By Annamayya, Velcheru Narayana Rao, David Shulman
The devotional poems of Annamaya (15th century) are might be the main obtainable and common fulfillment of classical Telugu literature, one of many significant literatures of pre-modern India. Annamaya successfully created and popularized a brand new style, the fast padam track, which unfold in the course of the Telugu and Tamil areas and could turn into a major motor vehicle for the composition of Carnatic song - the classical tune of South India. during this booklet, Rao and Shulman provide translations of one hundred fifty of Annamaya's poems. them all are addressed to the god linked to the well-known temple urban of Tirupati-Annamaya's home-a deity who's occasionally known as "god at the hill" or "lord of the seven hills." The poems are couched in an easy and available language invented via Annamaya for this goal. Rao and Shulman's stylish and lyrical sleek translations of those attractive and relocating verses are splendidly readable as poetry of their personal correct, and should be of serious curiosity to students of South Indian background and tradition.
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Additional resources for God on the Hill: Temple Poems from Tirupati
Soon you can’t hide the love in your heart. Once the god on the hill has made love to you, you can no longer say it was this much and that much. Better keep your distance. , : tagili pāyuta kante Born a man. Serves another man. Suﬀers every day. Goes into every wretched place and begs for a morsel to eat. Craves the place he was born. That’s why he’s never free. Born a man. God is born in all of us. Grows in all of us. Is all of us. If a man chooses him, he goes where no one else can go.
You create all these people, and then I think I’m my children’s father. You give whatever I have, but I’m sure I’ve earned it all. What can I say? You give this world and the other, and I think I’ve won them by my prayers. You’re not ﬁnished with me yet. I’m the great expert on God. What can I say? , : itti nā verritanamul em’ ani ceppu kondunu Don’t you know my house, the palace of the love god, ﬂooded with the sweet smell of ﬂowers? Don’t you know the house in the shade of the tamarind grove, that narrow space between golden hills?
You keep searching, inside and out. You are the wind that breathes. You are the life of pouring moonlight. You ripple over the deep black ponds. Soaked in the fragrance of unfolding jasmine, you seem like water far away. You are the wind that breathes. You hold court in the mango grove. You drink up honey from the lotus pond. You are where all coolness rests, but you rain down heat on us. You are the wind that breathes. You live up there, on the hill, like a lord. You make couples happy, after love.