Jab Tak Hai Jaan Poem Mp3

[Trinidad Baltzell]

Iwonder if you have come across Shelter In Poems, produced by the Academy of American Poets during the Covid-19 crisis? They are emailing me lovely poems about once a week and I am finding both challenge and comfort in them.

Dear Patricia

Thank you so much for sending this -and for letting me know that skryweres is you! I did not know about Shelter in Poems, what a wonderful resource. It is an aeon away, how true. I hope you are safer and well. With good wishes as ever, Anthony

The poem below is from my favourite of his books, The Wandering Border (Harvill, 1992), translated into beautiful plain English by the author with Sam Hamill and Riina Tamm. I should say at this point that it does not belong in his recent and triumphant Selected Poems (Bloodaxe, 2011) -which you should buy anyway.

Kaplinski was born 22 January 1941 in Tartu to Polish teacher Jerzy Kaplinski and Estonian dancer Nora Raudsepp-Kaplinski. He studied Romance language and linguistics under Kallista Kann at the University of Tartu, graduating as a French philologist in 1964.[2][4]

From 1992 to 1995 Kaplinski was a member of the Riigikogu (the Estonian parliament).[1] He was originally a candidate on the Centre Party list, but soon became an independent representative. Since 2004 he was a member of the Estonian Social Democratic Party. In the 2005 local government elections, he ran in Tartu and was ESDP's first candidate in their list. Kaplinski was elected as the second Social Democrat candidate (Estonia uses an open list system in local elections), collecting 1,045 votes.[6] Jaan Kaplinski was one of those intellectuals who supported Toomas Hendrik Ilves' candidature.

Kaplinski's mother, Nora (Raudsepp), was Estonian.[7] His father was Jerzy Bonifacy Edward Kaplinski, a Polish professor of philology at Tartu University,[2] who was arrested by Soviet troops and died of starvation in a Soviet labour camp in 1945.[1][8][9][10] His great-uncle was Polish painter and political activist Leon Kapliński. As an adult, Kaplinski came to believe that his father had distant Jewish ancestry, and was a relative of Jacob Frank.[11]

Kaplinski was married to writer and director of the Tartu Toy Museum, Tiia Toomet. They had three sons and one daughter - Ott-Siim Toomet, Lauris Kaplinski, Lemmit Kaplinski and Elo-Mall Toomet. He had a daughter, translator Maarja Kaplinski, from his first marriage to Kllike Kaplinski. He later had a long-term relationship with Estonian classical philologist and translator Anne Lill, with whom he had a son, composer Mrt-Matis Lill.[12]

Kaplinski published numerous collections of poems, prose, and essays. He translated writings from French, English, Spanish, Chinese, including the Tao Te Ching, and Swedish, the work of Tomas Transtrmer.

Kaplinski's own work has been translated into English, Finnish, French, Norwegian, Swedish, Dutch, Icelandic, Hungarian, Japanese, Latvian, Lithuanian, Russian, Hebrew, Bulgarian, and Czech. His essays deal with environmental problems, philosophy of language, classical Chinese poems, philosophy, Buddhism, and Estonian nationalism.

Kaplinski also composed poems in English and Finnish. In the 2000s he began writing in Russian, and his first original Russian collection (composed of some of his poems translated from Estonian into Russian) appeared in 2014 under the title White Butterflies of Night (Белые бабочки ночи) and was awarded in Russia.

Kaplinski was one of the authors and initiators of the so-called Letter of 40 intellectuals (Neljakmne kiri) action. A letter signed by well-known Estonian intellectuals protesting against the behavior of the authorities in Soviet-annexed Estonia was sent to the main newspapers of the time. Although not openly dissident, the letter was never published in the press at that time and those who signed were repressed using administrative measures.

@Dhruva

I think you're confusing it with Challa, which IS written by Gulzar saab. Teri aankhon ki namkeen mastiyaan, with all due respect to Aditya Chopra, doesn't sound like Gulzar standard from the very first line. Still, we believed it COULD BE him, until we got a confirmation from Pavan Jha Sir of BBC, who is close to Gulzar saab.

Hope your confusion is cleared. We can guarantee it's NOT Gulzar even if there is any little doubt about Aditya. :)

ohhhw dis is outstanding....i luv it not bcuz adi's written it, but bcuz i totally believe in love n dat love comes to those who believ in it...let me be vry frank here...be it Adi or de gr8 MR.Gulzar saab i dun care a damn..der is art,magic whts more distinguished is that der is Romance inevitably...i genuinely loved it wid all my heart n goodness...!!! Thanks & regards,

Tanrukh Khan

This is poem is really good, I believe that a poem is only good, if someone with a really good voice is saying it, the lyrics are great and if anyone could have said it better than the King Khan, is the Mr Bachan.

