Ekta kobita Likhbo bole

Ekta kobita Likhbo bole
Nilkanto


Ekta kobita likhbo bole,


koyek soto chondro-rat jege cilam...


kobita likha hoyni!


ekta kobitar vasha khujte,


koyek somudrer jol sukiyesi. . .


khuje paini!

The Forgotten Dream

The Forgotten Dream
By..S.k.Lindmen


In the early morning

a whisper comes to me

A love so pure and tender

beckoning to me

come hither

say the voices

crying out in dreams.



Abandon inhibitions

come to the angels' den

Where desire mixed with feeling

and the golden light of love

is sprinkled

as a perfume

throughout the holy air.

The Forgotten Dream
by-

Where is this poignant perfume

that permeates the air?

Breathe deeply

the forgotten dream

it is everywhere.







Can one always dream?

One can always sleep

But can one always dream?

When minutes slip away at last

as cloth closes seam

And makes a garment

The design is cast

And no altering of the piece

Can change the fact

The piece has been made

the dream has been cast

The solidifying then

and then

and then

reality sets in.



s.k.lindeman

Leroy anderson-Forgotten dreams piano solo

The Forgotten Dream: A Second Life Experience

Simple Quotes that Move the Heart

THIS will MAKE YOU "CRY"

Missing you

Poems about love and missing someone...

Love Poems

Your name



Your Name

I wrote your name in the sky,
but the wind blew it away.
I wrote your name in the sand,
but the waves washed it away.
I wrote your name in my heart,
and forever it will stay.

- Jessica Blade -

Never Have I Fallen

Never Have I Fallen

Your lips speak soft sweetness
Your touch a cool caress
I am lost in your magic
My heart beats within your chest

I think of you each morning
And dream of you each night
I think of your arms being around me
And cannot express my delight

Never have I fallen
But I am quickly on my way
You hold a heart in your hands
That has never before been given away

- Rex A. Williams -


Why I Love You


You give to me hope
And help me to cope
When life pulls me down
You bring me around

You teach me to care
And help me to share
You make me honest
With kindness the best

From you I learned love
With grace from above
It's for you I live
And I want to give

You are the reason
That fills each season
When I hear love I think of you
You are my world and best friend too

I love you because you are so kind, thoughtful and caring
I love you because you are so pleasant, lovely and sharing

You made me the man I am
Thank you

JOL RONG & JOYNUL1943




From Prothom alo

Character Analysis

কৃতঞ্জতা-প্রথম  আলো

RESULT JSC & JDC 2011


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 Scotland's national poet Edwin Morgan dies aged 90

Scotland's national poet Edwin Morgan has died at the age of 90.

Born in Glasgow in 1920, he was recognised as one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. His work encompassed a wide variety of forms of poetry, from sonnet to concrete poetry. His death was confirmed by his publisher on Thursday.

His publisher said: "It is with great sadness that Sandstone Press echoes the news of Edwin Morgan’s death at his Care Home in Glasgow, the city which he loved and celebrated throughout his long and creative life. We understand from the poet’s close friend and biographer, James McGonigal, that Edwin Morgan’s health had recently taken a downturn.

"Our thoughts are with James and his own family, and with Edwin Morgan’s many colleagues and close friends in the Arts. More will follow through the national and international news systems and readers’ attention is directed to those media now."

Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy said: "Everyone who performs or attends at the Edinburgh International Book Festival will be thinking of him with love and gratitude."

First Minister Alex Salmond said: "Edwin Morgan was truly a great man, an exceptional poet, an inspiration and a most fitting choice as the Scotland's first National Poet.

"Much-loved in Scotland and indeed around the world, his work tackled all manner of global issues and major historical events closer to home. His passion for observing all aspects of Scottish life shone a spotlight on Scotland for the rest of the world.

"I vividly recall the poem he wrote for the Opening of the Scottish Parliament, when he wrote 'Don't let your work and hope be other than great'. That epithet must surely apply to Edwin Morgan himself.

"Our thoughts are with his family and friends at this sad time, but his legacy of great work will endure and ensure his name lives on."

Long career

In his career, Edwin Morgan was also recognised as a literary translator, having published work that was originally written in Russian, Hungarian, French and other languages.

He studied at the University of Glasgow, but his studies were interrupted by World War Two. He served in a non-combatant role with the Royal Army Medical Corps as a conscientious objector before returning to complete his degree.

Morgan went on to work at Glasgow University as a lecturer until he retired in 1980 but his work as a poet continued. In 2004 a poem he wrote for the opening of the Scottish Parliament building was read at the occasion. He was unable to attend the event as he was too ill at the time.

Many of his poems were studied in schools across Scotland. His works were published in collections including The Glasgow Sonnets, Instamatic Poems and From Glasgow to Saturn.

Well known poems he wrote included Glasgow 5 March 1971 and In the Snackbar, both of which captured scenes in his home city. His poem Strawberries is widely regarded as his best-loved work. His first work - a translation of the poem Beowulf - appeared in 1952 and he continued to have work published in the 21st century.

