Assamese ruthenpress.info - Free download as PDF File .pdf) or read online for free. been an integral inspiration for some Assamese poets. Meanwhile the chapter examines intertextuality in certain texts of Assamese poetry and thereby seeks its . Xophura Home Home, POETRY IN ASSAMESE. Poet. Poems / Collections. Ambikagiri Roychoudhury. Ki Lawanu Dila Muk. Ananda Chandra Agarwala.
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Hiren Bhattacharyya (Assamese:???????????????) is one of the welknown poets in Assamese language. He has innumerable publications in Assamese and. The Modern Era in Assamese Poetry: The Second Half of the Twentieth and practices of the Assamese poets that were in sharp contrast with those of their. Achina(অচিনা) - Only poetry collection by Amulya Barua in PDF and EPUB But this time, I am with something special, an Assamese book in epub format. I was introduced to his poetry by the poem কুকুৰ contained in my.
Lyricism is considered to be an important development in modern Assamese poetry. Barua attempts to compare modern Assamese love poetry with that of early Provencal poetry of the eleventh and twelfth century troubadours in southern France, which inspired the rise of vernacular literature throughout medieval Europe and claims that the essence of both the poetic 6 Page xv, Introduction, Barua Hem ed. Neog views the same phenomenon from a similar perspective by stressing on the Wordsworthian mysticism in the poetry of Chandra Kumar Agarwalla and Durgeshwar Sarma.
He speaks about Hiteshwar Borborua who mastered the art of writing sonnets and anecdotal poems. Compared to Barua, Neog covers a wider area in his expression of the influence exerted by the West in shaping up the ethos of modern Assamese poetry. And he also tries to see the influence of Bengali poets such as Hemchandra Bandhopadhyaya upon one or two Assamese poets and of Rabindranath Tagore upon the poetry of Ratnakanta Borkakoti.
It is important to note that Neog identifies the prevalence of the element of lyricism well up to the fourth decade of the twentieth century.
At this point, it would be worthwhile to take up the third anthology of Assamese poetry edited by Nilomani Phukan. In the Assamese context, it is very difficult to define a modern period of poetry.
What was the starting point of the modern age in Assam and Assamese literature? Was it in the year ? Or ? Or in the s? If a political event such as the takeover of the kingdom by the British is considered, then the earliest year i.
The fourth alternative, i. The first three alternatives could be taken as somewhat valid starting point keeping in view the fact that they epitomized significant milestones in the history of Assam and Assamese literature. But the fourth alternative finds acceptance in the fourth anthology under consideration here.
Nilomani Phukan makes an interesting distinction in his introduction. He considers the period before the second world-war as the Romantic era and the post-war period with its trials and tribulations comprises the modern era of Assamese poetry.
His analysis gains strength by the fact that he provides a decade by decade analysis of the entire time period. But what remains problematic is the title of the entire anthology and the subsequent division of time into Romantic and Modern. Is Phukan following the Western pattern as far the historical trajectory is concerned?
While Barua and Neog unhesitatingly termed the entire time period as modern thereby positing Romantic aestheticism as one of the prime characteristic of modern Assamese poetry, Phukan seems to make a precise distinction in terms of the collective consciousness of the prevailing era.
In this way, he can be placed among those who consider as the breaking point in some way, but it should be kept in mind that for Phukan, that year signifies the beginning of Assamese Romanticism and not Modernism per se. Ramanath Bhattacharya makes a two-part division of his introduction. He stresses upon the presence of tremendous social consciousness and awareness of responsibilities in Modern poetry.
And then he acknowledges the fact that the existence of such a scenario has a perceptible Western influence. He characterizes modern poetry as being reflective of the solitude, sorrowfulness, disgust, loneliness and fragmentariness which are in turn the effects of the so-called civilized social system.
It is important to note that Bhattacharya is here not referring to any specific civilization or poetic tradition. The fact that Bhattacharya is clearly thinking in terms of the Western Modernist model is made explicit when he recognizes the influence of impressionism, expressionism and existentialism.
He makes two interesting comments: And second, as a bridge between the last phase of Assamese Romantic Poetry and the onset of Modernism, there appeared an important poet named Navakanta Barua. Eliot and Sudhindranath Dutta. At this point, it would be important to go back to the introduction written by Neog and Barua. Neog claims that Assamese poetry in the contemporary era embodies similar characteristics. So, from this Neogian perspective, an important question emerges: While answering this question, attention must be paid to the fact whether for Phukan too, Twentieth Century Assamese poetry is synonymous with Modern Assamese Poetry.
With these questions, the issues of temporal demarcation and its contingency in relation to the trajectory of historical occurrences could be problematized so as to enable a better understanding of the politics implicit in the formulation of anthologies.
