringed instruments. They found that Music could be produced by tying the bent ends of a stick together, either by a rope or a string. They proceeded to bend big bamboos in the form of a bow by means of leather thongs, tied bells to them to keep time, and sang those particular songs used on the occasions of using bows. Finding by that strings, either metallic or of catgut, sound better when passing through the medium of a vessel full of air or a box or a dried Sorakkai [bottle gourd] with its contents scooped out, made instruments like the […], adjusted the strings to suit their voices and send the praises of the deity. […] From these beginnings, music with its new with its few fundamental rules, is making progress.

Art © Arun VC

increasingly so pertaining to religious (or caste) affiliation, ownership or cultural appropriation[↩]
“Savithri Rajan believes that Tyagaraja, like these other great men, was always meditating, but his medium of expression was nādam, ‘sound’ – he was an aspirant who followed nādopāsana, the approach or worship by way of sound. She points out that Tyagaraja composed a song beginning with the word nādopāsana saying there is nothing higher than worship via sound, music is the best vehicle because Brahman is nādam – divine sound – which is the omnipresent, omniscient power, ‘call it Power with a capital ‘P’, call it God, call it Christ, call it Krsna, call it Rāma.'” – Excerpt from: Tyagaraja and the Renewal of Tradition: Translations and Reflections by William Jackson (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidas, 1994), pp. 174-175
https://search.worldcat.org/en/title/878687716
A longer excerpt titled “The greatest, most beautiful thing is compassion expressed through music” is found here:
https://www.carnaticstudent.org/audio-dedication-to-her-guru-veena-dhanammal-by-savithri-rajan[↩]
“Abraham Pandithar (1859-1919) was a Renaissance Man whose achievements, whether in traditional medicine, education, music, agriculture or photography, simply defy easy definition.” – Learn more: https://www.thehindu.com/society/history-and-culture/The-Renaissance-Man-of-Thanjavur/article17008238.ece[↩]
Frontline Magazine & Deutsche Welle on 20 June 2023, Learn more: https://frontline.thehindu.com/news/explained-how-prehistoric-societies-were-transformed-by-the-sound-of-music-archaeology-findings-israel/article66989021.ece[↩]