Darya Pushkova :“I’m a poet. That’s what makes me interesting. That is what I write about.”The Herald and the Singer...
The pathEdward ThomasRuning along a bank a parapet That saves from the precipitous wood below The level road, there is a path. It serves Children for looking down the long smooth steep. Between the legs of beech and yew, to where A fallen tree checks the sight : while men and women Content themselves with the road and what they see Over the bank, and what the children tell. The path, winding like silver, trickles on, Bordered and even invaded...
Kazi Motahar Husain :As the natural beauty blossoms with the amalgamation of variety of the outer world, so does throw upward the unlimited mystery of human heart with the wonderful variety of the inner world’s thoughts and ideas. Someone’s inner nature is as soft and fragrant as Shefali1; someone’s as audacious as that of Hasnahena2. Someone’s as pliant as a reed, somebody’s as firm-footed as hills, someone’s as deep as the star-studded sky, and somebody’s as ever tumult as the...
Maulana Nur ud-Din Abdur Rahman who is commonly known as Jami (August 18, 1414 – November 17, 1492), is known...
Farida Hossain :It was the month of February, Spring in Bengal. The whole of Bangladesh, particularly its capital Dhaka was busy celebrating the Language Movement. “We want Bengali as our state language. We want to talk about our land, we are all brothers.”All these idealistic slogans seem to be important for only this particular day! People babble and speechify endlessly-patriotism, love, sacrifice. Rifat was sick of these words and these talkative people. Standing on the other side of the wall...
Half of my book Istanbul is about the city; the other half chronicles the first 22 years of my life....
The canvass of realityShamsul Alam BelalDays pass out in haste never looking back To the world behind, Domain of the dark night prolongs further Like a widow’s bereavement, Dense clouds swallow the midnight moon And stars in the vast firmament stop Roaming on their appointed paths. An autumn dawn shall no more enlighten The world of despair, Faith grows dim and hope ceases To illuminate the future, Death appears as a dreadful mystery, A newborn kid no more receives welcome....
Begum Rokeya Sakhawat Hussain, (9 December 1880 – 9 December 1932), popularly known as Begum Rokeya was a leading feminist writer and social worker in undivided Bengal during the early 20th century. She is most famous for her efforts on behalf of gender equality and other social issues. She established the first school aimed primarily at Muslim girls, which still exists today. Begum Rokeya also wrote short stories and novels. Her important works are Sultana’s Dream and Padmarag.She was born...
Mohammad Abdul Awwal :Syed Emdad Ali (1875-1956) was a writer, editor. He was born in a poor family in Vikrampur. He had to earn his bread while at school and college. He passed the Matriculation Examination from Munshiganj High School and the FA (Intermediate) Examination from Jagannath College, Dhaka. Financial problems prevented him from studying further, and he dropped out to start teaching at a school in Netrokona. In 1903, he joined the Police department as a Sub-Inspector. In recognition...
(from the previous issue) :Morrison speaks of Nel and Sula as two halves of one person; the ideal, she told Bill Moyers on a segment of his PBS television show World of Ideas, would be “a Sula with some responsibilities. “Nevertheless, Morrison will not allow her readers to rest comfortably in any particular moral stance toward the events or characters in Sula: we wonder whether to admire Sula’s grandmother Eva’s bravery in allowing her leg to be cut off by...
When Toni Morrison received the Pulitzer Prize in 1988 for her fifth novel, Beloved, the award brought her the national...
Shahjahan Kabir : My memories freeze in very cold daysLike frozen water of a riverForgetting its summer flow. The wind blows sharp and hardAlong with gusts and snow.I cannot see other facesAs they are blurredLike life’s past eventsForgotten over the years. Those who are lost in the snowCannot be traced anymore.Far away they existSeparated by the wall of winter storm. In long winter nightsDarkness hovers over the skyTurning off lights of all stars.Frozen memories survive againIn the warmth of winter dreams. A few summer...