Once Charles Baudelaire wrote in ‘At the one O’colck in the morning’ –
“Discontented with everyone and discontented with myself, I would gladly redeem myself and elate myself a
little in the silence and solitude of night.”
The poem opened with a frankness that is rough and bewildering at the same time.
“Alone, at last! Not a sound to be heard but the rumbling of some belated and decrepit cabs. For a few hours
we shall have silence, if not repose. At last the tyranny of the human face has disappeared, and I myself shall be the
only cause of my sufferings.
At last, then, I am allowed to refresh myself in a bath of darkness! First of all, a double turn of the lock. It
seems to me that this twist of the key will increase my solitude and fortify the barricades which at this instant
separate me from the world.”
That nakedness is poetry ‘La Moderne’. Bob Dylan, in his time wrote about that nakedness.
“A poem is a naked person… Some people say that I am a poet.”
This book , ভীষণ গোপনে বেঁচে আছি (Bheeson Gopone Benche Achi) is that nakedness of living. A life, hidden from distrust, hate, vengeance and power that be: a life – sublime, subtle, rough, rebellious, desperate, frustrated and yet hopeful is being celebrated, cursed and engraved in this book.
Dead philosopher is not a poet and a poet is always guilty in all counts, ready to be convicted for crimes unknown. A poem is the naked escaped in wishful thinking. Readers, both the jurists and judges in one and finally the executioner – ‘The Trial’ is on now.