Recently he collaborated with Scottish band Idlewild. In 1982 he was awarded an OBE. In 1999 was announced as Glasgow's first Poet Laureate and in 2004 he was named as the first Scottish national poet, The Scots Makar.

IN DETAIL
Edwin Morgan: An appreciation
VIDEO: Edwin Morgan appearing on STV's Off the Page programme
VIDEO: Edwin Morgan appearing on STV's Don't Look Down programme


Sands of Love

The World Is A Better Place
More Poems | Forward this Graphic

Poem




Love

If you love

you obtain hurt.

When you’re getting hurt

you hate.

If you hate

you are trying to forget.

If you make an effort to forget

you start missing.

When you start missing

you fall crazily for each other again..!

ONever waste an chance 2 say

‘I love U’ to someone U enjoy

B’coz it isn’t everyday U’ll fulfill the person

Which has the miracle to permit U fall crazily for each other.

OIf I buy your smile, I don’t need flowers.

Essentially obtain the voice, I don’t need music.

In the event you speak with me, I don’t listen anyone else,

If you are with me at night, I don’t require the planet.

Accept You

OA candle may melt

which is fire may die,

nevertheless the accept you have

given me will almost always

stay just like a flame throughout my heart.

OPerfect Concept of Love

To supply someone the whole

authority to get rid of you

But

Within the same moment confident

that he / she will not ever take action!

OA smile to put your self on high…

A hug to produce your soul alright…

Could it be okay if

I spent tonight being loved from you?

OThe finest weakness

of all humans

may be the hesitancy

to see others

simply how much they love them

while they’re alive.

OIf a hug will be a raindrop I’d hand back showers,

In case your hug will be a second I’d hand back several hours,

If happiness was sand I’d hand back the sea,

If love will be a person I’d hand back me.

OWhat’s love?

People who don’t enjoy it think of it as a duty.

People who enjoy it think of it as a game title title.

People who don’t hv it think of it as an aspiration.

And

personally it’s U.

OSome say they love rain,

however, if it rains,

they’ll use an umbrella.

Some say they love the sun’s sun rays

however, if the sun’s sun rays sticks out,

they search for shade.

Some say they love the wind

however, if it’s windy,

they close their house home windows.

Because of this,

I am scared,

when someone states :

“I love U”

related love sms – love poems sms:

love poems

poems about love

poems of love

love poetry

poems for love

smsc simulator

gratis sms to all or any provider

i like you

for one another poems

lovepoems

sad love poems

Jibanananda and Bengali poetry

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 JIBANANDA DASH  and his Contribution In Bengali Literature.
(Comparing  with other poet)


During the later half of the twentieth century, Jibanananda Das emerged as the most popular poet of modern Bengali literature. Popularity apart, Jibanananda Das had distinguished himself as an extraordinary poet presenting a paradigm hitherto unknown. It is a fact that his unfamiliar poetic diction, choice of words and thematic preferences took time to reach the heart of the readers. Towards the later half of the twentieth century the poetry of Jibanananda has become the defining essence of modernism in twentieth century Bengali poetry.
As of 2009, Bengali is the mother tongue of more than 300 million people living mainly in Bangladesh and India. Bengali poetry of the modern age flourished on the elaborate foundation laid by Michael Madhusudan Dutt (1824–1873) and Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941). Tagore, a literary giant, without a parallel during his time, ruled over the domain of Bengali poetry and literature for more than half a century bestowing inescapable influence on contemporary poets. Bengali literature caught attention of the international literary world when Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1913, for Gitanjali, an anthology of poems rendered into English by the poet himself with the title Song Offering. Since then Bengali poetry has traveled a long way. It has evolved around its own tradition; it has responded to the poetry movements around the world; it has assumed various dimensions in different tones, colours and essence.
In Bengal, efforts to come out of the Tagorian worldview and stylistics started in the early days of twentieth century. Poet Kazi Nazrul Islam [1899-1976] popularized himself on a wide scale with patriotic theme and musical tone and tenor. However, a number of new generation poets consciously attempted to align Bengali poetry with the essence of modernism emerging around the world, starting towards the end of the nineteenth century. Much of these can be attributed to the trends in contemporary Europe and America. Five poets who are particularly acclaimed for their contribution in creating a post-Tagorian poetic paradigm and infusing modernism in Bengali poetry are Sudhindranath Dutta [1901-1960], Buddhadeb Bose [1908-1974], Amiya Chakravarty [1901-1986], Jibanananda Das [1899-1954] and Bishnu Dey [1909-1982]. The contour of modernism in twentieth century Bengali poetry was drawn by these five pioneers and some of their contemporaries.
However, not all of them have survived the test of time. Of them, poet Jibanananda Das was little understood during his lifetime. In fact, he received scanty attention and was considered incomprehensible. Readers including his contemporary literary critics also alleged about his style and diction. On occasions, he faced merciless criticism from leading literary personalities of his time. Even Rabindranath Tagore passed unkind remarks on his diction although he praised his poetic capability. Nevertheless, destiny reserved a crown for him.
Surely, his early poems bear the influence of Kazi Nazrul Islam and some other poets like Satyendranath Dutta. However, before long, he thoroughly overcame all influences and created a new poetic diction. Buddhadeb Bose was among the few who first recognized his extraordinary style and thematic novelty. However, as his style and diction matured, his message appeared to be obscured. Readers including critics started to complain about legibility and question sensibility.
It is only after his unfortunate and accidental death in 1954 that a readership started to emerge who not only was comfortable with Jibanananda's style and diction but also enjoyed his poetry. Questions about the obscurity of his poetic message were no longer more raised. By the time his birth centenary was celebrated in 1999, Jibanananda Das was certainly the most popular and the most well-read poet of Bengali literature. Even when the last quarter of the twentieth century ushered in the post-modern era, Jibanananda Das continued to be relevant to the new taste and fervour. This has been possible because his poetry underwent many cycles of change, and later poems contain elements that precisely respond to post-modern characteristics.




