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Author Topic: Jibanananda Das  (Read 37203 times) Average Rating: 0
 
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« on: May 11, 2007, 10:04:31 PM »



Jibanananda Das, (1899-1954) a major Bangla poet and educationist, was born on 17 February 1899 in BARISAL, son of Satyananda Das, a schoolteacher and founder editor of the Brahmabadi..His mother, Kusumkumari Das, wrote POETRY...Matriculating in 1915 from Barisal Brajamohan School, Jibanananda completed his IA in 1917 from B M College, and BA with Honours in English in 1919 and MA in 1921 from Presidency College..He also studied law for some time...

Jibanananda started his career as a teacher in Calcutta City College (1922-28)..He then briefly taught at the newly founded Bagerhat Prafulla Chandra College..He also taught at Ramjash College in Delhi (1929-30)..In 1935 he joined BM College in Barisal and continued to teach there till shortly before PARTITION in 1947 when he left for Kolkata..

Jibanananda started writing poems at an early age..While he was still a student, his poem, 'Barsa Abahan', (Invocation to the Rains) was published in the Brahmabadi (Baishakh 1326/April 1919..Many of his poems were published in various magazines..His volumes of poetry include Jhara Palak (Fallen Feathers, 1927), Dhusar Pandulipi (Gray Manuscript, 1936), Banalata Sen (1942), Mahaprthibi (Great Universe, 1944), Satti Tarar Timir (1948), Rupasi Bangla (Beautiful Bengal, written in 1934, published in 1957), Bela Abela Kalbela (1961)..

Jibanananda belonged to the group of poets who tried to shake off RABINDRANATH TAGORE's poetic influence..Inspired by western modernism and the intellectual outlook of the Bengali middle class, this group wrote about the realities of the urban present and of the lonely self even while they drew upon the rural traditions of Bengal..Although Jibanananda's early poems reveal some influences of  NAZRUL ISLAM, SATYENDRANATH DUTTA and MOHITLAL MAJUMDER, he shook off these influences to become a towering figure in Bangla poetry. Jibanananda shared Rabindranath's deep feeling for nature, eloquently describing the beauty of rural Bengal in Rupasi Bangla and earning the appellation of Rupasi Banglar Kavi (Poet of Beautiful Bengal)..Unlike Rabindranath, however, he also portrayed distressed humanity as well as the depression, frustration, and loneliness of modern urban life in his poems..Introspection is also an important characteristic of his poetic genius..His poems merge a concern for the present and a sense of history..Many of his poems sound like prose, and greatly influenced subsequent poets..

Jibanananda's poems of rural Bengal played an important role in the political and cultural perspective of Bangladesh..His poems inspired a pride in Bengali nationhood, especially in the 1960s and during the WAR OF LIBERATION in 1971..Though principally a poet, Jibanananda also wrote essays, SHORT STORIES, and NOVELs..As a novelist and short story writer, however, Jibananda's unique talent was realised after his death with the discovery of many of his manuscripts..These novels, which were published posthumously, include Malyaban (Adorned with a Garland 1972), Sutirtha (The Good Pilgrimage, 1977), Jalpaihati, Jibanpranali, Basmatir Upakhyan etc..He wrote about two hundred stories..A collection of his short stories is Jibanananda Dasher Galpa (Stories of Jibanananda Das, 1972)..He also wrote essays on poetry, some of them included in Kavitar Katha (On poems, 1955)...His complete works have been published in 12 volumes, as Jibanananda Samagra (The Complete Works of Jibanananda, 1985-96), from Kolkata...Jibananda's stories and novels analyse the complexities of conjugal life and of sexual relationships as well as the contemporary social and political infrastructure..

Banalata Sen received an award (1953) at the Nikhil Banga Rabindra Sahitya Sammelan (All Bengal Rabindra Literature Convention)..Jibanananda Dasher Shrestha Kavita won the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1954..Jibanananda died in a tram accident in Kolkata on 22 October 1954.

Source: http://www.banglapedia.org
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« Reply #1 on: May 11, 2007, 10:05:05 PM »

Between 1925, when his first poem appeared, and 1954, this shy professor of English literature who hardly ever traveled out of Bengal (except for a few months' stint of teaching at Ramjas College in Delhi), penned some of the most powerful verses in Bengali...Nearly half a century after his death, his poems, with their magical lyrics and tapestry of rich imagery, continue to haunt us..Jibanananda was a very private person; only one book of his verses was published in his lifetime, and there have not been translations of his books of poems even long after his death; the beauty and magic of Jibanananda's poetry has largely been confined to original Bengali...Clinton B. Seely at the University of Chicago, researched well over two decades on the life of Jibanananda, described him as the "..acknowledged successor to Rabindranath as Bengal's poet laureate" in his biography of the poet titled A Poet Apart..the English translations are taken from Prof. Seely's biography..Note the richness of imagery, and weaving of life and death in these works.

Banalata Sen is the most widely quoted poem by Jibanananda.

For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth,
From waters around Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas.
Much have I wandered. I was there in the gray world of Asoka
And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha.
I am a weary heart surrounded by life's frothy ocean.
To me she gave a moment's peace - Banalata Sen from Natore.

Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa
Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman,
His rudder broken, far out upon the sea-adrift,
Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so
Through darkness I saw her. Said she, "Where have you been so long?"
And raised her bird's-nest-like eyes - Banalata Sen from Natore.

At days end, like hush of dew
Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight from its wings,
When earth's colors fade and some pale design is sketched,
Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story.
All birds come home, all rivers, all of this life's tasks finished.
Only darkness remains, as I sit there face to face with Banalata Sen.

Banalata Sen was a recurrent theme is Jibanananda's creation with its rich tapestry of imagery..Was there a Banalata Sen? There is no documentation that there was indeed someone by that name in his real life...Expressions suggesting end of time, and use of words like "darkness remains" suggest end of life themes, that were common in Jibanananda's works related to Banalata Sen, but nothing beyond is hinted in these works. In "thousands of years merely play" he wrote, for example,

Thousands of years merely play like fireflies in darkness.
Pyramids all about. The smell of coffins.
Moonlight upon sand. Here and there shadows of date palms
Like disintegrated columns. Assyria stands dead - humbled.
Stench of mummies on our bodies: all of life's business is finished.
"Remember?" she asked. I queried merely, "Banalata Sen?"

In spite of his nuclear family of wife and two children, Jibanananda Das was a very lonely person...The poet Buddhadev Bose once commented that he was the "...most alone of our poets."..In a reflective, as if premonitory piece on the tram tracks of Calcutta, he once wrote:

"....It is late - so very late at night.
From one Calcutta sidewalk to another, from sidewalk to sidewalk
As I walk along, my life's blood feels the vapid, venomous touch
Of tram tracks stretched out beneath my feet like a pair of primordial serpent sisters.
A soft rain is falling, the wind slightly chilling.
Of what far land of green grass, rivers, fireflies am I thinking?
Where are the stars?
Have those stars been lost?
Beneath my feet the slender tram track - above my head a mesh of tangled wire
Chastises me...."

