things you ought to know about me:

My name, Meghomala, is derived from Rabindranath Tagore’s 30th verse of his Bengali poem, The Gardener, translated here:

You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams.
I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams!

Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart’s desire,
Gleaner of my sunset songs!
Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams!

With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes, Haunter
of the depth of my gaze!
I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music.
You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams!

Additionally, Pablo Neruda was so influenced by this same poem, he did his own rendition, “En Mi Cielo Al Crepúsculo”:

En mi cielo al crepúsculo cres como una nube
y tu color y forma son como yo los quiero.
Eras mía, cres mía, mujer de labios dulces
y viven en tu vida mis infinotos sueños.

La lámpara de mí alma te sonorosa los pies,
el agrio vino mío es más dulce en tus labios,
oh segadora de mi canción de atardecer,
cómo te sienten mía mis sueños solitarios!

Eres mía, eres mía, voy gritando en la brisa
de la tarde, y el viento arrastra mi voz viuda.
Cazadora del fondo de mis ojos, tu robo
estanca como el agua tu mirada nocturna.

En la red de mi música estás presa, amor mío,
y mis redes de música son anchas como el cielo.
Mi alma nace a la orilla de tus ojos de luto.
En tus ojos de luto comienza el país del sueño.

Which translated is, “In My Sky At Twilight,”

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon’s
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

That’s pretty fucking cool, dudes.
Also, if you love Neruda (as you should), please, please, please check out:

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Amazingly beautiful Italian movie.

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One Response to things you ought to know about me:

  1. Renée says:

    Ah, “Il Postino.” I think it’s a required movie for all students of Italian. Funny thing is, he’s not even speaking standard Italian but a dialect; I can pick out bits and phrases, but it is almost like listening to someone from the Deep South talk.

    I’ve seen so many Italian films that this one sort of ranks real low in my list of “good Italian films.” It’s okay, but there are much better ones out there.

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