Poem Hunter
Little Flute
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 / Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India)

Little Flute

Poem By Rabindranath Tagore

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

User Rating: 3,2 / 5 ( 46 votes ) 9

Comments (9)

This is one of those works that when you re-read it several times over there are several roads of interpretation that become more apparent with their philosophical underpinnings, still on the surface it can still be seen as an enchanting ode to a musical instrument that provides Tagore happiness and contemplation, such is the wonder of little things like a flute that they enhance a persons life and give us meaning and purpose. In this way its littleness is in fact a big part of once life, it might be small and frail but in the end it is more important then all the gold and silver in the world. On a deeper level you can see the flute as a representation of mankind, an instrument for a higher power meant to express itself to the universe and its maker. In that case there is always room to fill with the sounds of pouring gods love.
I like how Rajnish Manga and Neil Beightol below say it- - I think I will let them speak for me this time... especially since this poem is hopping around like a grasshopper from this page to the next. !
This small poem speaks volumes about the divine arrangement between the man and The God Almighty. There is no end to the bounties flowing from Him to the man incessantly. Nice one. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
This piece rejoices in seeing ourselves as an intentional object of the divine, naturally, passionately, unapologetically. How distinctive from the perspective of the existential materialist, deriving significance from the context. Our souls and our art will ever incline to probe the deep currents of our existence, to wander the paths that lead to vistas where the profound questions may be asked, no matter our starting point.
i am struck again how we who create- with words or in other media- channel over and over the same or similar images- which makes me think of carl jung and his articulation of archetypes. in particular, this poem of tagore's- which to my knowledge i have never read- reminds me of my heart-song which begins, as the homely but happy music of a wooden flute. -glen kappy