Sixteen years after he wrote these lines, in a fateful evening, while returning home from his evening walk, he was run over by a streetcar..Eight days later, he lost his battle..

Jibanananda Das was a unique poet for his generation..For his genre of poets, his entry into publication of poems was at an older age than most of his peers..In his lifetime, recognition came slow for him, and most of the time, too little, too late..It's ironic that the greatest poet of the post Tagore generation of Bengal never lived to see better times..Even in his centenary year, Calcutta, which prides itself to have more streets named after poets and litterateurs than any other, doesn't have one for her own son who lived and died in her streets and city-blocks..Yet, through it all, we want to believe all these are too trivial for the poet who once declared (in Windy Night):

"....My heart tore free from the earth and flew,
Flew up like a drunken balloon into an ocean of blue wind,
To the mast of some distant constellation, scattering stars as it flapped
away like some mischievous vulture...."

Jibanananda Das will live in our hearts forever.

By Arindam Basu
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« Reply #2 on: May 11, 2007, 10:06:57 PM »

here is a remark that i found in a forum while searching on Jibananda Das, posted by Bijoy Adhikary in response to the article i just posted above...i found it inspiring...hope u'll like it too
***

This is a wonderful approach to post an article on Jivannada Das, who to me is one of the greatest poets of all time...I really appreciate it...I have read couple of translations of Banalata Sen, and they were nice...They are useful too in a sense that english speaking people can read and see what Jibananda is...But in reading those translations I reaslized something...They dont' come near the original that was written in Bengali...The trnslators were wonderful, it's just that our language, my mothertounge is the best gift that has been given to me and it's because of this sweet bengali language the pure, indescribable taste of Banalata sen can only be felt if reader's mothertounge is bengali...I thank God for sending me to earth as a bengalee and for the poems of Jivananada Das and the novels of Bibhuti Banarjee..
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« Reply #3 on: May 13, 2007, 06:48:08 PM »

Those alluring poems of Jibanananda Das!

By A.H. Jaffor Ullah

 

Poems of Jibanananda Das have special meaning to all of us who are living in an alien land faraway removed from Bengal.  The sensation that I get reading poems from ruposhi bangla or bonolata sen cannot so easily be described through writing alone.  How one could possibly describe his or her mood or emotion?  As I am gracefully growing older, Jibanananda Das's poems are creeping into my mind. The joy that I get upon reading his fascinating poems could possibly be described by one Bangla word -- "onirbochonyo!"  There is no parallel English word for it.

It is rather pathetic that while I was a high school student kids belonging to my generation were not much exposed to the poems of either Jibanananda Das or Bishnu Dey—not that we could have appreciated Bishnu Dey’s difficult and post-modern poems at any halcyon days of our youth.  Therefore, the staple was that from Rabindranath Thakur, Nazrul, Sottrondonath Datta and few other poets' compositions of the twentieth century.  While I was in college in mid 1960s, I heard for the first time the name of Jibanananda Das.  I had the slightest idea that the poet had long gone a decade earlier.  His biography was difficult to obtain in those days.  By late 1960s, Jibanananda Das’s poem "Bonolata Sen" had created a sensation among college-going kids.  No one heard such poem before!  The similes Jibanananda Das used in his poems were so new that it was simply bewildering to read any of his gems.

In the early seventies, a friend gave me the poet's "ruposhi bangla" (Bangla, the Fair Maiden) to read.  The collection "ruposhi bangla" had 61 poems in it (first published in 1957, posthumously though).  Researchers say that most poems were composed in mid 1930s starting from march 1934.  Most likely, the poems were completed before 1939 when the World War II had started.  The war had a strong effect on the poet.  The dismal prospect of the war—the death and destruction—had caused such a stir in him that he started writing poems on melancholic theme.  His poem collection "satti tara’r timir" (Darkness of the Seven Stars) contains the poems influenced by the world gone awry due to world’s geopolitical conflicted even though Bengal was spared from the wrath of the war.

The poem collection "bonolota sen" has in it some thirty phenomenal poems.  The collection was published in December 1942 when a vicious war was still raging all over the world.  The poet was very sensitive to what was going on in the world during 1939 through 1945—when World war II was being fought between the Germans and the Allied force.  Even though the vicious war had spared bulk of Indian subcontinent, it had a major effect on Jibanananda Das because he composed some forty poems in a collection call "satti tara’r timir" (Darkness of the Seven Star), which were mostly written on melancholic theme.  It was published in 1948—a year after India was partitioned into India and Pakistan.  The poet was already in Kolkata by then. Why did Jibanananda Das have to leave Barishal—a nature’s paradise—and had to move to a concrete jungle in Kolkata in the early forties?  Was he comfortable, mentally, living in such a crowded place?  Was he fatigued living in the urban jungle so much so that it had hastened his demise from this mortal world?  Did he accidentally slip while riding a tram in Kolkata, or is it that he was simply tired of living in a lifeless place?  Surprisingly, the answer to my query may come from his poems.  In one of his many poems that he composed while he was in Kolkata, he wrote one on tramline.  How spooky!

The other day, I took some time out to get my  mind away from day’s event, which is nothing more than news about bombing of Afghanistan by the US military.  Most news of these tireless bombings of Afghanistan had lost novelty already after a month had gone by; the news of bombings, people getting killed due to "collateral damage,"  etc., had an aura of mundaneness in them.  Nothing excites me anymore.  I wished the world will once more become a placid place.  Therefore, to keep my little sanity, which is still intact, I went to the Internet looking for Jibanananda Das’s poem.  I was particularly looking for some English translation of his poems.  I found some, but they were scanty. In the mid-sixties, both Mr. Tarun Gupta and Ms. Mary Lago did some translation of Das’s poems such as "The Birds," "If I Were a Wild Swan," "Grass," "She," "The Sounds of a Dream," "O Kite!", "Twenty Years Later," "You Once Showed Me," and "The Story of the Field."  Unfortunately, I could not read a single of them because they are not available in the Internet.  However, I saw a handful of Jibanananda Das’s poems being translated into English in one website.  These translations were done literally (word for word with some restriction of course).  No names were mentioned as regard who did the translation.  I took one such translated poem (shikar); the Bangla original poem was included into poet's collection of poems entitled "bonolata sen."  I compared the translation done by the unknown person and then I did improvise on the translation to get a better feel for the poem.

