"Three Elegies for Kosovo" by Ismail Kadare: amazon.co.uk Review

Poetry, mesmerising poetry

"Samarkand", and "The Gardens of Light" of the Lebanese born writer Amin Maalouf REALLY ignited my interest to the writings of Arab authors and authors from the Near East especially Turkey. Ismail Kadare of Albania has always eluded my attention. I finished reading "Palace of Dreams" and "Broken April". Now that I've finished reading "Three Elegies for Kosovo" I can't resist the temptation of letting others know about the book. The Book reads like poetry, like a ghazal from beginning to end, simply mesmerising. Each chapter is self contained in the sense they speak for themselves on their own, and at the same time fall into pieces like a tapestry when read together. What do you call this type of writing, fiction, non-fiction, historical? I think the critiques may have to coin a new phrase. It's really a pity not too many people speak Albanian, and even more pity that a rare gem like Ismail Kadare is not so well known in spite of being the First Recipient of the Man Booker Prize in 2005. I'm not giving you the story away. Just two comments-- this book deserves more than five stars; and I'll pay money to buy this book again, if not for myself then as a gift to introduce and inspire someone else, anyday Each of the 87 pages is worth is weight in gold!

Asrar Chowdhury
Bangladesh

Published 17th October 2007

URL: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A1SH382U7EEHUZ/ref=cm_cr_auth/026-5736934-4066055?ie=UTF8&sort%5Fby=MostRecentReview

Also available on my profile, "Asrarul Chowdhury" at http://www.facebook.com/

Letter to the Daily Star on "Online social networking" in Star Campus

Dear Sir/Madam,

I'm sending this letter after reading the latest Star Campus issue on"Online social networking".

Hope you find the letter suitable for publication in either the Star Letters Column or in the Star Campus

Sincerely,
Asrarul Chowdhury
Faculy, Department of Economics
Jahangirnagar University

**************************************************************

The power of youth and the power of the Internet

The cover story, "Online social networking" in the Star Campus (21 Oct 2007) is a timely issue featuring the ever-growing online social network community. The three pieces by Mahdin Mahboob, Sarah ZH, and Binoy Barman introduce readers to this recent phenomenon. Unfortunately, in none of the three pieces there's any reference to groups and causes related to Bangladesh.

Bangladeshis are slowly and gradually making their presence felt in these networks. I'm not a 'net generation' as Barman terms the youth. I don't see anything wrong with the youth in experimenting with the Internet. After meeting this wonderful 'net generation' recently, I can only see and envy the vast potential the 'net generation' has in letting the world know the good things of Bangladesh.

Asrarul Chowdhury
Department of Economics
Jahangirnagar University
asrarul@gmail.com

Emailed 22 October 2007

Shabash Bangladesh

Shabash Bangladesh
-- Transliteration of "Shabash Bangladesh" by Sukanta Bhattacharya

Shabash Bangladesh
This world looks at you amazed
To the last drop of blood you've been raped
And yet you stand, leaving the whole world amazed!

-- Somewhere, sometime for 16 December today and always

The Grave

The Grave
-- My Epitaph

There were many things I wanted to say again
If only I could say them again

If you ever happen to grace this way
Please don't ever look back again!

Oh Khoda you played with me too much
Please don't play with another again

Oh Khoda please leave Asrar alone
Why did you come here to find him again?

-- Somewhere, sometime in complete madness

Game of Chess, The Shiraz, The End

Game of Chess, The Shiraz, The End

Oh Khoda, did you ever tell me what I had?
The echoes of yesterday we once had

The Gul Bahar blossomed and fell as she pleased
The perfume still makes you feel like a lad

Gone are the days--let them rest in peace
There are many without love and not glad

Mem'ries linger of civilisations-- come and gone
The journeys we took, though were not bad

If this was to be 'The' Game of Chess
My 'Reds' have written the couplets on this silk pad

Give me some Persian Shiraz, and then some clouds
After that, even mem'ries can't make me mad

Oh, what a strange life Asrar's has been
Alone, but not lonely, sorrowful, but not sad!