Poetics

Born in 1899, Jibanananda Das started writing and publishing in the 1920s. During his lifetime he published only 269 poems in different journals and magazines of which 162 were collected in 7 anthologies, from Jhara Palak to Bela Obela Kalbela. However, since his expiry in 1954, many of his unpublished poems have been discovered and published, thanks to the dedicated initiative of his brother Asokananda Das, encouragement by his sister Sucharita Das and nephew Amitananda Das, and, above all, tireless efforts of Dr. Bhumendra Guha, who spent decades in copying from worn out published and unpublished manuscripts. By 2008, the total number of published and unpublished poems stood at more than 788. In addition, a huge number of novels and short-stories were discovered and published about the same time.
Jibanananda scholar Clinton B. Seely has termed Jibanananda Das (JD) "Bengal's most cherished poet since Rabindranath Tagore". On the other hand, to many, reading the poetry of JD is like stumbling upon a labyrinth of mind similar to the kind one imagines Camus's 'absurd' man toils through. Indeed JD's poetry is sometimes an outcome of very profound feeling that is painted with imagery of a type not readily understandable. Sometimes, the connection between the sequential lines is not obvious. In fact, JD broke the traditional circular structure of poetry (intro-middle-end) and the pattern of logical sequence of words, lines and stanzas. Consequently, the thematic connotation is often hidden under a rhythmic narrative that requires careful reading between the lines. The following excerpt will bear the point out :
Lepers open the hydrant and lap some water.
Or may be that hydrant was already broken.
Now at midnight they descend upon the city in droves.
Scattering sloshing petrol. Though ever careful,
Someone seems to have taken a serious spill in the water.
Three rickshaws trot off, fading into the last gaslight,
I turn off, leave Phear Lane, defiantly
Walk for miles, stop beside a wall
On Bentinck Street, at Territti Bazar,
There in the air dry as roasted peanuts.
(Night - a poem on night in Calcutta city, translated by Clinton B. Seely)
Variously branded at different times, and popularly known as a modernist of the Yeatsian-Poundian-Eliotesque school, JD has been termed the truest poet by Annadashankar Roy. As a true poet, JD conceived a poem and moulded it up in the most natural way. When a theme occurred to him, he shaped it up with such words, metaphors and imagery that distinguished him from all others. JD's poetry is to be felt rather than merely read or heard. Writing about JD's poetry Joe Winter remarked :
It is a natural process, though perhaps the rarest one. Jibanananda's style reminds us of this, seeming to come unbidden. It is full of sentences that scarcely pause for breath ; of word-combinations that seem altogether unlikely but work ; of switches in register, from sophisticated usage to a village-dialect word, that jar and in the same instant settle in the mind. Full of friction, in short, that almost becomes a part of the consciousness ticking.

A few lines are quoted below in support of Winter's remarks:
Nevertheless, the owl stays wide awake ;
The rotten still frog begs two more moments
in the hope of another dawn in conceivable warmth.
We feel in the deep tracelessness of flocking darkness
the unforgiving enmity of the mosquito-net all around ;
The mosquito loves the stream of life
awake in its monastery of darkness.
[One day eight years ago, translated by Faizul Latif Chowdhury]
Or elsewhere :
... how the wheel of justice is set in motion
by a smidgen of wind -
or if someone dies and someone else gives him a bottle
of medicine, free - then who has the profit? -
over all of this the four have a mighty word-battle.
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.
(Idle Moment translated by Joe Winter)
Also noteworthy are his sonnets, the most famous of them being the seven untitled pieces collected in the publication titled "Shaat-ti Tarar Timir" (The Blackness of Seven Stars), where he describes, on one hand, his attachment to his motherland, and on the other, his views about life and death in general . They are noteworthy not only because of the picturesque description of nature that was a regular in most of his work, but also for the use of metaphors and allegories . For example, a lone owl flying about in the night sky is taken as an omen of death, while the anklets on the feet of a swan symbolizes the vivacity of life . The following are undoubtedly the most oft-quoted line from this collection  :
বাংলার মুখ আমি দেখিয়াছি, তাই আমি পৃথিবীর রূপ খুঁজিতে যাই না আর...
It should be pointed out that Jibanananda successfully integrated Bengali poetry with the slightly older Euro-centric international modernist movement of early twentieth century. In this regard he possibly owes as much to his exotic exposure as to his innate poetic talent. Although hardly appreciated during his lifetime, his modernism, evoking almost all the suggested elements of the phenomenon, remains untranscended till date, despite the emergence of many notable poets during the last fifty years. His success as a modern Bengali poet may be attributed to the facts that JD in his poetry not only discovered the tract of the slowly evolving twentieth century modern mind, sensitive and reactive, full of anxiety and tension, he invented his own diction, rhythm and vocabulary with unmistakably indigenous rooting, and he maintained a self-styled lyricism and imagism mixed with an extraordinary existentialist sensuousness, perfectly suited to the modern temperament in the Indian context, whereby he also averted fatal dehumanization that could alienate him from the people. He was at once a classicist and a romantic and created an appealing world hitherto unknown  :
For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth,
From waters round 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.
(Banalata Sen)