It would be wonderful to place the original Bangla poem side-by-side with the translated version of the poem so that a reader who knows both the languages with proficiency could figure out if the English version carries the same sentiment as it was intended for the original Bangla version.  Believe me, it is a tough job to translate Jibanananda Das’s poem because the poet himself is an enigmatic person; besides, he used very difficult and unusual words throughout the poem.  In Bangla, readers have to read more than one time for some of Jibanananda Das’s poem to get the feel for the composition.  It is no easy task.

I have seen some fine translation of this enigmatic South East Bengali poet.  These were done by Clinton B. Seely (bodh - Sensation from dhusor pandulipi), Humayun Kabir (nabik—Sailor from satti tara’r timir, and Lila Ray (bidal - Cat from bonolata sen).  It is more than likely that other translations were done, but not readily available in the Internet.

In my next article on this enigmatic East Bengali poet of the early to mid twentieth century, I will try to accommodate one or two translated poems of the poet.  For, I believe, Jibanananda Das’s poems are timeless; also, they carry meaning that is still valid in this day of Internet.  The agelessness of our East Bengali poet’s composition comes from the very nature of those poems, which is the testament of a person who had a great difficulty (precariousness) in facing the onslaught of modernity.  I found some uncanny similarities between his poems and with that of nineteenth century American poet Walt Whitman.  How interesting it is that I lived in a small town for close to three years in Long Island, New York, in the mid seventies where this towering American poet, who was well ahead of his time, was born and lived there.  In my future essay, I will show how Whitman’s poems may have influenced the poetry of Jibanananda Das.  Until then, please enjoy this translated piece of Jibanananda Das—shikar (The Hunt).
 
 

The Hunt (Shikar) 

 Jibanananda Das 

Morn: 

Sky's color is like the soft blue of grasshopper's belly;
Guava and custard apple orchard all around, green as parrot's plumes.
A lone star still lingers in the sky;
Like the most twilight-intoxicated maiden in some village bridal chamber;
or that pearl from her bosom the ladylove from Egypt
dipped into my Nile-blue goblet of wine
A bright solitary star still hovers
just as it did some eon ago.
 

In a frosty night, the up-country menials lit a fire
in a filed whole night to keep their body warm
The fire was red like a cockscomb blossom,
Still ablaze, dry aswattha leaves are still crackling. 

Its hue no longer like vermillion in the light of the sun
But has morphed into a wan ardor of heart belonging to sickly salik bird.
Both the sky and surrounding shine in the morn's light drapped by dews
like the glimmer of peacock's colorful plumes.


Morn: 

All through the night, a sleek brown buck, roamed all around
the sundari through arjun forests
In starless, mahogany darkness it avoids the cheetah's grasp.
 Waiting for the dawn to crack
It came down in the dawn's first light;
It ripped, munched the fragrant grass, green as green grapefruit.
Down it came to the river touching its cold and tingling waves
to give a jolt to its sleepless, weary, bewildered body
 with the current's drive,
To become thrilled like that of dawn bursting through the cold and wizened
womb of darkness,
To wake like gold sun-spears beneath this blue and
Dazzle doe after doe with beauty, boldness, desire. 

Then, a strange sound! 

The river's water red like a smashed fruit.
Again the fire crackled-red venison served warm.
Many an old dew-dampened yarn, while seated on a bed of grass
beneath the stars.
Cigarette smoke;
Several human heads, hair neatly-parted.
Guns-here and there-frigid-guiltless sleep.

 
 

 ---------------------------------------
 A.H. Jaffor Ullah writes from New Orleans.  Comments can be directed at - Jaffor@netscape.net
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« Reply #4 on: May 13, 2007, 06:51:10 PM »

The loneliest poet 

By TISHANI DOSHI


READING the poetry of Jibanananda Das is like stumbling upon a labyrinth of mind similar to the kind one imagines Camus's "absurd" man toils through. His poems have all the ingredients of the modern man's anguish: pain, despair, yearning, set against a familiar landscape of the eternal, the eternal in this case being his beloved birthplace of Barisal, East Bengal, now Bangladesh. He approaches the world with the only tools the modern man can bring; the tools of reason, which are powerless to calm the anguish of the absurd man, because for the absurd mind, the world is neither rational nor irrational, it is merely unreasonable, and this conflict is at the very heart of Das's work.

To understand his world, one must first put into perspective the fact that he appeared on the Bengali poetry scene 40 years after Rabindranath Tagore, and comparisons to the venerable elder are inevitable. When put side by side, Tagore is the "traditionalist" while Das takes the "modernist" back seat, and while both poets are driven by an intense love for Bengal, the Bengal that is revealed to us in both cases is completely different. Das's poems are plagued by the modernist's desire to escape; his Bengal is achingly beautiful; haunting, savage, sad. Tagore said that "Our part is to appear on the stage of the air, to sound out tambourines and fling flashes of laughter." Jibanananda Das does not come storming out of his poems this way, instead, he's the wistful observer, his voice a quiet whisper in the background saying, this is how it should be, yet it is not... Almost in the same way Joe Winter deprecates his translation skills saying, this is how it should sound, but does not.

In the introduction to Naked Lonely Hand, Winter repeatedly warns us of his failings. Above all, he has been unable, he says. Unable to catch the timelessness, the special quality of awareness, the culture-specific atmosphere that inhabits Das's poems. He condemns his work as bland, lacking the right "Bengali seasoning." The job of the translator, he says, is to dive cleanly into a poem and fashion out a "sculpture of sound, that if it is finished will flow." For all his self-critical remarks, he has managed to keep original rhyme and meter for the most part and demonstrated quite clearly that he has indeed "lived" with these poems. In parts he has achieved that rare combination of technical brilliance while retaining the poems' original vision and momentum. Take these lines from "Songs of Leisure":

The sad time of mornings is filled with the sound of idle flies;
By an enchanter's river, it seems, the country of the world lies.
Taking their leave on all sides here cluster all sunset's rays;
From the sea of summer floating comes the song of the sleep of eyes;

If poems are an approach to human reality, then Das's own life must be examined briefly. Unhappily married with two children, Winter tells us his career included a short spell in journalism and long periods of unemployment. He taught English at universities in Calcutta, Delhi and Barisal. After partition he left Barisal and never returned. When he was 55 he was hit by a tram crossing the street in Calcutta and died. He left behind five published books of poems and a large body of unpublished prose and poetry of which, Rupasi Bangla (Bengal the Beautiful), a collection of 60 sprawling one-sentence Petrarchan sonnets remain most astounding for their jagged language, meticulous rhyming structure and the uninhibited outpouring of love for rural Bengal which doesn't allow you to pause for breath as you read them.