-- Sometime, somewhere in complete madness

The Wine Glass

The Wine Glass

Pray, who are you to deprive me of my ruby red?
Telling others, you now tell me not to touch the red?

Civilisations have come and civilisations have gone
But nobody, nobody listened to what the Dervishes said

You ask me of my sadness, the causes of my pain
Did you know you're blind, there is no colour to the dead!

You want to know if I'm lonely, indeed truly sorrowful?
Mine has been a life where even vultures fear to tread

This heart is full of secrets locked up in a deserted land
It's forgotten the beauty of Khayyam, Nazrul and Faiz Ahmed

Your perfume reminds me of the Ghazals that echo from yesterday
A time when light and darkness knew only how to wed

Leave me alone, Please, go away to some other tonight
Let me drown in my endless sorrow and sleep in my bed

Silence has been my weapon, the Great Couplets my friend
Don't make me sing again and want to know the X, Y, and Zed

Asrar, was this another mirage, or truly the first rays of dawn?
Look, the wine glass has lost its colour; it's no longer red!

-- Somewhere, sometime in complete madness

The Shattered Heart

The Shattered Heat

A woman came and shattered my heart into hundred holes
Even the "Karbaala" was dwarfed at the blood bath caused
I never had the courtesy or time to thank her
For now through my heart air and light flows!

-- Asrar Chowdhury
Sometime, somewhere in complete madness

Game of Chess: Part XVI

Game of Chess: Part XVI
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face


The Shayers are all dead, they no longer rhyme
Even the Sheraab finally bows down humbly
Everything in front of you has stopped
Accept this reality with all your shakti

You've lost your arrogance, you've lost your pride
Beauty has thundered your heart with all her might
Break the walls you've built that's blocking the light
Let the air flow, the moment is finally right

You've said all your life you've believed in fate
You've seen too much rain, and still decided to wait
The best things in life always come by chance
You're finally defeated, admit-- the hour is getting late

Asrar, it takes a mountain to make you move
Yet two more to make you admit it was fate
This was your greatest Shayer, The greatest game of Chess
There's not a single move you can now make-- Check Mate!

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part XV

Game of Chess: Part XV
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

The time has come to draw the curtains
There's really nothing more I could say
If this time, also I go unnoticed
I'll just have to go on my way

Only six nights have passed
But they now seem like many
Rioja, Temperanillo, Marques de Aragon
Forget them, I no longer want any

From the Aryans to Ashoka, to the Great Akbar
Khoda knows how many bottles Hindusthaan has drunk
This heart cries, for nobody stays with it too long
From one death to another, the ships are all sunk

Asrar, the time is really coming, you should go
These nights will never end, didn't you know?
You're restless again, although you now know what you want
Wait for the morning Sun; see what it will show

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part XIV

Game of Chess: Part XIV
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

Did you know that what you saw
Was nothing but a free show
The clowns were here, there and everywhere
Even The Sheraab failed to say the word go

She's woven this rare tapestry
She thinks it's all hers
She doesn't know that her beauty
Will cause a few more wars

She's been to school and college
Where all the rich kids would go
But deep in heart, she's down to earth
If only she herself would know

Oh Asrar, you're bewildered and shattered
This is 'the' wine that probably wouldn't go sour?
Is this the wine from Mount Olympus?
Look, her smile laughs your hour

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part XIII

Game of Chess: Part XIII
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

I stare at that bottle of Cotes du Rhone
And wonder what's the cause of man's obsession
Is not the Sheraab just a mere preparation?
Towards where lies the greatest addiction?

What is there in a woman's beauty?
That will drive men till eternity?
Did Helen of Troy ever exist?
Are they simply stories of insanity?

Shahjehaan built the tomb of poetry
For his beloved Mumtaz, the Queen
The tomb bears the testimony of Hindusthaan
We're the greatest lovers the world has seen

The night has grown old so quickly and so has Asrar
The candle is finishing and so is the wine
He sits all alone, singing and looking at that lovely moon
YES. Only a true woman can make a night really shine!

