![]() ![]() In the hope for another dawn in conceivable warmth. The rotten still frog begs two more moments When the moon sank down-in the strange darknessīy a silence like the neck of a camel that might have shown up Like a plagued rat, mouth filled with crimson froth Or having no sleep at all since long-he now has fallen asleep Hope and love abundant_in the moonlight-what ghost Last night-in the darkness of Falgoon-night “One Day Eight Years Ago - Poem by Jibanananda Das A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.” ![]() And this too remember a serious writer is not to be confounded with a solemn writer. A writer who appreciates the seriousness of writing so little that he is anxious to make people see he is formally educated, cultured or well-bred is merely a popinjay. A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing. The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. “Every novel which is truly written contributes to the total of knowledge which is there at the disposal of the next writer who comes, but the next writer must pay, always, a certain nominal percentage in experience to be able to understand and assimilate what is available as his birthright and what he must, in turn, take his departure from. ![]()
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