In Das's poetry there is an overwhelming sense of longing to return — to that which is pure, to that which is the beginning, to that place which cannot be reached. It is a world inhabited with mythical women: Behula, Manasa, Kankabati, Lahana, Maitreye, and that most famous one of them all, Banalata Sen. Suicidal, fierce, fairies, women rising from the dead, eternally beautiful, conquerors of civilisations with lances in hand, stationed at the edge of distant skies. Women with cane-fruit-pale-sad eyes who haunt him. Women whom, like he says of Sankhamala, "once the world knows her, then it does not." His rivers are mythical too: Bonjhiri, Jolihjiri, Jalangi, Kalidaha, Kirtinasha, Nildana, Pakhli, but the ultimate manifestation is of course, woman as river, and for Das this is the Dhansiri, the very real river that runs through his beloved Barisal:

I will come back again to Bengal, to this Dhansiri riverside
Maybe not as a man — but a shalik, or white-crest kite;
Or a dawn crow maybe, new-rice-time, in misty flight
To this jackfruit-tree-shade one Kartik day will glide

Nature plays an important role in the imagery of his poems, but it is not of the ordinary kind, it is accompanied with a separation in his mind between that which he desires and the reality of the world that disappoints. The juxtaposition of village versus city plays out the timeless contradiction between nostalgia for unity versus a fragmented universe. Das is carrying Barisal within him but he approaches the human condition with the mind of an urbanised intellectual, so how can he not be trapped in the contradiction that bind these two worlds together, that coexist, despite of? Thus, he must reconcile these two things in his poetry: how "one of the many thousand village nights of Bengal" can almost become a woman — "long-eyed, soft-smiling," and simultaneously, how the beggars in Bentick Street reckon up the world's wrongs and rights, killing lice in their hair, "for the land they will go to now is called the soaring river/where a wretched bone-picker and his bone come and discover/their faces in water — till looking at faces is over."

Das's poetry is a search for awareness, for light, and for this he must sift through the darkness that is filled with half-truths, weariness and existentialist despair. Sadness and pain serve as the main trajectory with which he takes us to the other shore of understanding, where he must go and where we, as readers must follow. "We have wrung out the value of this long-lived world," he says in "1946-47", a long poem about partition. "There's no place for the soul in the world/today there is no significant knowledge... there's no glimmer of light... . There is only a soundless deathless surrounding darkness."

I like what Winter calls "blessed despair." He implies that there are two darknesses, one in which man has imprisoned himself, and another, quite separate darkness, in which we must examine the reality of the world, the chaos and brutality that surrounds us, and make not just sense out of it, but transform it into beauty.

I do not want to know any more where emperor turns clown —
Where Babylon once more is ground down small;
The colour of the fire of soldier's torches to my eyes' edge do not bring;
Stop the war drums — let the buffoon of kingdoms and empires duck into dark like an owl's wing.


In his translations, Winter seems to have encountered despairs of his own. "A Jibanananda poem scrapes through one. It hurts. And then one is owned by it." All too true.

Naked Lonely Hand, Jibanananda Das, translated by Joe Winter, Anvil, 2003, £8.95.


 ---------------------------------------
Tishani Doshi received the Eric Gregory Award for her poetry in June 2001. She can be reached at t_doshi@hotmail.com
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« Reply #5 on: May 13, 2007, 06:57:17 PM »

Jibanananda : Poet of autumnal shadows

By Loken Bose


JIBANANANDA Das was my first youthful wonder. To quote Jibanananda himself, 'endangered wonder'. To qualify a state of mind like astonishment and wonder by the verbal adjective 'endangered' is just one spark of the creativity which set Jibanananda apart from the rest of the poets and which he pursued for 25 years. To express wonder and to feel endangered are two kinds of emotional experience. Jibanananda excelled in uniting divergent sensibilities for their concentrated effect upon the mind. This is one reason why his poetry makes such overpowering appeal upon the reader. Besides, his poetry relocates the designated tasks of the sense-organs and alters perceptivity in order to enhance sensuousness. The visible is made olfactory and the tactile is made out to be visible. This transposition of the sense-organs was nothing new in world poetry but it was Jibanananda who prompted the Bangalee reader to look at his familiar ambience with a new glow of strangeness and mystery. And also to hone his perception to a much finer grade so that he may appreciate 'green wind', 'smell of sunlight' and 'salty woman'. Some other examples 'The smell of meadow grass in its breasts / the smell of dew in the eyes -- / their savour induces the paddy to grow.' Few poets depicted the natural surounding of Bengal as penetratingly as Jibanananda did, although in novels Bibhutibhushan Bandopaddhya stands a comparison.

Our familiar surrounding is not cluttered up with objects lyrical the fountains and rainbows, the peacocks and gazelles. And it is not possible to go on writing poetry eternally on the colours of the rainbow and the dark wistful eyes of the gazelle. Poetry must break out of its traditional mould and chart a new direction. That is what Modernism is all about. Jibanananda's poetry contemplates such 'un-poetical' elements as the rat and the owl. And he also creates a juxtaposition of the beautiful and the ugly in order to produce a wrenching effect upon the reader's mind. In one of his poems perhaps the most controversial one he ever wrote in the woods a doe on her heat is being used by men as a bait to lure the stags who will rush, only to fall prey to the gunshots of hunters lying in wait. And this repulsive incident takes place in spring moonlight, to heighten the duality of emotion. At that time (1932) the poem touched off furious controversy. What was the poet depicting? Deception, cruelty, helplessness of beautiful creatures in the wilds or helplessness of the human situation? No other poem of Jibanananda's engendered such commotion. The uncomprehending public, not yet moulded in the Modernist tradition, dismissed the poem as lustful, crude, ugly. In fact the poet was celebrating pessimism and helplessness as ordained by nature. Before Jibanananda and his contemporaries of the 'Thirties, the syrupy lyricism and maudlin sentimentality of Rabindranath were what people thought to be poetry.

The imagery Jibanananda constructed is often outlandish. Imagery such as 'In her body the turbidity of afternoon', 'silence like the shoulder of a camel'. In the poem 'Cat' (Title may remind one of Baudelaire's famous poem but nothing else is common) we find lines like

In autumn afternoon
in the soft body of saffron-coloured sunlight
I see the cat playing
by affectionately running upon it
its light paws.
 

And there is a Baudelairesque attraction for what is putrid and rotten the rotted cucumber, foul-smelling pumpkin. Jibanananda believede, like a few other contemporary poets, that 'the world today is sunk in deep, deep sickness'.

In Jibanananda's poetry the recurrent theme is that depicting the penumbra of twilight, the setting where objects are darkened and shadowy. The grey mist of dusky shadows go to combine beauty with a dismal philosophy of life. A man who apparently lacked no fulfilment of life is driven by some dark mysterious force to hang himself. No one can tell why he did so.

