Kazi Nazrul Islam

Kazi Nazrul Islam

1899–1976 · lived 77 years -- --

Kazi Nazrul Islam was a Bengali poet, writer, musician and the national poet of Bangladesh. He was known for his prolific output and his revolutionary spirit, often writing about intense emotional states and socio-political issues. His work championed freedom, equality, and the struggle against oppression, making him a significant voice for the Bengali people during a tumultuous period. Islam's poetry and music continue to inspire and resonate, reflecting a deep connection to his cultural heritage and a universal message of humanism.

n. 1899-05-24, Churulia · m. 1976-08-29, Daca

64,914 Views

Don't be afraid, O human soul!

Don't be afraid, O human soul!

The power thrones of today represent devil's affair,
the power-hungry monsters are busy playing there.
Don't be afraid, O human soul! Don't break down in tear!
The drunkard of the underworld won't prevail much longer here.
With injustice and wrongs black-stained is his throne,
his sword is rusted with curse of those under oppression.
Painting the sky dark yellow approaches the monsoon storm in full power,
the greedy ones are beguiled thinking, this is beautiful twilight hour.
The fire they have spread around the world, now in its flame in turn,
like blazing fire, everywhere, these wretcheds will burn.


The traveler of the path of truth! Don't be afraid, don't fear!
Those who seek peace, defeat is not for them, my dear!
Sometimes the enemies of peace win in their disguise,
at the end only in humiliation and shame comes their inevitable demise.
Dusts of the road rise off the ground as wind blows strong,
if you think, they are on the rise, won't that be wrong?
Those who want to ascend above, these trash stand in their way;
they can make the road slippery, but the mud doesn't win the day.


In tranquility, win or defeat, we will treat the same,
if we win, we will dedicate it to His glory and name.
If we lose, we will be greeted by Him in the hereafter,
if we are battle-wounded, we will be His beloved, forever.
Sometimes they will win, but never shall we retreat!
Our Lord tests us - we will take it as His treat.
Does hatred ever bring back those who are lost?
To win their heart, with love first our heart must defrost.
Those who knowingly practice oppression and take away others' right,
it is against them, the sword of God is always ready and upright.


Don't be hard on those who, in ignorance, go astray!
They might return to the truth, if you show love, and pray!
In His one name, invite people of all nation;
Hold sword in hand, while offer your heart with love and affection.
The whole world would be in your favor, if at you His grace flashes;
all the enemies of the truth, you will see, will burn into ashes.
Those whose hearts among us are stained with temptation,
they also deserve discipline, before facing God's condemnation.


March forward, O the new warriors, indomitable!
Prevent our journey and progress? No one would be able!
Let faith and patience be the lasting friends - yours and mine.
On our path, the light of such and of moon will always shine.
Don't be afraid! Have no fear!
Falsehood will definitely disappear!
Truth will triumph, O my dear!
Those who treat the meek with bloody eyes, finished is their share!
This world belongs to people, not to any throne; declare!


Those who disgrace the blessed power from their power-bed,
at the command of the King of kings, they lose their head.



The rule of the ship-owners is ending; it won't be very long,
to the real king of the universe, all the countries will belong.
O blood-eyed vultures, monsters! Beware, beware!
To beguile others and make forget God's command, how do you dare?
We fear one God only; no one else do we fear!
Our guide is the Omnipotent, our Lord so dear!
Sky, earth, moon, planets, and stars are witnesses, I say,
as to who are the followers of truth, and who go astray.


Don't be afraid; have no fear!
Falsehood will surely disappear!
Truth will be triumphant, my dear!


[Original: Bhoy Koriyo Na, He Manobata; Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Kazi Nazrul Islam, often referred to as Nazrul, is the national poet of Bangladesh and a prominent figure in Bengali literature. He was born in the Bengal Presidency of British India and wrote primarily in Bengali. His life spanned a period of significant political and social upheaval in the Indian subcontinent, influencing his revolutionary and humanist themes.

Childhood and education

Nazrul's early life was marked by hardship and a nomadic existence. He received a rudimentary education in a local maktab and later attended a traditional Islamic seminary. However, his formal schooling was interrupted, and he gained much of his knowledge through self-study and life experiences. His early exposure to folk theatre and military life in the British Indian Army played a crucial role in shaping his worldview and literary sensibilities.