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part XII

Game of Chess: Part XII
For the Knights of Bengal

Here, I now stand in front of my sweet Bengal
My tears flow, for it's no longer the real one
We speak the same language and sing the same song
And yet, together no longer a part of Hindusthaan

"Shabash Bangladesh" was it not Shukanto who said
Tagore with all his glamour and 'fusion jazz'
Michael, Manik, Lalon, Hasan Raja and Bankim
Bengal is full of many Rasagullahs

What magic is there in my sweet Bengal
That makes we want to raise the glass furthermore
Is it the virgin beauty or the virgins themselves
Bengal, my love-- again I want to see the sea-shore

Oh Bengal, hear the words of mad Asrar
Who 'alone' wrote for every Hindu and Musalmaan
He was the voice of the unspoken, devoid of any form
Kazi Nazrul Islam, Khoda bless that great man!

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part XI

Game of Chess: Part XI
For the Three Maestros Ghalib, Iqbal and Faiz

All the way from the West he went to the East
He liked Sheraab and fell in love with pretty faces of the Rising Sun
Ghalib was his name and all he knew was
Bengal had the best mangoes in Hindusthaan

In the Land of the West there was another Sage
He was a poet and philosopher of high talent
His couplets challenged all, turned things upside down
Allama Iqbal was he, the pride of the sub-continent

Then came a silent rebel into the Urdu realm
Who turned the lover into his own revolution
His rulers never liked him, but his followers were many
Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Urdu's 'greatest' child to be born

Asrar knows the West and the East are not one
The rulers decided to turn two into three
The laughter and sorrow are all one, but Oh!
This is the land that's been divided by too many

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part X

Game of Chess: Part X
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

Oh, this beautiful town by the River Cam
All these years now seem like eternity
Here nothing changes—everything remains intact
After all the Centuries, Cam hasn’t lost its beauty

Tonight’s a Friday, you can tell by their faces
They’re dressed up in burgundy and blue—ready for the madness
They’re all young, full of life, ready to go
I wonder how many will se the actual side of sadness

Walking from Bridge Street towards St Andrew’s
The Autumn leaves cry for rain
Seeing all these happy lads and lasses
I wonder, will Spring ever come back again?

Sitting in front of the Cam, Asrar wonders
That moon is so beautifully bowed down
This lifeless town has come to life
Would she know she stole the Sheraab’s Crown?

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part IX

Game of Chess: Part IX
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

Here I stand, gazing at the road
Seeing millions, but not one who’d steal the show
Khoda knows, what stories these people have to tell
Mine’s one of sorrow after seeing eyes that glow

I’m terribly restless in this Restaurant, all alone
The waiters and the waitresses are eyeing my every scent
Even the Berbera has lost its beauty to me
I wonder what she’s doing at this very moment

After the Bebera comes the Red Burgundy Wine
I’m sinking, I’ve drunk more than one too many
All I can see are those dark eyes of her
If only she knew the sorrow in all her beauty

Oh Khoda, would it be too much is Asrar says
Show me those eyes tonight, even if it’s just for once
And I promise you with all my heartI won’t venture a second glance

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part IX

Game of Chess: Part IX
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

Here I stand, gazing at the road
Seeing millions, but not one who’d steal the show
Khoda knows, what stories these people have to tell
Mine’s one of sorrow after seeing eyes that glow

I’m terribly restless in this Restaurant, all alone
The waiters and the waitresses are eyeing my every scent
Even the Berbera has lost its beauty to me
I wonder what she’s doing at this very moment

After the Bebera comes the Red Burgundy Wine
I’m sinking, I’ve drunk more than one too many
All I can see are those dark eyes of her
If only she knew the sorrow in all her beauty

Oh Khoda, would it be too much is Asrar says
Show me those eyes tonight, even if it’s just for once
And I promise you with all my heartI won’t venture a second glance



-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part VIII

Game of Chess: Part VIII
For George Harrison and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Oh, I’m so happy I’m back home
Walking the streets of my fav’rite London
Gee, it’s so good to come back to sip the wine
And think of Tchaikovsky’s Lake of Swan

Oh Charing Cross Road
The place where you find old books stored
By chance at Leicester Square I hear a man sing
George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord”

Was it not George, the Beatle of spirituality?
Who was searching for the voice of eternity?
Was it not this very George, who said he’d found it?
After hearing one “little” Khan, Nusrat Fateh Ali?