It is common knowledge that autumn is Jibanananda's most favourite season and his poetry is eminently suffused by autumnal shadows. In the climatology of Bengal the spring season is very inconspicuous and passes unnoticed while early winter is a cheerful time. The shorn trees, harvested stubble, receding sunlight and shadowed fields and farms posses a quiet beauty which does not fail to reveal itself to a truly discerning mind. But Jibanananda sees far more in them. Tagore is a poet ofr monsoon rain and itsa fullness and profusion. Jibanananda is a poet of autumn, its greyness, its sombreness and desolation. The Bengali month kartik (mid-October to mid-November) is a recurring element in Jibanananda. It should not be supposed that he sang praise of autumn the way the older poets eulogised the spring. The darkened autumn landscape is not without its rats and owls and 'lazy flies'. Jibanananda, a Modernist that he is, sees Nature through an individualised prism with the result that all perspectives and proportions are warped and all poetical conventions are thrown to the winds. And the familiar objects are invested with weirdness and mystery.

Jibanananda's earliest poems few in number were written in English. These were a teen-ager's endeavour and are seldom read or even mentioned today. But it is significant that one English sonnet was on autumn. It begins

I have felt the breath of autumn wind,
With the fragrance of spring still in my heart
I have touched shiveringly the skirt
Of Autumn her treasures nervously grinned. 

His leitmotif is of course the river Dhansiri. But this is double entendre. Dhansiri may be a proper noun denoting a river near his home Barisal. But the word which means paddy-banked river can also be a metonymy representing rural Bengal. The translator is hard put to it to take a decision, since in Bangla there is no use of capital letter. This will remain an eternal puzzle.

Jibanananda was a lonely man, had few close friends, attended no assembly or adda, belonged to no goshthi or literary group. Buddhadev Bose who was instrumental in giving exposition of Jibanananda's literary excellence to the indifferent readers calls him the loneliest poet. No one has any explanation why Jibanananda kept his prose works -- novels and short stories -- secret. In his lifetime it was thought that he wrote nothing else except poetry, barring an occasional essay or review in Bangla or English. Almost every important person has marital problem. Jibanananda Das-Labonya Das (née Gupta) had three children and nothing unusual was suspected in the beginning. But Labonya Das who was surpassingly beautiful woman was also ambitious in a gross sense. Maybe she was an untamed shrew. Because of estranged relations with wife Jibanananda was said to be subjected to sexual repression. Finally he allotted a portion of his residence to a lady of easy virtue. At night after the children were asleep Jibanananda used to enter her room. Labonya perhaps knew this. Conjugal tension intensified. Whether his death from fatal injury under the wheels of a tramcar was accident or suicide will never be known. His life itself was an enigma.
......................................................
The author, a literature critic writes under a pen name.
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« Reply #6 on: June 02, 2007, 10:39:37 AM »

check out this link for more information about Jibanada Das

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jibanananda_Das
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« Reply #7 on: September 05, 2007, 09:10:24 PM »

আমি কবি-সেই কবি

আমি কবি-সেই কবি-
আকাশে কাতর আঁখি তুলি হেরি ঝরা পালকের ছবি!
আন্‌মনা আমি চেয়ে থাকি দূর হিঙুল-মেঘের পানে!
মৌন নীলের ইশারায় কোন্ কামনা জাগিছে প্রাণে!
বুকের বাদল উথলি উঠিছে কোন্ কাজরীর গানে!
দাদুরী-কাঁদানো শাঙন-দরিয়া হৃদয়ে উঠিছে দ্রবি!

স্বপন-সুরার ঘোরে
আখের ভুলিয়া আপনারে আমি রেখেছি দিওয়ানা ক'রে!
জন্ম ভরিয়া সে কোন্ হেঁয়ালি হল না আমার সাধা-
পায় পায় নাচে জিঞ্জির হায়, পথে পথে ধায় ধাঁধা!
-নিমেষে পাসরি এই বসুধার নিয়তি-মানার বাধা
সারাটি জীবন খেয়ালের খোশে পেয়ালা রেখেছি ভ'রে!

ভুঁয়ের চাঁপাটি চুমি
শিশুর মতন, শিরীষের বুকে নীরবে পড়ি গো নুমি!
ঝাউয়ের কাননে মিঠা মাঠে মাঠে মটর-ক্ষেতের শেষে
তোতার মতন চকিতে কখন আমি আসিয়াছি ভেসে!
-ভাটিয়াল সুর সাঁঝের আঁধারে দরিয়ার পারে মেশে,-
বালুর ফরাশে ঢালু নদীটির জলে ধোঁয়া ওঠে ধূমি!

বিজন তারার সাঁঝে
আমার প্রিয়ের গজল-গানের রেওয়াজ বুঝি বা বাজে!
প'ড়ে আছে হেথা ছিন্ন নীবার, পাখির নষ্ট নীড়!
হেথায় বেদনা মা-হারা শিশুর, শুধু বিধবার ভিড়!
কোন্ যেন এক সুদূর আকাশ গোধূলিলোকের তীর
কাজের বেলায় ডাকিছে আমারে, ডাকে অকাজের মাঝে!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #8 on: September 05, 2007, 09:11:25 PM »

নীলিমা

রৌদ্র ঝিল্‌মিল,
উষার আকাশ, মধ্য নিশীথের নীল,
অপার ঐশ্বর্যবেশে দেখা তুমি দাও বারে বারে
নিঃসহায় নগরীর কারাগার-প্রাচীরের পারে!
-উদ্বেলিছে হেথা গাঢ় ধূম্রের কুণ্ডলী,
উগ্র চুল্লিবহ্নি হেথা অনিবার উঠিতেছে জ্বলি,
আরক্ত কঙ্করগুলো মরুভূর তপ্তশ্বাস মাখা,
মরীচিকা-ঢাকা!
অগণন যাত্রিকের প্রাণ
খুঁজে মরে অনিবার, পায় নাকো পথের সন্ধান;
চরণে জড়ায়ে গেছে শাসনের কঠিন শৃঙ্খল-
হে নীলিমা নিষ্পলক, লক্ষ বিধিবিধানের এই কারাতল
তোমার ও মায়াদণ্ডে ভেঙেছ মায়াবী।
জনতার কোলাহলে একা ব'সে ভাবি
কোন্ দূর জাদুপুর-রহস্যের ইন্দ্রজাল মাখি
বাস্তবের রক্ততটে আসিলে একাকী!
স্ফটিক আলোকে তব বিথারিয়া নীলাম্বরখানা
মৌন স্বপ্ন-ময়ূরের ডানা!
চোখে মোর মুছে যায় ব্যাধবিদ্ধ ধরণীর রুধির-লিপিকা
জ্বলে ওঠে অন্তহারা আকাশের গৌরী দীপশিখা!
বসুধার অশ্রু-পাংশু আতপ্ত সৈকত,
ছিন্নবাস, নগ্নশির ভিক্ষুদল, নিষ্করুণ এই রাজপথ,
লক্ষ কোটি মুমূর্ষুর এই কারাগার,
এই ধূলি-ধূম্রগর্ভ বিস্তৃত আঁধার
ডুবে যায় নীলিমায়-স্বপ্নায়ত মুগ্ধ আঁখিপাতে,
-শঙ্খশুভ্র মেঘপুঞ্জে , শুক্লাকাশে, নক্ষত্রের রাতে;
ভেঙে যায় কীটপ্রায় ধরণীর বিশীর্ণ নির্মোক,
তোমার চকিত স্পর্শে, হে অতন্দ্র দূর কল্পলোক!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #9 on: September 05, 2007, 09:12:49 PM »

