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

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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

Struggle

Struggle


You lived for so long,
Now once put your life on the line;
The same hands you use for only prayers,
With weapons let once those shine.


Tearing off the crescent from sky,
Decorate your flag that is crimson red;
Let the seniles live longer
You offer your precious life, go ahead.


[Original: Shadhona (Bengali) ,
Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]
484

Talk to Me, Javas, Talk to Me

Talk to Me, Javas, Talk to Me

Talk to me, javas, talk to me --
What austerities did you do to get Syama Ma's feet?
Torn from your stems on illusion's plants,
Falling scattered to the ground at Her feet,


You got liberation
Bursting open


Beside yourselves with joy.
If only I could learn from your example
My life might bear fruit.
Thousands of sweet-smelling flowers bloom in the woods,
And they're all such beauties! So how come

You got Ma's feet?
You're just ignoran't javas!


Crimson like you at the Mother's feet,
When will they be flowers
Offered to Her, blessed by Her?
When will they turn red
At the touch of Her feet?
When will they, just like you, blush scarlet -These
dull petals of my mind?
537

Song of the Student

Song of the Student

We are the power, we are the strength,
We the band of students.
The stormy wind makes obeisance tonus
And clouds and airships bow
Before us, the students class.


We can move in the darkness of the night
Needing no guiding light.
We walk with bare feet
Ever ready to dangers meet.
We move like a terrific flood
Making the stony earth scarlet with our blood.
Throughout the ages
Our blood has wet this soil.
We are not afraid of work or toil,
We the student class.


We hold the reins of the horse
Of the great King Deat.
Our lifeless corpse
Will write the history of our fights.
In the country of laughter, whenever needed,
We bring tears, bitter and cold.
We the students, mighty bold.


When everybody gives wise counsel
We are the people who err.
When the cautious one builds embankments
We sit still and do not stir.
We are the dare-devil youth
Who care for none,
We make our path slippery with blood,
We the student class.


The light of knowledge shines in our eyes,
And in our hearts burn boble ideas.
On our lips dwell no lies,
Which only proclaim
Effortlessly and with ease
The call of all times,
That has survived through war and peace,
And we have made the white lilies
Purple with our blood,
We the students; who move like a mighty flood.


In these terrible days of revolution
We are eager to march ahead and fight,
So that light may burst out
Ending the eternal darkness of the night.
In us seeks the twentieth century
Her emancipation.
With our tears of glory



The mother-earth clothes herself
In resignation.
There is no fear of death for us,
The mighty student class.


We dream of a joyous future, gay and bright,
Built on hope and love,
The milky-way in the sky
Shows us our path, straight and wide.
Let the dream of millions come true and right,
Let them see the splendid sight
Through the eyes of us.
The student class.


Translation: Kabir Chowdhury
679

Song of the Do-Nothing

Song of the Do-Nothing

My mind as the Bee today runs a-field
amid the blossoms of the grass in
the field of mator-shuti -

On this winter morn enamored of the
sun-light.

I like to accompany the restless butterfly
From bud to bud
In the field of flowery Maw plants.
And at night I hear the farewell wails

of Amman paddy in the meadow
Who's today taking a round amid
Kusha grasses along the bank of the dead river?
Lo! her yellow skirt gets entangled

among aroher flowers
She wears t hat Babla flower as her
nose-top.
And around her body is her cloth
of green Aparajita.
I am keen for a touch of that fair unknown!

She send me while walking
speechless message of her eyes.

And so my mind as the Bee runs
in wild ecstasy amid the blossoms
of the grass in the field of Mator-Shuti.

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]
572

Song ( Ajo Dhoroni)

Song ( Ajo Dhoroni)

Half of the world is dark.
The other haIf has light -
It heralds the dawn of
Someone's sorrowful night.


Half is hard earth,
The other half is water;
Half is full of thorn,
The other half is flower.


Half is melody,
The other half is wine,
Half abounds in hope -
Lonely hearts pine.


Half remains hidden,
The other half is known;
Half is full of love,
The other half disown.


Half of it is dawn,
The other half is twilight-
Half of it is dew,
And a moiety sunlight.


[Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]
560

Send from Heaven Again

Send from Heaven Again

Send again, Hazrat! from Heaven
The message of justice and toleration!
I can no longer see this hateful hitting
between man and man!


Tell, them Hazrat! tell them all
Who pretend to follow thy divine call,
To love all men as the creatures of God!
And to regard all as the creation of God!


The virtue of Justice and Toleration,
Which was yours and which has made
Half the world to believe in you -
That virtue we have not learnt to value!


The slaves and dupes that we are,
The Queen and Hadith we merely hear!
Despised in the world we are
By disrespecting your commands clear!


The suffering humanity we hate,
But we say: We submit to God Compassionate!


[Translation: Mizanur Rahman]
546

Robbers and Dacoits

Robbers and Dacoits

Who calls you a dacoit, friend,
Who calls you a robber?
All around dacoits reign today,
And thieves prosper.


Who is judging the robbers and the dacoits?
Who is the lord of justice?
Ask him, friend, who is not a dacoit today,
Who is not a robber chief.