While reading JD, one often encounters references to olden time and places, events and personalities. Sense of time and history is an unmistakable element that has shaped JD's poetic world to a great extent. However, he lost sight of nothing surrounding him. Unlike many of his peers who blindly imitated the renowned western poets in a bid to create a new poetic domain and generated spurious poetry, JD remained anchored in his own soil and time and successfully assimilated all experiences, real and virtual, and produced hundreds of unforgettable lines. His intellectual vision was thoroughly embedded in Bengal's nature and beauty :
Amidst a vast meadow the last time when I met her
I said: 'Come again a time like this
if one day you so wish
twenty five years later.'
This been said, I came back home.
After that, many a time, the moon and the stars,
from field to field have died, the owls and the rats
searching grains in paddy fields on a moonlit night
fluttered and crept! - shut eyed
many times left and right
have slept
several souls! - awake kept I
all alone - the stars on the sky
travel fast
faster still, time speeds by.
Yet it seems
Twenty-five years will forever last.
(After Twenty-five Years translated by Luna Rushdi)
Thematically, in sum, JD is amazed by the continued existence of humankind in the backdrop of eternal flux of time, wherein individual presence is insignificant and meteoric albeit inescapable. He feels : we are closed in, fouled by the numbness of this concentration cell (Meditations). To him the world is weird and olden, and as a race, the mankind has been a persistent "wanderer of this world" (Banalata Sen) who, according to him, has existed too long to know anything more (Before death, Walking alone), or experience anything fresh. The justification of further mechanical existence like Mahin's horses (The Horses) is apparently absent. So (he) had slept by the Dhanshiri river on a cold December night, and had never thought of waking again (Darkness). As an individual, tired of life and yearning for sleep (One day eight years ago), JD is certain that peace can be found nowhere and it is useless to move to a distant land since there is no way of freedom from sorrows fixed by life (Land, Time and Offspring). Nevertheless, he suggests: "O sailor, you press on, keep pace with the sun!" (Sailor).[7]
Why did Jibanananda task himself to forge a new poetic speech while others in his time preferred to tread the usual path? The answer is simple. In his endeavours to shape a world of his own, he was gradual and steady. He was an inward looking person and was not in a hurry.
I do not want to go anywhere so fast.
Whatever my life wants I have time to reach
there walking
[Of 1934 - a poem on Motor Car, translated by Golam Mustafa].
Bibhav, in Poet's birth centenary, published his 40 poems, that were yet unpublished. Shamik Bose has translated one poem, untiltled as it was by the Poet. Here is the Bengali original by the Poet.
ঘুমায়ে পড়িতে হবে একদিন আকাশের নক্ষত্রের তলে
শ্রান্ত হয়ে-- উত্তর মেরুর সাদা তুষারের সিন্ধুর মতন!
এই রাত্রি,--- এই দিন,--- এই আলো,--- জীবনের এই আয়োজন,---
আকাশের নিচে এসে ভুলে যাব ইহাদের আমরা সকলে!
একদিন শরীরের স্বাদ আমি জানিয়াছি, সাগরের জলে
দেহ ধুয়ে;--- ভালোবেসে ভিজইয়েছি আমাদের হৃদয় কেমন!
একদিন জেগে থেকে দেখিয়েছি আমাদের জীবনের এই আলোড়ন,
আঁধারের কানে আলো--- রাত্রি দিনের কানে কানে কত কথা বলে
শুনিয়াছি;--- এই দেখা--- জেগে থাকা একদিন তবু সাংগ হবে,---
মাঠের শস্যের মত আমাদের ফলিবার রহিয়াছে সময়;
একবার ফলে গেলে তারপর ভাল লাগে মরণের হাত,---
ঘুমন্তের মত করে আমাদের কখন সে বুকে তুলে লবে!---
সেই মৃত্যু কাছে এসে একে একে সকলেরে বুকে তুলে লয়;---
সময় ফুরায়ে গেলে সব চেয়ে ভাল লাগে তাহার আস্বাদ!---
Here is a translation in English by Shamik Bose.
Under this sky, these stars' beneath --
One day will have to sleep inside tiredness ---
Like snow-filled white ocean of North Pole! ---
This night - this day - O this light as bright as it may! --
These designs for a life - will forget all --
Under such a silent fathomless sky! --
Had felt the fragrance of a body one day, --
By washing my body inside sea water --
Felt our heart so deep by falling in love! --
This vigor of life- had seen one day awaken --
Light stoking the edge of darkness --
Have heard the passionate whispers of a night - always for a day! --
This visit! This conscious vigil that I see, I feel --
Yet will end one day --
Time only remain for us to ripe like a harvest in green soil --
Once so ripen, then the hands of death will be likeable--
Will hold us in his chest, one by one --
Like a sleeplorn --
Fugitive lovelorn --
Inside tender whispers! --
When that time will prosper to an end and he will come --
That savor will be .. the most relishing.