নাবিক

কবে তব হৃদয়ের নদী
বরি নিল অসম্বৃত সুনীল জলধি!
সাগর-শকুন্ত-সম উল্লাসের রবে
দূর সিন্ধু-ঝটিকার নভে
বাজিয়া উঠিল তব দুরন্ত যৌবন!
পৃথ্বীর বেলায় বসি কেঁদে মরে আমাদের শৃঙ্খলিত মন!
কারাগার-মর্মরের তলে
নিরাশ্রয় বন্দিদের খেদ-কোলাহলে
ভ'রে যায় বসুধার আহত আকাশ!
অবনত শিরে মোরা ফিরিতেছি ঘৃণ্য বিধিবিধানের দাস!
-সহস্রের অঙুলিতর্জন
নিত্য সহিতেছি মোরা-বারিধির বিপ্লব-গর্জন
বরিয়া লয়েছ তুমি, তারে তুমি বাসিয়াছ ভালো;
তোমার পক্ষরতলে টগ্‌বগ্ করে খুন-দুরন্ত, ঝাঁঝালো!-
তাই তুমি পদাঘাতে ভেঙে গেলে অচেতন বসুধার দ্বার,
অবগুণ্ঠিতার
হিমকৃষ্ণ অঙুলির কঙ্কাল-পরশ
পরিহরি গেলে তুমি-মৃত্তিকার মদ্যহীন রস
তুহিন নির্বিষ নিঃস্ব পানপাত্রখানা
চকিতে চূর্ণিয়া গেলে-সীমাহারা আকাশের নীল শামিয়ানা
বাড়ব-আরক্ত স্ফীত বারিধির তট,
তরঙ্গের তুঙ্গ গিরি, দুর্গম সঙ্কট
তোমারে ডাকিয়া নিল মায়াবীর রাঙা মুখ তুলি!
নিমেষে ফেলিয়া গেলে ধরণীর শূন্য ভিক্ষাঝুলি!
প্রিয়ার পাণ্ডুর আঁখি অশ্রু-কুহেলিকা-মাখা গেলে তুমি ভুলি!
ভুলে গেলে ভীরু হৃদয়ের ভিক্ষা, আতুরের লজ্জা অবসাদ,-
অগাধের সাধ
তোমারে সাজায়ে দেছে ঘরছাড়া ক্ষ্যাপা সিন্দবাদ!
মণিময় তোরণের তীরে
মৃত্তিকায় প্রমোদ-মন্দিরে
নৃত্য-গীত-হাসি-অশ্রু-উৎসবের ফাঁদে
হে দুরন্ত দুর্নিবার-প্রাণ তব কাঁদে!
ছেড়ে গেলে মর্মন্তুদ মর্মর বেষ্টন,
সমুদ্রের যৌবন-গর্জন
তোমারে ক্ষ্যাপায়ে দেছে, ওহে বীর শের!
টাইফুন্-ডঙ্কার হর্ষে ভুলে গেছ অতীত-আখের
হে জলধি পাখি!
পে তব নাচিতেছে ল্যহারা দামিনী-বৈশাখী!
ললাটে জ্বলিছে তব উদয়াস্ত আকাশের রতœচূড় ময়ূখের টিপ,
কোন্ দূর দারুচিনি লবঙ্গের সুবাসিত দ্বীপ
করিতেছে বিভ্রান্ত তোমারে!
বিচিত্র বিহঙ্গ কোন্ মণিময় তোরণের দ্বারে
সহর্ষ নয়ন মেলি হেরিয়াছ কবে!
কোথা দূরে মায়াবনে পরীদল মেতেছে উৎসবে-
স্তম্ভিত নয়নে
নীল বাতায়নে
তাকায়েছ তুমি!
অতি দূর আকাশের সন্ধ্যারাগ-প্রতিবিম্বে প্রস্ফুটিত সমুদ্রের
আচম্বিত ইন্দ্রজাল চুমি
সাজিয়াছ বিচিত্র মায়াবী!
সৃজনের জাদুঘর-রহস্যের চাবি
আনিয়াছ কবে উন্মোচিয়া
হে জল-বেদিয়া!
অল্য বন্দর পানে ছুটিতেছ তুমি নিশিদিন
সিন্ধু বেদুঈন!
নাহি গৃহ, নাহি পান্থশালা-
লক্ষ লক্ষ ঊর্মি-নাগবালা
তোমারে নিতেছে ডেকে রহস্যপাতালে-
বারুণী যেথায় তার মণিদীপ জ্বালে!
প্রবাল-পালঙ্ক-পাশে মীননারী ঢুলায় চামর!
সেই দুরাশার মোহে ভুলে গেছ পিছুডাকা স্বর
ভুলেছ নোঙর!
কোন্ দূর কুহকের কূল
লক্ষ্য করি ছুটিতেছে নাবিকের হৃদয়-মাস্তুল
কে বা তাহা জানে!
অচিন আকাশ তারে কোন্ কথা কয় কানে কানে!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #10 on: September 05, 2007, 09:13:32 PM »

বনের চাতক-মনের চাতক

বনের চাতক বাঁধল বাসা মেঘের কিনারায়-
মনের চাতক হারিয়ে গেল দূরের দুরাশায়!
ফুঁপিয়ে ওঠে কাতর আকাশ সেই হতাশার ক্ষোভে-
সে কোন্ বোঁটের ফুলের ঠোঁটের মিঠা মদের লোভে
বনের চাতক-মনের চাতক কাঁদছে অবেলায়!

পুবের হাওয়ায় হাপর জ্বলে, আগুনদানা ফাটে!
কোন্ ডাকিনীর বুকের চিতায় পচিম আকাশ টাটে!
বাদল-বৌয়ের চুমার মৌয়ের সোয়াদ চেয়ে চেয়ে
বনের চাতক-মনের চাতক চলছে আকাশ বেয়ে,
ঘাটের ভরা কলসি ও-কার কাঁদছে মাঠে মাঠে!