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I had found flaws in it when first heard it. There are points where the themes are jointed forcefully and they dont connect well. the problem was with flow. still thinking that its written by the greatest Gulzar, i adapted to it. But now I know why i was right to criticize its standards. its not Gulzar sir, its aditya, i rich producer who can fulfill all his interests.

@Lalit

Such people are the reasons I make the effort to write. This is what feeds me. Thanks a lot. Please let me know of anything you'd like to see here and think would fit. Thanks again.

Harshit.

At 5 feet 11, he towered physically over many, stooping slightly burdened by age in his later years. His quiet demeanour and slow determined gait belied a steely grit that was evident to those who knew him. His buttercream skin was speckled with reddish freckles that stood out like tiny stars. His gunmetal silver hair brushed back over his crown like a waterfall, never out of place.

My Nana Jaan was Abul Hussain, the first modern Bengali poet in Bangladesh and the author of more than 30 poetry and prose books, winner of the Ekushey Padak and numerous other awards and accolades. I was his Nanu Moni.

My earliest memories of Nana Jaan are of him sitting in the library of his two-storied Dhanmondi house, hunched over a grand wooden desk, scribbling in a notebook, surrounded by the smoky, earthy scent of books. I played in one corner of the room not knowing I was in the presence of an extraordinary man.

Even at a young age, I sensed I should not disturb him when he rested the pen on his lip ever so lightly from time to time, as he paused (I assume) to think of a word or a phrase. How does one sit in silence for so long? Silence was his best friend.

Nana Jaan came from a distinguished family. His father was a senior officer in the police department, and his brother, a Supreme Court lawyer and minister in the government. He himself was a senior government official, who travelled the world for work and lived in Thailand for a number of years. My mother and her siblings, barring the eldest, were all born there.

He led the life of a simple man, preferring simple trousers and shirts, crisply ironed. He avoided rich food, eating simply cooked rice or chapatis, lentils, fish and vegetables, day in and day out. He would go for a two-hour morning walk every day until old age made it impossible. Little did I know this was due to living with diabetes for four decades. He was so disciplined, he never succumbed to the temptations of sugary treats and desserts and never deviated from his routine.

When his father was executed by the Pakistani army during the Liberation War in 1971, he locked himself in his study, not coming out for days. No sound came from the room, no screaming or crying was heard, no pounding of fists. Just silence. When his daughter died a few days after birth, he told my Nani, "The Almighty has taken what belongs to Him. It is not for us to ask why."

Not that he was emotionally deficient, he just did not like drama, or rather he did not allow emotions to take over. He felt one could see things more clearly and from different perspectives when not overwhelmed by emotions. His poetry reflected this side of his personality. He wrote about the ordinary lives of ordinary people and the extraordinary lives of extraordinary people in conversational language, never augmenting their lives or using poetic diction.

Nana Jaan was a private man. He did not need validation from others, nor did he care about feeding his ego. I often saw him shooing away reporters who wanted to interview him, even as they returned without fail. It was both amusing and surprising to me.

To his grandchildren, he was sweet and non-preachy. He was an indulgent grandfather, as grandparents across the world are, allowing us to be naughty, giving us sweet knowing smiles when we were up to no good. He clearly relished our presence and it broke his heart that his wife wasn't alive to see her grandchildren; she passed away in 1994.

Nana Jaan named the first of his grandchildren after his wife. He wrote many poems about, or for us. A whole book of children's poems, Shahaner Boi, is dedicated to the oldest among us. The poem Dui Bon (published in Kobita Shomogro)is about the youngest of the lot.

It has been seven years since Nana Jaan left us on June 29, 2014. His calm and loving presence remains in our lives, in our memories, pictures and books. I hope he will live on forever in the hearts of poetry loving Bengalis.

Har Baal Ki Khaal Ki yeh Chhaal bhi kha Jaaye

Iske Haat Pad Jaaye Toh Mahine Saal Bhi Kha Jaaye

Kisi Behaal Ka Bacha Haal woh haal Kha Jaaye

Bemaut Marate Mann Ka Yeh Malaal Kha Jaaye

Laalu Ka Laal Kha Jaaye Naksalbaari Ki Naal Kha Jaaye

Bachpan Ka Dhamaal Kha Jaaye, Budhaape Ki Shaal Kha Jaaye

Haya Toh Chhodo Behaya Ki Chaal Bhi Kha Jaaye

Aur Agar Parosha Jaa Sake Toh Khayaal Bhi Kha Jaaye

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