Notwithstanding indigenous anchorage and very own world-view, stylistics and diction, Jibanananda Das will appeal to poetry lovers and modern men of intellect and emotion all around the world of today and of tomorrow.
A huge volume of literary evaluation of the poetry of Jibanananda Das has been produced since his untimely death in 1954. However, English language readers will immensely benefit from the 10-page Introduction of "Naked Lonely Hand", an anthology of poet's fifty poems into English, written by Joe Winter.[8] Winter has been able to successfully catch the essence of the poet who appeared to be subtle, mysterious and bizarre even to native readers and critics of his time. He is also known as a surrealist poet for his spontaneous overflow of subconscious mind in his poetry and especially in diction. Subconscious mind takes hold on the poet when he is creative frenzy.

 Biographical account

Source: Seely, Clinton (1990) A Poet Apart: a literary biography of the Bengali Poet Jibanananda Das. Newark, Del: University of Delaware Press

 Early life

Jibanananda Das (JD) was born in 1899 in the small district town of Barisal, located in the south of Bangladesh. His ancestors came from the Bikrampur region of Dhaka district, from a now-extinct village called Gaupara on the banks of the river Padma. Jibanananda's grandfather Sarbananda Dasgupta was the first to settle permanently in Barisal. He was an early exponent of the reformist Brahmo Samaj movement in Barisal, and was highly regarded in town for his philanthropy. He erased the -gupta suffix from the family name as a symbol of Vedic Brahmin excess, thus rendering the surname to Das. Jibanananda's father Satyananda Das (1863–1942) was a schoolmaster, essayist, magazine publisher, and founder-editor of Brôhmobadi, a journal of the Brahmo Samaj dedicated to the exploration of various social issues.
Jibanananda's mother Kusumkumari Das was a poet and the writer of a famous poem called 'Adôrsho Chhele' (The Ideal Boy) whose refrain is well known to Bengalis to this day: Amader deshey hobey shei chhele kobey / Kothae na boro hoye kajey boro hobey. (The child who achieves not in words but in deeds, when will this land know such a one?)
Jibanananda was the eldest son of his parents, and was called by the nickname Milu. A younger brother Ashokananda Das was born in 1908 and a sister called Shuchorita in 1915. Milu fell violently ill in his childhood, and his parents feared for his life. Kusumkumari took her ailing child and travelled to health resorts all over India, Lucknow, Agra and Giridih. They were accompanied on these journeys by their uncle Chandranath.
In January 1908, Milu, by now eight years old, was admitted to the fifth grade in Brojomohon School. The delay was due to his father's opposition to admitting children into school at too early an age. Milu's childhood education was therefore sustained mostly at home, under his mother's tutelage.
His school life passed by relatively uneventfully. In 1915, he successfully completed his Matriculation examination from Brojomohon, obtaining a first division in the process. He repeated the feat two years later when he passed the Intermediate exams from Brajamohan College. Evidently an accomplished student, he left his rural Barisal to join the University of Calcutta.

Life in Calcutta: first phase

Jibanananda enrolled in Presidency College, Kolkata, then as now one of the most prestigious seats of learning in India. He studied English Literature and graduated with a BA (Honours) degree in 1919. That same year, his first poem appeared in print in the Boishakh issue of Brahmobadi journal. Fittingly, the poem was called Borsho-abahon (Arrival of the New Year). This poem was published anonymously, with only the honorific Sri in the byline. However, the annual index in the year-end issue of the magazine revealed his full name: "Sri Jibanananda Das Gupta, BA".
In 1921, he completed the MA degree in English from University of Calcutta, obtaining a second class. He was also studying law. At this time, he lived in the Hardinge student quarters next to the university. Just before his exams, he fell ill with bacillary dysentery that affected his preparation for the examinaiton.
The following year, he started his teaching career. He joined the English department of City College, Calcutta as a tutor. By this time, he had left Hardinge and moved to boardings in Harrison Road. He gave up his law studies. It is thought that he also lived in a house in Bechu Chatterjee Street for some time with his brother Ashokanananda who had come up from Barisal for his MSc studies.