ওরে চাতক, বনের চাতক, আয় রে নেমে ধীরে
নিঝুম ছায়া-বৌরা যেথা ঘুমায় দীঘি ঘিরে,
"দে জল!" ব'লে ফোঁপাস কেন? মাটির কোলে জল
খবর-খোঁজা সোজা চোখের সোহাগে ছল্‌ছল্ !
মজিস নে রে আকাশ-মরুর মরীচিকার তীরে!
মনের চাতক, হতাশ উদাস পাখায় দিয়ে পাড়ি
কোথায় গেলি ঘরের কোণের কানাকানি ছাড়ি?
ননীর কলস আছে রে তার কাঁচা বুকের কাছে,
আতার ক্ষীরের মতো সোহাগ সেথায় ঘিরে আছে!
আয় রে ফিরে দানোয়-পাওয়া, আয় রে তাড়াতাড়ি।

বনের চাতক, মনের চাতক আসে না আর ফিরে,
কপোত-ব্যথা বাজায় মেঘের শকুনপাখা ঘিরে!
সে কোন্ ছুঁড়ির চুড়ি আকাশ-শুঁড়িখানায় বাজে!
চিনিমাখা ছায়ায় ঢাকা চুনীর ঠোঁটের মাঝে
লুকিয়ে আছে সে-কোন্ মধু মৌমাছিদের ভিড়ে!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #11 on: September 05, 2007, 09:15:23 PM »

বেদিয়া

চুলিচালা সব ফেলেছে সে ভেঙে, পিঞ্জরহারা পাখি!
পিছুডাকে কভু আসে না ফিরিয়া, কে তারে আনিবে ডাকি?
উদাস উধাও হাওয়ার মতন চকিতে যায় সে উড়ে,
গলাটি তাহার সেধেছে অবাধ নদী-ঝর্ণার সুরে;
নয় সে বান্দা রংমহলের, মোতিমহলের বাঁদী,
ঝোড়ো হাওয়া সে যে, গৃহপ্রাঙ্গণে কে তারে রাখিবে বাঁধি!
কোন্ সুদূরের বেনামী পথের নিশানা নেছে সে চিনে,
ব্যর্থ ব্যথিত প্রান্তর তার চরণচিহ্ন বিনে!
যুগযুগান্ত কত কান্তার তার পানে আছে চেয়ে,
কবে সে আসিবে ঊষর ধূসর বালুকা-পথটি বেয়ে
তারই প্রতীক্ষা মেগে ব'সে আছে ব্যাকুল বিজন মরু!
দিকে দিকে কত নদী-নির্ঝর কত গিরিচূড়া-তরু
ঐ বাঞ্ছিত বন্ধুর তরে আসন রেখেছে পেতে
কালো মৃত্তিকা ঝরা কুসুমের বন্দনা-মালা গেঁথে
ছড়ায়ে পড়িছে দিগ্‌দিগন্তে ক্ষ্যাপা পথিকের লাগি!
বাবলা বনের মৃদুল গন্ধে বন্ধুর দেখা মাগি
লুটায়ে রয়েছে কোথা সীমান্তে শরৎ উষার শ্বাস!
ঘুঘু-হরিয়াল-ডাহুক-শালিখ-গাঙচিল-বুনোহাঁস
নিবিড় কাননে তটিনীর কূলে ডেকে যায় ফিরে ফিরে
বহু পুরাতন পরিচিত সেই সঙ্গী আসিল কি রে!
তারই লাগি ভায় ইন্দ্রধনুক নিবিড় মেঘের কূলে,
তারই লাগি আসে জোনাকি নামিয়া গিরিকন্দরমূলে।
ঝিনুক-নুড়ির অঞ্জলি ল'য়ে কলরব ক'রে ছুটে
নাচিয়া আসিছে অগাধ সিন্ধু তারই দুটি করপুটে।
তারই লাগি কোথা বালুপথে দেখা দেয় হীরকের কোণা,
তাহারই লাগিয়া উজানী নদীর ঢেউয়ে ভেসে আসে সোনা!
চকিতে পরশপাথর কুড়ায়ে বালকের মতো হেসে
ছুড়ে ফেলে দেয় উদাসী বেদিয়া কোন্ সে নিরুদ্দেশে!
যত্ন করিয়া পালক কুড়ায়, কানে গোঁজে বনফুল,
চাহে না রতন-মণিমঞ্জুষা হীরে-মাণিকের দুল,
-তার চেয়ে ভালো অমল উষার কনক-রোদের সীঁথি,
তার চেয়ে ভালো আলো-ঝল্মল্ শীতল শিশিরবীথি,
তার চেয়ে ভালো সুদূর গিরির গোধূলি-রঙিন জটা,
তার চেয়ে ভালো বেদিয়া বালার ক্ষিপ্র হাসির ছটা!
কী ভাষা বলে সে, কী বাণী জানায়, কিসের বারতা বহে!
মনে হয় যেন তারই তরে তবু দুটি কান পেতে রহে
আকাশ-বাতাস-আলোক-আঁধার মৌন স্বপ্নভরে,
মনে হয় যেন নিখিল বিশ্ব কোল পেতে তার তরে!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #12 on: September 05, 2007, 09:16:43 PM »

অস্তচাঁদে

ভালোবাসিয়াছি আমি অস্তচাঁদ, -ক্লান্ত শেষপ্রহরের শশী!
-অঘোর ঘুমের ঘোরে ঢলে যবে কালো নদী-ঢেউয়ের কলসী,
নিঝ্ঝুম বিছানার পরে
মেঘবৌ'র খোঁপাখসা জোছনাফুল চুপে চুপে ঝরে,-
চেয়ে থাকি চোখ তুলে'-যেন মোর পলাতকা প্রিয়া
মেঘের ঘোমটা তুলে' প্রেত-চাঁদে সচকিতে ওঠে শিহরিয়া!
সে যেন দেখেছে মোরে জন্মে জন্মে ফিরে' ফিরে' ফিরে'
মাঠে ঘাটে একা একা, -বুনোহাঁস-জোনাকির ভিড়ে!
দুশ্চর দেউলে কোন্-কোন্ যক্ষ-প্রাসাদের তটে,
দূর উর-ব্যাবিলোন-মিশরের মরুভূ-সঙ্কটে,
কোথা পিরামিড তলে, ঈসিসের বেদিকার মূলে,
কেউটের মতো নীলা যেইখানে ফণা তুলে উঠিয়াছে ফুলে,
কোন্ মনভুলানিয়া পথচাওয়া দুলালীর মনে
আমারে দেখেছে জোছনা-চোর চোখে-অলস নয়নে!
আমারে দেখেছে সে যে আসরীয় সম্রাটের বেশে
প্রাসাদ-অলিন্দে যবে মহিমায় দাঁড়ায়েছি এসে-
হাতে তার হাত, পায়ে হাতিয়ার রাখি
কুমারীর পানে আমি তুলিয়াছি আনন্দের আরক্তিম আঁখি!
ভোরগেলাসের সুরা-তহুরা, ক'রেছি মোরা চুপে চুপে পান,
চকোরজুড়ির মতো কুহরিয়া গাহিয়াছি চাঁদিনীর গান!
পেয়ালায়-পায়েলায় সেই নিশি হয় নি উতলা,
নীল নিচোলের কোলে নাচে নাই আকাশের তলা!
নটীরা ঘুমায়েছিল পুরে পুরে, ঘুমের রাজবধূ-
চুরি করে পিয়েছিনু ক্রীতদাসী বালিকার যৌবনের মধু!
সম্রাজ্ঞীর নির্দয় আঁখির দর্প বিদ্রূপ ভুলিয়া
কৃষ্ণাতিথি-চাঁদিনীর তলে আমি ষোড়শীর উরু পরশিয়া
লভেছিনু উল্লাস-উতরোল!-আজ পড়ে মনে
সাধ-বিষাদের খেদ কত জন্মজন্মান্তের, রাতের নির্জনে!