Literary trajectory

Nazrul's literary career began in earnest after his return from military service. He quickly gained recognition for his powerful and evocative poetry, which broke from traditional forms and addressed contemporary issues. He was associated with various literary magazines and became a central figure in the burgeoning nationalist movement through his writings. His career was multifaceted, encompassing poetry, songs, short stories, novels, and plays.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Nazrul's most famous works include 'Agni Bina' (The Fiery Lute), 'Bisher Banshi' (The Poison Flute), and 'Chhayanat' (The Dance of Shadow). His poetry is characterized by its intense emotion, revolutionary fervor, and a rich tapestry of imagery drawn from both Islamic and Hindu traditions. He explored themes of love, rebellion, social justice, and spirituality. His style often featured a strong, declamatory tone, using robust Bengali vocabulary and innovative metrical patterns. He also composed a vast number of songs, known as 'Nazrul Geeti', which remain immensely popular.

Cultural and historical context

Nazrul Islam emerged as a significant voice during the Indian independence movement. His writings often carried a strong anti-colonial message, advocating for the rights and dignity of the oppressed. He actively participated in political discourse and was imprisoned by the British for his seditious writings. He was a contemporary of other leading Bengali literary figures and thinkers, engaging with the cultural and intellectual currents of his time. His work reflects the complex interplay of religious, cultural, and political forces shaping Bengal.

Personal life

Nazrul Islam's personal life was marked by significant events, including his time in the army and his subsequent imprisonment. He married Promila Devi, and their life together, though often challenging due to financial difficulties and his activism, was central to his experiences. He experienced periods of intense creative output interspersed with personal struggles. His deep engagement with diverse religious and philosophical ideas, including Sufism and Vedanta, also informed his personal outlook.

Recognition and reception

Nazrul Islam received widespread acclaim during his lifetime and is revered in both Bangladesh and India, particularly in West Bengal. He was awarded the Jagannath University Puraskar and the Ekushey Padak, among other honors. He is celebrated as a national poet in Bangladesh, a testament to his profound impact on the nation's identity and cultural consciousness. His works are widely studied and performed.

Influences and legacy

Nazrul was influenced by a range of literary traditions, including classical Bengali poetry, Persian poetry, and the writings of figures like Swami Vivekananda. He, in turn, profoundly influenced subsequent generations of Bengali poets, writers, and musicians. His legacy lies in his fearless articulation of freedom and humanism, his synthesis of diverse cultural elements, and his enduring contribution to Bengali literature and music. His songs, in particular, continue to be a vital part of Bengali cultural life.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical analysis of Nazrul's work often focuses on his revolutionary zeal, his syncretic approach to religion and culture, and his ability to articulate the aspirations of the common people. Some scholars explore the nuances of his spiritual and philosophical explorations, while others examine his role as a cultural icon and national poet. His poetry is seen as a powerful expression of Bengali identity and a call for social justice.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Nazrul was known for his multilingualism and his ability to incorporate diverse linguistic influences into his work. He was also a talented musician and composer, creating many of the melodies for his songs. Despite his immense literary output and national recognition, he faced significant financial difficulties throughout his life. A lesser-known aspect is his participation in folk theatre troupes in his youth, which greatly enriched his understanding of popular culture.

Death and memory

Kazi Nazrul Islam suffered from a prolonged illness in his later years, which led to aphasia and rendered him unable to write or speak. He passed away in Dhaka, Bangladesh. His death was mourned across the subcontinent. He is buried at the University of Dhaka campus, and his memory is kept alive through numerous institutions, festivals, and the continued performance and study of his vast body of work.

Poems

98

Anwar

Anwar


[A dark prison-house guarded by sentries at Constantinople. Thc mid-night of a new
moon with silence prevailing everywhere, except occasional footsieps of sentries
walking with heavy boots. A young soldier belonging to the National Army under the
command of Anwar is lying captive there. Although rebellious in appearance, he looks
older than his age. Today he has faced a Court Martial. Tomorrow he will be shot dead.
So this is the last night of the luckless warrior fastened by iron chains around his
limbs'. Suddenly he wakes up.Shouting, but finds nobody nearby. Only cold wind
weeps for him, 'O the motherless'! ' The young rebel bites his left arm, loosing temper
as he remembers' the treachery of his countrymen. He remembers his commander,
who gave him the weapons to free his motherland. He shouts loudly calling his
commander, 'ANWAR'.]


Anwar. Anwar.


Valiant as you are,
Drive your sword hard,
Kill them all, and annihilate those beasts


Anwar, alas!
It's but an irony of fate that
the b1ood has no more that warmth and valour,
The shamsir is broken, its scabbard left-over.