Travels and travails
His literary career was starting to take off. When Deshbondhu Chittaranjan Das died in June 1925, Jibanananda wrote a poem called 'Deshbandhu'r Prayan'e' (On the Death of the Friend of the Nation') which was published in Bangabani magazine. This poem would later take its place in the collection called Jhara Palok (1927). On reading it, poet Kalidas Roy said that he had thought the poem was the work of a mature, accomplished poet hiding behind a pseudonym. Jibanananda's earliest printed prose work was also published in 1925. This was an obituary entitled 'Kalimohan Das'er Sraddha-bashorey', which appeared in serialized form in Brahmobadi magazine. His poetry began to be widely published in various literary journals and little magazines in Calcutta, Dhaka and elsewhere. These included Kallol, perhaps the most famous literary magazine of the era, Kalikalam (Pen and Ink), Progoti (Progress) (co-edited by Buddhadeb Bose) and others. At this time, he occasionally used the surname Dasgupta as opposed to Das.
In 1927, Jhara Palok (Fallen Feathers), his first collection of poems, came out. A few months later, Jibanananda was fired from his job at the City College. The college had been struck by student unrest surrounding a religious festival, and enrolment seriously suffered as a consequence. Still in his late 20s, Jibanananda was the youngest member of the faculty and therefore the most dispensable. In the literary circle of Calcutta, he also came under serial attack. One of the most serious literary critic of that time Sajanikanta Das began to write aggressive critiques of his poetry in the review pages of Shanibarer Chithi (The Saturday Letter) magazine.
With nothing to keep him in Calcutta, Jibanananda left for the small town of Bagerhat in the far south, there to resume his teaching career at the Prafulla Chandra College. But only after about three months he returned to the big city. He was now in dire financial straits. In order to make both the ends meet, he gave private tuition to students while applying for full-time positions in academia. In December 1929, he moved to Delhi to take up a teaching post at the Ramjosh College. But again this lasted no more than a few months. Back in Barisal, his family had been making arrangements for his marriage. Once Jibanananda got to Barisal, he failed to go back to Delhi and consequently lost the job.
In May 1930, he married Labanya, a girl whose ancestors came from Khulna. At the subsequent reception in Dhaka's Ram Mohan Library, leading literary lights of the day such as Ajit Kumar Dutta and Buddhadeb Bose were assembled. A daughter called Manjusree was born to the couple in February of the following year.
Around this time, he wrote one of his most controversial poems. 'Camp'e' (At the Camp) was printed in Sudhindranath Dutta's Parichay magazine and immediately caused a firestorm in the literary circle of Calcutta. The poem's ostensible subject is a deer hunt on a moonlit night. Many accused Jibanananda of promoting indecency and incest through this poem.More and more, he turned now, in secrecy, to fiction. He wrote a number of short novels and short stories during this period of unemployment, strife and utter frustration.
In 1934, he wrote the series of poems that would form the basis of the collection called Rupasi Bangla. These poems were not discovered during his lifetime and Rupasi Bangla was only published in 1957, three years after his death.

 Back in Barisal

In 1935, Jibanananda, by now familiar with professional disappointment and poverty, returned to his alma mater Brajamohan College, which was then affiliated with the University of Calcutta. He joined as a lecturer in the English department. In Calcutta, Buddhadeb Bose, Premendra Mitra and Samar Sen were starting a brand new poetry magazine called Kobita. Jibanananda's work featured in the very first issue of the magazine, a poem called Mrittu'r Aagey (Before Death). Upon reading the magazine, Tagore wrote a lengthy letter to Bose and especially commended the Das poem: Jibanananda Das' vivid, colourful poem has given me great pleasure. It was in the second issue of Kobita (Poush 1342 issue, Dec 1934/Jan 1935) that Jibanananda published his now-legendary Banalata Sen. Today, this 18-line poem is among the most famous poems in the language.
The following year, his second volume of poetry Dhusar Pandulipi was published. Jibanananda was by now well settled in Barisal. A son Samarananda was born in November 1936. His impact in the world of Bengali literature continued to increase. In 1938, Tagore compiled a poetry anthology entitled Bangla Kabya Parichay (Introduction to Bengali Poetry) and included an abridged version of Mrityu'r Aagey, the same poem that had moved him three years ago. Another important anthology came out in 1939, edited by Abu Sayeed Ayub and Hirendranath Mukhopadhyay; Jibanananda was represented with four poems: Pakhira, Shakun, Banalata Sen, and Nagna Nirjan Haat.
In 1942, the same year that his father died, his third volume of poetry Banalata Sen was published under the aegis of Kobita Bhavan and Buddhadeb Bose. A ground-breaking modernist poet in his own right, Bose was a steadfast champion of Jibanananda's poetry, providing him with numerous platforms for publication. 1944 saw the publication of Maha Prithibi. The Second World War had a profound impact on Jibanananda's poetic vision. The following year, Jibanananda provided his own translations of several of his poems for an English anthology to be published under the title Modern Bengali Poems. Oddly enough, the editor Debiprasad Chattopadhyaya considered these translations to be sub-standard, and instead commissioned Martin Kirkman to translate four of Jibanananda's poems for the book. Life in Calcutta: final phase
The aftermath of the war saw heightened demands for Indian independence. Muslim politicians led by Jinnah wanted an independent homeland for the Muslims of the subcontinent. Bengal was uniquely vulnerable to partition: its western half was majority-Hindu, its eastern half majority-Muslim. Yet adherents of both religions spoke the same language, came from the same ethnic stock, and lived in close proximity to each other in town and village. Jibanananda had emphasized the need for communal harmony at an early stage. In his very first book Jhora Palok, he had included a poem called Hindu Musalman. In it he proclaimed:
However, events in real life belied his beliefs. In the summer of 1946, he travelled to Calcutta from Barisal on three months' paid leave. He stayed at his brother Ashokananda's place through the bloody riots that swept the city. Just before partition in August 1947, Jibanananda quit his job at Brajamohan College and said goodbye to his beloved Barisal. He and his family were among the X million refugees who took part in the largest cross-border exchange of peoples in history. For a while he worked for a magazine called Swaraj as its Sunday editor. But he left the job after a few months.
In 1948, he completed two of his novels, Mallyaban and Shutirtho, neither of which were discovered during his life. Shaat'ti Tarar Timir was published in December 1948. The same month, his mother Kusumkumari Das died in Calcutta.
By now, he was well established in the Calcutta literary world. He was appointed to the editorial board of yet another new literary magazine Dondo (Conflict). However, in a reprise of his early career, he was sacked from his job at Kharagpur College in February 1951. In 1952, Signet Press published Banalata Sen. The book received widespread acclaim and won the Book of the Year award from the All-Bengal Tagore Literary Conference. Later that year, the poet found another job at Borisha College (today known as Borisha Bibekanondo College). This job too he lost within a few months. He applied afresh to Diamond Harbour Fakirchand College, but eventually declined it, owing to travel difficulties. Instead he was obliged to take up a post at Howrah Girl's College (now known as Bijoy Krishna Girls’ College), a constituent affiliated undergraduate college of the University of Calcutta. As the head of the English department, he was entitled to a 50-taka monthly bonus on top of his salary.
By the last year of his life, Jibanananda was acclaimed as one of the best poets of the post-Tagore era. He was constantly in demand at literary conferences, poetry readings, radio recitals etc. In May 1954, he was published a volume titled 'Best Poems' (Sreshttho Kobita). His Best Poems won the Indian Sahitya Akademi Award in 1955.