My lord, raise your mace of justice and punish
Those wealthy and the rich who thrived
Robbing the humble poor and the deprive.
Today the greater the robber, the bigger the thief


and the cleverer the cheat
The more honourable, the more distinguished

and the more dignified his seat
In the assembly of nations.
All around
Bricks red with the blood of the subjects
Go to raise the king's palaces
And the factories of the gangster-rich flourish
Rendering thousands homeless.
The cunning devils start mills
Where men are ground to pieces,
Where from hungry millions emerge,
Sucked dry like sugarcane,
Bereft of their juices.

Squeezing out the life blood of millions of men
The mill owners amass vast wealth in their hidden den.
The money lenders grow rich
Robbing the helpless,
And the Zamindars on joy rides go
Rendering the weak homeless.
The greedy merchants in this earth
Have built a house of prostitution of wealth
There the vice Saki dances and drinks
The gold demon's health.

Losing health, food, life, hope, language and all
Bankrupt man is heading to a terrible fall.
There is no way of escape
The gold-hungry monsters have dug
Deep invincible moats all around,
The world today is a prison sound
With cruel gangsters working as sentinel.
Thieves are friends here
Cheats are comrades dear.

Who calls you a dacoit, dear friend?
Who calls you a robber?


You may have stolen money or goods,
But you have not dug a dagger

In some one's tender-heart.
You may be thieves all right
But not inhuman like the so-called great
You can turn Valmikis yet
When true men you meet
You who are the Ratnakars.

[Original: Chor-Dakaat; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]
599

Save Me From All Pettiness

Save Me From All Pettiness

Save me from all smallness
O my Lord, the Graciousness!
Teach me, O Lord, no sin is worse
than the sin of pettiness.
Even if I am a sinner over hundred births,
even if for eons I sojourn in hell,
Even then, I know Lord, there is forgiveness from you.
But is there forgiveness for pettiness? My Lord, Pray tell!

Please, my Lord, in my heart
don't constrict the space.
Friends, foes or strangers alike
Let my heart be able to embrace.

Let me not speak ill of others, nor harbor envy;
At others' joy, let be lustrous my soul,
Let me weep for that wretched-hapless
whose heart is like a wormhole!

[Original: Bengali, Translator: Dr. Mohammad Omar Farooq ]
525

Resurrection

Resurrection


Wake up
You captives of hunger, arise.
You harassed, down-trodden masses,
Spell thunder at the oppressors -
The stirred voices of the sufferers cry.


A new world reborn is soon to dawn.
These fetters of ancient scriptures
Wrought this utter ruin;
Come, let us break in,
Shattering the devil's dungeon.


Wake up,
Ye, hapless masses, arise,
So that no 'one beneath
The feet of others lies.


On a new foundation
A young world shall dawn.
Listen, you tyrant!
Listen, you rich!
Though destitute,
Through the war,


Our rights
We shall recover
With the unity of sufferers
All the world over.


[Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]
453

Rise Up, O Farmer!

Rise Up, O Farmer!

O farmer, where is tile smile of your face?
Where is' your shepherd's bamboo flute'!
Where is your jute?
Who plunders it from your stock on riverside?
Who robs you of huge golden paddy grown in your fields?
The empty corn-bin in your courtyard resembles a husband-less daughter
lamenting in her father's home.
Your rural fields present winter-crops as though painted, why
does your son ask for salt and green chilies while eating?
It seems that the government has taxed on your curry too.
Have your sugar-canes been sweetened by the juice of your tears?
Who have drunk milk exploiting your cow?
Alas, your milk pot docs not hold even the starch of boiled rice.


Your younger child with high fever is healed up,
since he is sleeping in tile graveyard.
And he seems to drag her elder sister towards the grave, too.
The girl is calling him deliriously.
Mother replaces milk will oyster,
father weeps on his way to field burying his son;
around him tile fields are full of paddy and the sky is full of delight.
It seems that today's horizon is red by sucking' a farmer's blood.
Fields overflow with paddy, markets with goods,
the wharps with jute-loaded boats.


Who eats away tile crops of your field,who
are those swarm of locusts?
Why are you so destitute in this realm of merrymaking?
Why does the son of your home go to the grave?
Your cattle grazes in the vast pastures, but you get no milk,
O farmer, your hopes of living have gone away long before,
how do you stand lamentations beside a tomb?
Can't you wake up the burning of thunder in your arid bones?
How long shall you see with eyes wide open the theft by burglars?
Don't you possess a bamboo-stick even?
You may have no blood in your body, yet we want all your bones.
The plunderer robbing you of your boiled rice day
and night has ascended to affluency sucking your blood.


Your bone shall cause the bones of those plunderers decay,
and your rib-bones will turn into war swords.
Allah, the Benevolent, gives water to your fields,
energy to your wind to bloom flowers,
sun and moon rise up to grow your crops, would
those gifts of Allah again be plundered by that demon?
Though the sky is all clear, there is no hope.
Though Khuda's mercy comes in torrents,
you don't reach it. So raise up your hands straight,
that would give you instant strength.
Your crops shall fill your granary, and God shall bless you.


[Original: Otth re chashi; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]
573

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