Sukanta Bhattacharya (Bengali: সুকান্ত ভট্টাচার্য) was a Bengali poet and playwright. Along with Rabindranath Tagore and Kazi Nazrul Islam, he was one of the key figures of modern Bengali poetry, despite the fact that most of his works had been in publication posthumously. During his life, his poems were not widely circulated, but after his death his reputation grew to the extent that he became one of the most popular Bengali poet of the 20th century. He has had a significant influence on poet Subhas Mukhopadhyay and composer Salil Chowdhury who set some of his popular poems to music.
The poetry of Sukanta Bhattacharya is characterized by rebel socialist thoughts, patriotism, ... more »
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Sukanta Bhattacharya Poems
The news came From the child who was born today. She has got the testimonial, And therefore she proclaims her rights to the new
Poetry and Being
No more of this poetry. Bring on the hard, harsh prose instead. Let the jingle of verse disappear And the strong hammer of prose strike.
Quotationsmore quotations »
''I did love Kolkata as a mysterious woman, the beloved, my mother...I dont the outside world, my world is Kolkata... I do want to live, but Im certain that the death of Kolkata will bring my end''
''There is Bengal, and Bihar, Barakor river is in the middle of them; so strange, so profound! No other river (not even Ganga) has cast so vast a spell on me.''
''Radio, books, sports—so many means to spend time, but what I like most is the leafy sunshine amidst the Debdaru.''
Comments about Sukanta Bhattacharya
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The news came
From the child who was born today.
She has got the testimonial,
And therefore she proclaims her rights to the new
With piercing cries.
She is helpless and small, yet her fist is raised,
Glowing in an incomprehensible oath.
No one understands.
Some laugh, some reprove.
I recognize her language, though.
I see the signs of a coming age
As I read the child's credentials
In her hazy, misty eyes.
The new child has arrived. We must make place for
And move away
Into the wrecked and dead wastelands
Of this old ...