 Love and marriage

Young Jibanananda fell in love with Shovona, daughter of his uncle Atulchandra Das, who lived in the neighbourhood. He dedicated his first anthology of poems to Shovona without mentioning her name explicitly. He did not try to marry Shovona since marriage between cousins was not approvable by the society. But he never forgot Shovona who went by her nick Baby. She has been referred to as Y in his literary notes. Soon after wedding with Labanyaprabha Das (née Gupta) in 1930, personality clash erupted and Jibanananda Das gave up hope of a happy married life. The gap with his wife never narrowed. While Jibanananda was struggling with death after a tram accident on 14 October 1954, Labanyaprabha did not find time for more than once for visiting her husband on death bed. At that time she was busy in film-making in Tollyganj.

[] Death

On October 14, 1954, he was carelessly crossing a road near Calcutta's Deshapriya Park when he was hit by a tram. Jibanananda was returning home after his routine evening walk. At that time, he used to reside in a rented apartment on the Lansdowne Road. Seriously injured, he was taken to Shambhunath Pundit Hospital. Poet-writer Sajanikanta Das who had been one of his fiercest critics was tireless in his efforts to secure the best treatment for the poet. He even persuaded Dr. Bidhan Chandra Roy (then chief minister of West Bengal) to visit him in hospital. Nonetheless, the injury was too severe to redress. Jibanananda died in hospital on October 22, 1954 eight days later, at about midnight. He was then 55 and left behind his wife, Labanyaprabha Das, a son and a daughter, and the ever-growing band of readers.
His body was cremated the following day at Keoratola crematorium. Following popular belief, it has been alleged in some biographical accounts that his accident was actually an attempt at suicide.Although none of the Jibanananda biographers have indicated such, it appears from circumstantial evidence that it was an attempt to end his own life.
The literary circle deeply mourned his death. Almost all the newspapers published obituaries which contained sincere appreciations of the poetry of Jibanananda. Poet Sanjay Bhattacharya wrote the death news and sent to different newspapers. On 1 November 1954, The Times of India wrote :
The premature death after an accident of Mr. Jibanananda Das removes from the field of Bengali literature a poet, who, though never in the limelight of publicity and prosperity, made a significant contribution to modern Bengali poetry by his prose-poems and free-verse. ... A poet of nature with a serious awareness of the life around him Jibanananda Das was known not so much for the social content of his poetry as for his bold imagination and the concreteness of his image. To a literary world dazzled by Tagore’s glory, Das showed how to remain true to the poet’s vocation without basking in its reflection.”
In his obituary in the Shanibarer Chithi, Sajanikanta Das quoted from the poet :
When one day I’ll leave this body once for all −
Shall I never return to this world any more?
Let me come back
On a winter night
To the bedside of any dying acquaintance
With a cold pale lump of orange in hand.
Everyday Jibanananda returns to thousand of his readers and touches them with his unforgettable lines.

Prose style

During his lifetime Jibanananda remained solely a poet who occasionally wrote literary articles, mostly on request. Only after his death were a huge number of novels and short-stories discovered. Thematically, Jibanananda's storylines are largely autobiographical. His own time constitutes the perspective. While in poetry he subdued his own life, he allowed it to be brought into his fiction. Structurally his fictional works are based more on dialogues than description by the author. However, his prose shows a unique style of compound sentences, use of non-colloquial words and a typical pattern of punctuation. His essays evidence a heavy prose style, which although complex, is capable of expressing complicated analytical statements. As a result his prose was very compact, containing profound messages in a relatively short space.