Modern Assamese Poetry: NEOG, Maheshwar. An anthology of Assamese poetry. Sahitya Akademi. Translated by Dibyajyoti Sarma Do you remember an inn, Miranda? Revived in the damp light The evening-scent of your hair-bun Do you remember, Arundhati? In moonlit cloud happy sorrow Incomprehensible poetry, Between us measureless barriers of broken dreams Do you remember, Arundhati! Pearls of moonbeam on grass blades, In cloud-hair many a moons of lissome fingers For tide, there was no sea!
Even in that frozen touch like ice What bliss! Do you remember the rainy night Arundhati? When man finds seeds of war in his heart he rushes to the river, as the plaintive poet to his woman.
Translated by Dibyajyoti Sarma 1. The river reminds men of the past; blends together beautiful, Ugly pictures, every song, all the dreams. Thinking they have found themselves once again People forget so many addresses of the present. The river offers men the feeling of touch. On the hands it puts The faithful hand of the living man, on heart the heart When they hear of wars, men go to the river The way the melancholic poet visits a woman. Around you the world moves constantly The buds one day turn into flowers and fall, the children One day, tying knives on their waists, turn terrible youths, The green hills are now furnace of bellowing black smoke.
The rivers that flow inside and around men one day descend as raindrops The raindrops become rivers again, the unlucky birds that migrated From their houses return home, the evening shadows of men on the pages of history Becomes longer, the darkness spreads beyond what the eyes can see. Oh, my exhausted Parth, the meaning of an indecision like this is travel; The endless journey through the flesh-and-blood time Inevitable descend: There is nothing to regret, This is now your reality.
Dutta I am awfully frightened of the sea But the sea itself remains totally nonchalant about it all. The mystery deep below the sea is beyond my grasp, It keeps me guessing as to What music sways it, Music of death or music of life?
To the sea of course all this is no mater at all. This is the reason why a am frightened, Awfully frightened am I of the sea The deep dark look of a woman With a baby inside her womb And the language of her weary eyes eludes me The language of the sea eludes Me in the selfsame way.
The sea itself is a fabulous woman Ceaselessly in a state of conception And yet more conception Who can tell what breed she might deliver? Is it the band of fabled brigands of Avi?
So I have come searching for Conch-shells within the sea But suddenly a fear struck me, a gripping fear -- Indeed awfully frightened am I of the sea. Who would identify my one thousand offsprings?
I know tides would sweep the Indus The same tides which swept away Many bright and old cities of the past; Such floods would recycle, The sea would expand again, Dark shadows and death would come With muted footfalls And would suddenly reach very close -- All this raises my fear, The sea indeed is my scare. Even then , let the conch-shells rend the air Though I know dark silhouettes Would descend suddenly and By and by the ripples of music Would be stilled.
The sea itself seems unperturbed, The sea is ceaselessly going in the family way.
The seeds of creative sense are now Spread out all over my being, Yet I am frightened of the sea And the mystery of her very ancient bosom. The sea itself is an ancient woman, Eternally pregnant.
Who knows What kind of offspring she would give birth to, Perhaps a band of bandits. I, myself, am a father. I have begotten a thousand children. I have offered lights to their visions. Even the time is nonchalant.
Past, present, future All merge into one time. You all Dance around it. Scenes of a shadow play. I want to recognise it, but cannot.
I know the Indus would be flooded. The flood that wiped away Many an ancient civilizations. The same flood will come again. Again will overflow the sea. Covered in dark shadows, noiselessly death Will come again out of the blue. Yet, let the sound of the conch reverberate the wind, Though I know The dark shadows will fall swiftly, slowly will disappear Each note of the music.
Eternally pregnant. Even my heart today is filled with the seeds of the consciousness of creation. I am a poet of the vast continent studded with rivers and mountains, the earth is my poem.
The lovely breeze outside Is lashing at the candle Wait, let me Close the window Do you remember the things that happened ten years ago? The time when we wrote the preface of our life A strange intoxication whirled me mad. That morning And in the evening the first time I visited your house, do you remember How the yellow moon beckoned at us? Why did you gaze at me in that way, At the riha tied around my waist?
Do you know how I felt? As if you were a man from a strange and. And I, I a Sewali lying under the tree. That day in the sea of our mind Trembled a thousand waves. Dear, do you remember Do you remember what Deuta wrote to me?
To me it sounds like the stories of the Puranas. Your Babul has really grown His tiny pomegranate seed-like teeth At My white dress?
He is used to it What more. You know, this year the Magh Bihu bonfire lit up so brightly. Translated by Dibyajyoti Sarma If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang, Please let me know beforehand, And I will come out to meet you As far as Cho-fu-sa.
After a long time today, I sit Here to write a letter to you. The shallow breeze outside Makes the flame flicker… Let me Close the window… Do you remember the stuff seven years ago We had started our new lives.