Sudhindranath Dutta : one of the best poet of Bengali literature's image
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Sudhindranath Dutta : one of the best poet of Bengali literature

Kavishala LabsKavishala Labs November 1, 2021
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Sudhindranath Dutta a post-modern poet and journalist, was born on 30 October 1901 at Hatibagan in Kolkata. His father, Hirendranath Dutta, was a philosopher while his second wife, Rajeswari Basudev, was a noted singer.

Sudhindranath studied at the Theosophical High School in Benares and at the Oriental Seminary in Kolkata from where he matriculated . After passing Intermediate Arts and Bachelor of Arts from the Scottish Church College, he enrolled in the MA in English at Calcutta. He edited a magazine called Parichay for twelve years.

Sudhindranath Dutta believed that hard work is what is needed for creating art, and the embattled nature of his poetry contrasted with that of the romantic poetry of Jibananand Das. When Jibananand Das's poetry notebooks were printed, Dutt commented after seeing the great number of corrections and deletions in the notebooks

"Oh, then the natural poets are also unnatural poets, like me!"

Sudhindranath published several volumes of poetry, among them Tanvi , Orchestra , Krandasi , Uttar Falguni , Sangvarta , Pratidhvani , Daxhami . He also wrote essays, some of which were published in Svagata and Kulay O Kalpurus . He also published a volume of his translations called Pratidhvani.

Some of his creations :-

(i) "Cyclone"

If I never return to earth

I shall walk down this lane once more

And see the gateway in the delicate sunshine

And by its side the scarlet iris;

The closely tended flowers, the yellow and fresh blue

There, and the deep green carpet of the grass will rest my eyes.

Whose house, who lives there, these I shall not know -—

But the eager pain of springtime in the farer's lonely breast,

Will fill, in the restful quiet that trembles with the piano

My eyes with joy for a passing moment.

On days of rain I still remember her

As soon as local green is overcast

With common grey, she comes, an image sharp

In outline only, lighted symbol-wise

By fitful flares of memory, just before

The curtain falls, and instantly, the show

And seer transfusing, I forget my years,

My forty years and more...

— Sudhindranath Dutta

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