Dream Poem

Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.



Excerpt from: Song of a Dream
Sarojini Naidu












The Forgotten Dream



In the early morning

a whisper comes to me

A love so pure and tender

beckoning to me

come hither

say the voices

crying out in dreams.



Abandon inhibitions

come to the angels' den

Where desire mixed with feeling

and the golden light of love

is sprinkled

as a perfume

throughout the holy air.



Where is this poignant perfume

that permeates the air?

Breathe deeply

the forgotten dream

it is everywhere.



s.k.lindeman



~~~~~~~~~
Can one always dream?



One can always sleep

But can one always dream?

When minutes slip away at last

as cloth closes seam

And makes a garment

The design is cast

And no altering of the piece

Can change the fact

The piece has been made

the dream has been cast

The solidifying then

and then

and then

reality sets in.



s.k.lindeman






Dream Variation


To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me--
That is my dream!






To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.


- Langston Hughes










For more Download

I cant Stop thinking of you


I can't stop thinking of you
Day and night, rain or shine, you're all I think about
I stay up every night thinking of you
And wonder if you're doing the same
I can't stop thinking of you
I thank god every day for sending you to me
You're like an angel from heaven that fell into my arms
The minutes without you turned into days,
And the seconds with you flew fast.
I could only wish to see you more,
And make each moment last
As the days go by
I feel our friendship getting closer and closer
I don’t know if you feel the same way I do
But all I can say to you is
I love you, and I can't stop thinking of you


by Juan Manuel Pena
 Love 






























































































  
                      -by     Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
     And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
     Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
     My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the armèd man,
The statue of the armèd Knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
     Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best whene'er I sing
     The songs that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful air;
I sang an old and moving story—
An old rude song, that suited well
     That ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
     But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he woo'd
     The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
     Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
     Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he cross'd the mountain-woods,
     Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
     In green and sunny glade—

There came and look'd him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
     This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leap'd amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
     The Lady of the Land;—

And how she wept and clasp'd his knees;
And how she tended him in vain—
And ever strove to expiate
     The scorn that crazed his brain;—

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest leaves
     A dying man he lay;—

His dying words—but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
     Disturb'd her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
     The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
     Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
     I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heaved—she stepp'd aside,
As conscious of my look she stept—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
     She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, look'd up,
     And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
     The swelling of her heart.

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
     My bright and beauteous Bride
 
Introduction; 
Samuel Taylor ColeridgeSamuel Taylor Coleridge

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a leader of the British Romantic movement, was born on October 21, 1772, in Devonshire, England.

The Definition of Love

The Definition of Love 
by Andrew Marvell

My Love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown
But vainly flapped its Tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close:
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic power depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant Poles have placed,
(Though Love's whole World on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embraced.

Unless the giddy Heaven fall,
And Earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the World should all
Be cramped into a planisphere.

As lines so Loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite can never meet.
                                                    
Therefore the Love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the Mind,
And opposition of the Stars.
Introduction:
-Andrew Marvell
Due to the inconsistencies and ambiguities within his work and the scarcity of information about his personal life, Andrew Marvell has been a source of fascination for scholars and readers since his work found recognition in the early decades of the twentieth century. Born in 1621, Marvell grew up in the Yorkshire town of Hull where his father, Reverend Andrew Marvell, was a lecturer at Holy Trinity Church and master of the Charterhouse. At age
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Born in 1806 at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England, Elizabeth Barrett, was an English poet of the Romantic Movement..

Love 
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

We cannot live, except thus mutually
We alternate, aware or unaware,
The reflex act of life: and when we bear
Our virtue onward most impulsively,
Most full of invocation, and to be
Most instantly compellant, certes, there
We live most life, whoever breathes most air
And counts his dying years by sun and sea.
But when a soul, by choice and conscience, doth
Throw out her full force on another soul,
The conscience and the concentration both make
mere life, Love. For Life in perfect whole
And aim consummated, is Love in sooth,
As nature's magnet-heat rounds pole with pole.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun


William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)
by William Shakespeare

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
     And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
     As any she belied with false compare.

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Born in 1806 at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England, Elizabeth Barrett, was an English poet of the Romantic Movement.
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

A theory to be happy in a critical moment



 If dreaming is the only way to see you then I never open my eyes……………………………..

Please close your eyes or look forward to the sky in a apathetic mind…………………………...


Just think a moment that u are in a place of natural beauty, Beautiful birds are chirping all around u. You have also two wings and u can also fly like a  bird, now flow ur emotion like a bird……..It seems that u are also flying in the sky…..This is called Day dream. In a thesis it has been come out that day dreams can make a unhappy, sad and a painful person more happier, more joyous for some moment…..You can also test it over you…..


Broken Heart

 In the realm of love, where tears intertwine, A melancholy tale, aching hearts define. A poem of sorrow, etched with bittersweet ink, A sym...