Anwar! Anwar!
What makes you cry if everything goes undisturbed?
Look, muslims are pet animals in today's world.


No more, Anwar, no more!
Whose heart does not tremble?
The sword shines no more, Smarna is insignificant, as well.
Lool there tremble the gates of Madina.
No more Anwar, no more. Anwar! Anwar!
Tear the chest apart and bring out the liver,
Kill them all, kill all those coward beasts.


Anwar! are we pigs in chain?
The chain jingles on, and listen,
the fountain of flame is almost extinguished.
Our necks are in shackles, too.


Anwar! Anwar!
Why does the poor fox jump and brag?
Where is that mighty lion? - Anwar is full of wounds.
Anwar! it's really hard to wake up a narrow heart.
It is not least aware of the wild fire that comes all around.
My brother plays the part of a satan, he bribes me with his feast.
Anwar! we are, indeed, in a fix.


Anwar! Anwar!
We are all non-believers, having not even half the heart.
Where do you look for muslims? - they are all wild beasts.



Anwar! everything ends indeed,
Though the blood remains in the veins!
The occident has robbed you of your fake sword. I
t is now womanlike to surrender, weeping,
Anwar, although ends everything.


Anwar! Anwar!
It is useless to repent in this barren land.
Those, who are still living, are maddened animals.
Anwar! none is there. Weapon? - no, nowhere.
The sea is also dreadfully stagnant and dark, having no waves.
Even the beduin has put on shackles around his neck.
Anwar! none is left any more.


Anwar! Anwar!
He who calls him a muslim, drag him by his tongue.
The unfaithful knows only to save his own life.


Anwar, what a pity!
They have beggar's bags on their shoulders,
who learnt the lesson of liberty with the sword in hand.
The intrepid have turned disgusted today.
Anwar, what a pity!


Anwar! Anwar!
The world is now ruled by the killers,
Why then to abide by bloodred eyes! -
Devilry is today's tricks, indeed.


Anwar! hold your fists firm!
They persuade us in vain,
The suffering rebel heart dances in storms,
The blood-eater swords want the war,
Anwar, hold your fist firm.


Anwar! Anwar!
You are a Pasha, now turn a destroyer of muslim beasts,
The home is full of enemies, why do you hit the outsiders?
Come Anwar, O my brother,
I want today end of everything,
Islam, too, sets in; nowhere exists a liberated homeland!
So we have worn the guise of a beggar leaving aside the sword.
Come Anwar, a my brother.


(Suddenly a negro sentry shouted challengingly, 'Get alert, young man', The blood in
young man's vein boiled in agitation, He, too, shouted like a young lion.)


a Khuda! a Ali! Take my sword,


(Then the image of the chained mother-Turkey flashed before his eyes. Beside it the
image of his own mother appealed in the guise of a chained beggar-maid. Eye-corners
of both of them held drops of tears. Shocked as he was, the son turned his face aside



and cried out)


Who is it'? Deprived and deceived'?
No, mother, no,
It's no use afflicting a dead heart with a scar.
Anwar! Anwar!


(The coward sentry again tortured the young captive, who groaned in pain. I firmly
believe with my eyes full of tears, 'Days are near, good days'.)


[Original: Anwar; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
1,095

At My Gaze No Longer Laughs the Rose

At My Gaze No Longer Laughs the Rose

At my gaze no longer laughs the rose,
At the music of my words no longer blossoms forth the flowers


What is the use of going to the fair
With the garland of the withered smile?
Dose the dark night amaze her disheveled hair
Without looking at the moon for a while?


The southern wind brings the springs yet
But in the garden the nightingale sings no more.
No more does the wild flower in the forest
Dance at the sight of the moon


Something is lost, something is missing,
My heart feels so empty and old.
Ah me, at whose cruel touch
Has my heart grown so cold!


[Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
542

Alone

Alone


My eyes don't go by forbidding;
so does my mind
neither by forbidding nor by weeping.


Over the ages I have been looking for you
staying at roadside,
tears rolled down overflowing my banks
not caring for eye wash.


I am alone in the midst of all
which is why I long to see you
death, too, reckons none barring you.


[Original: Noyon je mor; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
752

All Midnight I Suddenly Wake Up

All Midnight I Suddenly Wake Up

At midnight I suddenly wake up hearing someone's voice
is that you, is that you?

