This is a very interesting poem.
(Golf clap at this sentence.)
And second, because, unless we find somebody who speaks Bangla, and is able to track down the original poem, we will not find out whether the title is maybe really a reference to Coleridge, or if the translator took some inappropriate poetic freedom.
By the by, the people we Westerners incorrectly refer as “Indians” have some of the most beautiful poets I have ever read, Rabindranath Thakur being one of them. 🙂
Poem via Poem Hunter.
The Ancient Mariner
He was outside his porch, all crumpled up,
Eyes shrunken, weather-beaten, bent and weak,
Coughing, hands trembling, puffing hard
At his old hookah, when the siren’s wail
Reached him, a long and ripplingnote, across
The lake at Chapiagachi and the docks,
Over the rows of trees at Hanna, like
Soft music from an old piano which
Breaks in upon the calm of villages
Nestled among tall trees.
The twilight skies
Darkened; a flock of wild geese flashed as they
The sailor stirred; he felt a throb
In his old heart, and his eyes glistened. He
Was back once more on his boat on the seas
Manning the steering wheel. Around him stetched
The waters for to the horizon’s end,
Treeless, without a sign of land. Ice floats
Glinted in sunlight, white, red, blue, dark brown,
Changing in colort, he among them, eyes,
Fixed on the sea.
The scene returned; he thought
Of dreams he’s dreamt amid those winds and waves.