Members Profile

Bijay Kant Dubey
Bijay Kant Dubey Chandrakona Town / India, Male, 51
Profession :
College Principal
Education :
B.A., M.A. in Eng, Pol.Sc. & Hist., Ph.D.

About Me : My Resume Bijay Kant Dubey (11.10.1965- ) Bijay Kant Dubey who was born in erstwhile undivided Bihar at Lohardih village by the banks... more »

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Bijay Kant Dubey's last comments on poems and poets

  • POEM: Dawn At Puri by Jayanta Mahapatra (9/2/2016 10:04:00 PM)

    The structure of Dawn At Puri is that of the three-line format and he has followed it unto the last. A small poem it transmutes and transforms many a thing. The first three lines of the first stanza speak about three things distinctly, the first about the crows crowing which but a common ornithological scenery here in India., the second line about the holy ling on the sands which was but once as living man and the third about heat and dust, hunger and poverty doing the rounds all over, a vast country to feed and clothe is the greatest problem, a country reeling under illiteracy, ignorance, backwardness, superstition, inaction and fatalism. Indian poverty described uniquely by the crows, astrologers, palmists, pundits and the middle men, the dana-doers and the dana-takers.
    Though the poet does not say it, but it contains several layers of hidden meaning. Who can but say it that burning on the holy sands of Puri complex will have the privilege of crossing by the Gateway of Heaven? It is difficult to arrange for the makeshift logs for an outsider.
    The second stanza is a line and count of the widows, Indian widows waiting to enter the Great Temple, perhaps with Jai Jagannath, Krishna Murari. The contrast is, what they to get? What for to pray to as there is nothing left in their lives?
    The stanza is about the austere, waterless eyes of the widows who are so distraught and destitute after the death of their husband that these appear to be caught into the fishing nets by the dawn's shining strands of faith.
    The fourth about the frail dawn light catching the leprous shells scrambled together, just as a nameless mass. Here we are dumb-struck to comment anything. Poetry turns useless here. Similarly piety too. Religion is not in rituals; pontifical shows. Where is God? Here doubt thrashes faith for being hypocritical and egoistic. Service to man is service to God.
    The fifth stanza is a scenery of a dead body burning on the sea beach and the light lighting up it all. And suddenly breaks in the solitary sullen pyre out of his hide burning somewhere or far, telling of the last rituals being done, the body being cremated around the halo lit around with the flames feeding upon on the holy sands of the Puri temple. With it, the poet gets remembered of the wish of his ageing mother. The aging mother of the poet too feels it so.
    The sixth one is all bout the same wish of his old mother twisting certainly like light on the shifting sands. But light is light, frail and dazzling, shaky and shifting so are the sands so is faith, what to rely upon/ Faith too changes and takes sides with, cannot be relied upon. There is nothing in this world certain and taken for granted. Everything is but in a flux, ever-changing, ever-shifting.

  • POEM: An Introduction by Kamala Das (8/30/2016 5:33:00 AM)

    A woman speaking about a woman. The life and ghettos of a woman none but a woman knows it well. How much restricted is her movement, how much confiscated is her liberty! She is not a caged bird; a red-necked parrot of an Indian astrologer or a fortune teller coming out of the cage and picking zodiac cards.
    Apart from it, she knows the politics of coming into the limelight of media glare, gala and glitz.. A Rajneeshite disciple, she is but a modern-say saffronite yogan.

  • POEM: Leave This by Rabindranath Tagore (8/23/2016 9:02:00 AM)

    Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! is one of those poems of Gitanjali which tell us to be a karmayogi, not a dhongi as God is not in rituals merely, God is int he love of man, as has been said rightly, service to man is service to God. Many don the saffron clothes, take to the mandala-kamandala and the trisula to be a sadhaka, but the path of sahdna not so easy and sadhna does not deter one from shrama-dana. Before being chaste and holy, one needs to be righteous and virtuous from his within. Many pose to be sadhus and mahatmas, but are not saints and great souls. All that glitters is not gold is the case with. A man cannot be recognized from his attire. One needs to be pure from one's within. The poet asks the pretending religious man to come out of the temple and to see the world wide.
    He is there where the tillers keep tilling the lands, where the path-makers keep making the paths under sun and shower. Their clothes are mud-smeared, but the swamiji in finer ones. Deliverance is not in pretense. If one seeks to see God, one should in one's action, one's own karma.
    They too keep doing, they too keep helping humanity. Had they not, the crops would not have grown. Had they not, the paths would not have been. The difference is one should have the eyes to see.
    The dignity of labour must be held aloft. There is no religion that this welfare, this karma done.

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