The Grim Grip of Pettifogging Politics and the Undervaluation of Poet Al Mahmud

February 15 marks the death anniversary of the celebrated poet of Sonali Kabin, Al Mahmud. On this day in 2019, the powerful voice of Bengali literature departed forever. He was born on July 11, 1936, in the Molla Bari of Mourail in Brahmanbaria town. His real name was Mir Abdus Shukur Al Mahmud.

Widely discussed and often controversial, Al Mahmud spent three decades bringing the life of riverine Bengal into modern poetry—rural atmosphere, deltaic settlements, char lands, and the eternal love and longing between men and women—all rendered with profound sincerity. At a time when modern Bengali poetry was becoming increasingly urban, he enriched it with new forms and a distinctive modern sensibility rooted in the soil. To understand the intensity of modern Bengali poetry, one must read Al Mahmud poetry.

He studied at Sadhana High School in Daudkandi, Cumilla, and later at Sitakunda High School in Chattogram. Growing up across Brahmanbaria, Cumilla, and Chattogram shaped his imagination. His poems began appearing in print at eighteen. Through journalism he came to Dhaka in 1954—as he himself wrote, arriving “in sandals, carrying a tin box under his arm,” driven by literary commitment. He began writing in the weekly Kafela edited by Abdur Rashid Wasekpuri, and his professional career started with the daily Millat. When Wasekpuri left Kafela in 1955, Al Mahmud joined as its editor.

A poet of struggle, he explored life intensely. Writing in Samakal (edited by Sikandar Abu Zafar), and Kolkata journals such as Notun Sahitya, Chatushkon, Mayukh, Krittibas, and the famous Kobita edited by Buddhadeb Basu made him well known among readers in both Dhaka and Kolkata.
His collections Lok Lokantar (1963), Kaler Kolosh (1966), and Sonali Kabin (1973) established him among the foremost poets of Bengali literature. Sonali Kabin became a turning point—many believe that even if he had written only this single book, he would still reign in the kingdom of Bengali poetry.

In the closing sonnet of Sonali Kabin he wrote: “The woman is not defeated; poets are never defeated—

Though the veins and arteries ache in pain.”

In the same sonnet he declared: “I never learned deception, therefore I learned no other trade.” And in the poem Kobita Emon:

“Poetry is the madrasa girl Ayesha Akter, her hair flowing free.” These lines remain immortal in Bengali literature.

Though renowned as a poet, he was also a remarkably bold storyteller. Associated with the Language Movement of 1952 and a direct participant in the Liberation War of 1971, he later edited the socialist, anti-government radical newspaper Gonokontho in 1972. For this he fell into the wrath of the then Awami League government and spent a year in prison. In 1975 Bangabandhu appointed him Associate Director of Research and Publications at the Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy, from which he retired as Director in 1993.

For his outstanding contribution, he received the Ekushey Padak in 1986 along with numerous honors including the Bangla Academy Award, Philips Literary Award, Agrani Bank Children’s Literature Award, Farrukh Memorial Award, Jibanananda Das Memorial Award, the Kafela Literary Award (Kolkata) for poetry, and the Humayun Qadir Memorial Award for short fiction.

Yet despite being one of the most powerful poets in Bengali literature, Al Mahmud remained undervalued due to the fierce grip of Pettifogging politics. Certain groups deliberately pushed him into a political enclosure, particularly self-styled ultra-progressive circles, overshadowing his artistic identity. In early life he leaned left; in later life he grew religious. Such transitions have occurred with many great writers across the world, yet in his case it became a curse. His final years passed in sorrow, neglect, and marginalization.

Where even minor figures often receive state mourning, neither the President nor the Prime Minister of the then ruling Awami League government expressed condolences upon his death. The language activist and freedom fighter was not allowed tribute at the National Shaheed Minar nor burial in the Martyred Intellectuals’ Graveyard.

In one interview he lamented: “I grew a beard, and suddenly I became a fundamentalist.” Yet in his youth he faced persecution from the Pakistani regime for printing poetry in Language Movement leaflets, wrote numerous works supporting the Liberation War, and participated in armed struggle. The accusation against him later was attending Jamaat-Shibir events.

In this regard he responded: “I try to attend all seminars—socialist ones as well as Jamaat-Shibir ones. I am called a collaborator for going there, but no one listens to what I say there. Sometimes I feel that after fighting for the country, the title ‘collaborator’ is my destiny.”

He also said: “Many progressive writers who never joined the Liberation War received awards from the Pakistani government and criticized Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s Six-Point movement—yet they now speak loudly about the war.”

In another interview with Bratya Raisu and Raju Alauddin he remarked: “I have a Liberation War novel, Upomohadesh. I lived what I wrote. There is no Liberation War writer in our country—not a single one except me.”

Though branded “Jamaat” or “fundamentalist” in Bangladesh, Al Mahmud remained relevant in India. Sunil Gangopadhyay remarked: “In Bangladesh there are one and a half poets—one Al Mahmud and half Nirmalendu Goon.” After his death, poet Joy Goswami said meeting him felt like a pilgrimage. Such is the internationalism of artistic genius—he transcended borders and attained immortality through creation.

We failed to evaluate Al Mahmud through his creativity and intellectuality. He became a victim of the cruelty of politicization—where politics intrudes into every sphere, leaving neither literature nor culture untouched. Al Mahmud once envisioned his death in verse:

“One dawn after night, on a blessed Friday—

Whatever happens in this unprepared home of light and darkness, I shall accept it as my Eid.” His wish was fulfilled. On Friday, February 15, 2019, on a misty spring night, the poet departed forever.


Emran Emon is an eminent journalist,
columnist and global affairs analyst. 
He can be reached at [email protected]