Oh Asrar, tonight’s the night for the best wine
If Lataji can say, Bhavaan lives in the voice of Mehdi Hasan
Who are then the rulers of these lands to say
That all of us aren’t one?

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part VII

Game of Chess: Part VII
For Faiz who said, poetry is the loss of the beloved

The man is singing his Rhythm and Blues
The notes are in groups of five
All the people in the Restaurant are bewildered
I wonder if tonight, we’ll all survive

The whole café is listening to the man
You can feel emotions flow from his heart
Even the girls gaze, forgetting their lovers
You can’t describe, Khoda where can you start?

All the lonely hearts who come to congregate
Listen to the man singing, simply amaz’d
Their Bourbons, their Single Malts, and their Rum
Stop, for tonight even the Sheraab is shell’d

Even after all this charade, Asrar
You can see the man’s weak spot
Those five notes speak only of his darling
Who is now, forever lost

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part VI

Game of Chess: Part VI
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

This night is ending too quickly
Soon the cockerel will welcome the dawn
There’s a terribly thick mist outside
The dew will vanish with the morn

Friends and lovers
They come and go as they please
Margaux, Valdipieso and Sauvignon
Are the only ones that seem to ease

The night is ending
A new day will begin soon
The empty glass sits and wonders
Will there ever be another wine-stained moon?

Asrar—get up, a new days has just come
Forget the flowers, not one was your friend
Remember, the Sheraab never lied
For only the Reds have been with you to the end

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part V

Game of Chess: Part V
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

Sometimes I ask myself too much
If you're just another pretty face on the road
You glimpse with those dark eyes and Zafraan face of yours
Only the Heavens know if that's all you've showed

When you smile at me, unknowingly
The Angels in Heaven celebrate your joy
When you talk after long intervals
The flowers of Babylon bow down with coy

You are a paragon of beauty
Even Cleopatra will bear this testimony
Helen of Troy can only look at you in envy
For your face will launch ships till eternity

All Asrar can do tonight is
Sip Bisquertt Family's grapes of Merlot
Life isn't fair if you're prevented to see
And swim in waters that are shallow

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part III

Game of Chess: Part III
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

I hear she’s a student of literature
She’s well versed in the verse
She knows Monet and Gough by heart
She says that’s her worst curse

On Friday nights she sings with friends
And opens a rare bottle of Chianti
The whole room perfumes of the red
The parwanaas experience insanity

She’s got that rare looking smile
She never shows you she’s alone
She always gives you that warm look
While she hides behind her mobile phone

The more you see her, the more you say Asrar
In this town she’s the best wine
She’s one of those rare encounters
That makes a circle look like a straight line

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part II

Game of Chess: Part II
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

You think you know this game
You think you know it well
Ask yourself in the dead of the night
Was it not the Sheraab that once sent you to hell?

And still she comes back to you
You try hard, but her beauty you can’t resist
You’re powerless; She’s a Noor-E-Shama
She comes and leaves with the morning mist

She treats you as she fancies
You’re a pawn in her game of complete madness
But you no longer seem to argue
Your life is already in too much mess

Asrar, you’ve been sipping the Sheraab for too long
The Kings and Queens no longer tell you their saga
As time moves on, you come to realise
You’ve confronted a much more devastating neshaa!

-- Somewhere, sometime in England

Game of Chess: Part I

Game of Chess: Part I
For Those Dark Eyes and Zafraan Face

So, the dream is over
We all now go on our way
One mother sleeping in the grave
Three brothers off to see a new day

Let us raise our glasses
For the hour is getting late
Soon the dew will vanish with the Sun
And we’ll all be accepting our fate

The room now speaks of your perfume
The Sheraab speaks no more
We’re dancing to the last waltz
To a tune we used to hear before

Come with old Asrar
Come and sip some more wine
It’s been far too long
We’ve been hanging on the vine

-- Sometime, somewhere in England