I feel the load of some memory in my breast is
that you, is that you?

Some one's hungry love roams about seeking aIms

Some one's piteous eyes like the stars in the night-sky
look at the sought-after face - is that you, is that you?

The wind at night carries someone's lingering sigh

And stirs my heart; Oh my distant beloved
is that you, is that you?

Like the ocean-wave whose crying bruises my heart

The nightingale in the wood ceaselessly chirps on the champah tree
is that you, is that you ?

[Original: Gobhir nishithe ghum bhenge jay; Translation: Abu Rushd]
647

A Parting

A Parting

It was no passing encounter on the street,
dear friend.
It was no momentary conversation
on the side-walk.
It was no casual handclasp
at the sudden close of a trip.
You came close to our soul
unfolding yourself moment by moment.
You came not as a conqueror
but as a comrade.
With your smile you won
our hearts.
You did not occupy the throne
and become a king
You entrenched yourself in our hearts
and became a sovereign there.
And so you suffered more than us
when the time came
to say goodbye and depart,
Through timeless acquaintance
you had become one of our own.
Now in our million bleeding hearts
you will forever live as a
tender grief.
I know I'll see you again,
dear friend.
Ours was no casual meeting
on the side-walk.

[Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
584

A Tribute From the Poet

A Tribute From the Poet

Allahu Akbar!
Allahu Akbar!
From Allah comes today
Rahmat, Kauthar.
Those of whom Allah is patron
This victory is of them,
It is the victory of God's Will,
Not for our vain fame.


It is a victory, but
Merely the stepping stone, no more;
From so much bondage-affliction
Toward above we have to soar.


So much division, schism
Jealousy, greed and arrogance,
All these will simply disappear
With His one merciful glance.


You are the new travelers
You are bound toward Him,
Following your footsteps
Here comes a heavenly beam.


Yes, coming are the travelers
Young warriors of new age,
Soon world's misery and suffering
Will be confined in their cage.


[Original: Kabir Proshosti (Bengali) ,
Translator: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
631

A Call from Behind

A Call from Behind

Dear! Wilt thou remember me in thy new home?
There dost thou begin the world under
new auspices with new offerings

Deserted is now the leafy cottage; its
shady neighborhood where we two
first exchanged our looks, where
every particle of dust, every.
creeper and leaf is redolent
of the wealth of eternal acquaintance
in the worship of hearts,

And a dismal void now cries in the wilderness.
As didst thou forget me, many a man could
come to thee,
Then out of sympathy for me would that
cottage weep out an offended heart,
Wherever dist thou turn thy eyes,
my reminiscences there made thy heart ache,
Thou wilt drown that reproach here

in the depths of new field;
I alone am lost in the woods' of oblivion.
The distance between thee and me was so

long no real distance,
As that old mansion would bring my

distance into nearness.
Now hast thou formed new ties,
Opened a new fountain of laughter and tears,
New performance and new revelry of song,
Under the impulse of new welcome!
To the cold storage my own tune is consigned.
Dear! Mine is today forlorn hope, as

pre-ordained by the divinity,
Today on my grave will be built thy bridal

sanctum sanatorium
In the air is echoed and re-echoed
The music of the Sylvan flute in the mouth

of some cow-herd,
Lost, lost am I in the western horizon!
Farewell, Dear, our role comes to an end

with the setting sun,
Now art thou a new one in a new home!

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]
672

The wide ocean of tears overflow,

The wide ocean of tears overflow,
His frantic thunder will make a
volcano burst forth
Mountain and ocean and sky and air
will encircle him in a cyclic dance,
for shame! Mother, why shouldst thou weep
plaintively like that?
Rather recite to me some lay heard
by thee from him.
And listening let me fall asleep on thy lap.
But who knocks at the door?
Is it the storm that strikes like him?
O West Wind' Wild West Wind!
Thy friend is on the other side of the sea.
He shall not come where I do exist.
Gone is he to that land where falleth not my shadow.
Why, still, from time to-time,
Do I feel inclined to call him?
To whom should I breathe what remains
still unsaid by me?
O Mother, my heart's anguish doth struggle
hard on the threshold of my boso
Adieu! Adieu! Speak to him of me
if thou dost meet him?
A King's offering can a beggar-maid.
ever refuse it?
I know. I know, Mother,
My offended lover, shall come again
In search of me at dead of night
to this door of our cottage,
Tell him then I am lost in darkness
in search of him alone!


[Translation: Abdul Hakim]
495

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