আমি ছিনু 'ক্রবেদুর' কোন্ দূর 'প্রভেন্স্'-প্রান্তরে!
-দেউলিয়া পায়দল্-অগোচর মনচোর-মানিনীর তরে
সারেঙের সুর মোর এমনি উদাস রাত্রে উঠিত ঝঙ্কারি!
আঙুরতলায় ঘেরা ঘুমঘোর ঘরখানা ছাড়ি
ঘুঘুর পাখনা মেলি মোর পানে আসিল পিয়ারা;
মেঘের ময়ূরপাখে জেগেছিল এলোমেলো তারা!
-'অলিভ' পাতার ফাঁকে চুন চোখে চেয়েছিল চাঁদ,
মিলননিশার শেষে-বৃশ্চিক, গোক্ষুরাফণা, বিষের বিস্বাদ!

স্পেইনের 'সিয়েরা'য় ছিনু আমি দস্যু-অশ্বারোহী-
নির্মম-কৃতান্ত-কাল-তবু কী যে কাতর, বিরহী!
কোন্ রাজনন্দিনীর ঠোঁটে আমি এঁকেছিনু বর্বর চুম্বন!
অন্দরে পশিয়াছিনু অবেলার ঝড়ের মতন!
তখন রতনশেজে গিয়েছিল নিভে মধুরাতি,
নীল জানালার পাশে-ভাঙা হাটে-চাঁদের বেসাতি।
চুপে চুপে মুখে কার পড়েছিনু ঝুঁকে!
ব্যাধের মতন আমি টেনেছিনু বুকে
কোন্ ভীরু কপোতীর উড়ু-উড়ু ডানা!
-কালো মেঘে কেঁদেছিল অস্তচাঁদ-আলোর মোহানা!

বাংলার মাঠে ঘাটে ফিরেছিনু বেণু হাতে একা,
গঙ্গার তীরে কবে কার সাথে হয়েছিল দেখা!
'ফুলটি ফুটিলে চাঁদিনী উঠিলে' এমনই রূপালি রাতে
কদমতলায় দাঁড়াতাম গিয়ে বাঁশের বাঁশিটি হাতে!
অপরাজিতার ঝাড়ে- নদীপারে কিশোরী লুকায়ে বুঝি!-
মদনমোহন নয়ন আমার পেয়েছিল তারে খুঁজি!
তারই লাগি বেঁধেছিনু বাঁকা চুলে ময়ূরপাখার চূড়া,
তাহারই লাগিয়া শুঁড়ি সেজেছিনু-ঢেলে দিয়েছিনু সুরা!
তাহারই নধর অধর নিঙাড়ি উথলিল বুকে মধু,
জোনাকির সাথে ভেসে শেষরাতে দাঁড়াতাম দোরে বঁধু!
মনে পড়ে কি তা!-চাঁদ জানে যাহা, জানে যা কৃষ্ণাতিথির শশী,
বুকের আগুনে খুন চড়ে-মুখ চুন হয়ে যায় একেলা বসি!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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« Reply #13 on: September 05, 2007, 09:17:55 PM »

স্মৃতি

থমথমে রাত, আমার পাশে বসল অতিথি-
বললে, আমি অতীত ক্ষুধা-তোমার অতীত স্মৃতি!
-যে দিনগুলো সাঙ্গ হল ঝড়বাদলের জলে,
শুষে গেল মেরুর হিমে, মরুর অনলে,
ছায়ার মতো মিশেছিলাম আমি তাদের সনে;
তারা কোথায়?-বন্দি স্মৃতিই কাঁদছে তোমার মনে!
কাঁদছে তোমার মনের খাকে, চাপা ছাইয়ের তলে,
কাঁদছে তোমার স্যাঁত্সেঁতে শ্বাস-ভিজা চোখের জলে,
কাঁদছে তোমার মূক মমতার রিক্ত পাথার ব্যেপে,
তোমার বুকের খাড়ার কোপে, খুনের বিষে ক্ষেপে!
আজকে রাতে কোন্ সে সুদূর ডাক দিয়েছে তারে,-
থাকবে না সে ত্রিশূলমূলে, শিবের দেউলদ্বারে!
মুক্তি আমি দিলেম তারে-উল্লাসেতে দুলে
স্মৃতি আমার পালিয়ে গেল বুকের কপাট খুলে
নবালোকে-নবীন উষার নহবতের মাঝে।
ঘুমিয়েছিলাম, দোরে আমার কার করাঘাত বাজে!
-আবার আমায় ডাকলে কেন স্বপনঘোরের থেকে!
অই লোকালোক-শৈলচূড়ায় চরণখানা রেখে
রয়েছিলাম মেঘের রাঙা মুখের পানে চেয়ে,
কোথার থেকে এলে তুমি হিম সরণি বেয়ে!
ঝিম্‌ঝিমে চোখ, জটা তোমার ভাসছে হাওয়ার ঝড়ে,
শ্মশানশিঙা বাজল তোমার প্রেতের গলার স্বরে!
আমার চোখের তারার সনে তোমার আঁখির তারা
মিলে গেল, তোমার মাঝে আবার হলেম হারা!
-হারিয়ে গেলাম ত্রিশূলমূলে, শিবের দেউলদ্বারে;
কাঁদছে স্মৃতি-কে দেবে গো-মুক্তি দেবে তারে!


Courtesy: http://www.barnamala.org/
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jagao jagao..jagao amr supto ei pran"
doKhin Haowa
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« Reply #14 on: May 08, 2008, 10:46:48 PM »

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jagao jagao..jagao amr supto ei pran"
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