A Book of Czech Verse/Introduction

INTRODUCTION

Across the face of Central Europe, in generation after generation, there have passed the feet of marching men. Sometimes they have come, moving through on their way East or West, and have left behind them a trail of charred ruin: sometimes they have stayed to impose their rule. On these occasions they have invariably found themselves opposed by a national resistance which drew strength and inspiration from the cultural traditions of the linguistic group. Thus the invaders have come to attack these traditions, to burn the books which expressed them, and to repress the language in which they were written.

During the systematic persecution which followed the battle of the White Mountain the Czech language was reduced to the status of a dialect fit only for lesser breeds, and unworthy to be the vehicle of literary expression. But throughout that century and a half of darkness, the cultural heritage of the past was handed down from generation to generation, the mother teaching to her child the songs of the people, and fostering a love for the language and the soil of the homeland. Thus, when some measure of freedom returned, like the spring after the long Bohemian winter, the influence of the folk song was a major factor in the literary revival of the eighteenth century, and its influence has continued up to the present day. Not only did writers like Čelakovský and Erben compose in the style and idiom of folk poetry, but, from the bitter outpourings of the Slovak Kollár to the exquisite lyrics of the dying Wolker one may see again and again the themes which recall the ordeals through which the nation had passed: the protective love of a people for its land and customs, the escape into the remembered innocence of childish romance, and the call to the barricades, summoning men to tear down the symbols of foreign oppression and social injustice.

Thus, the folk tale, the lyric of personal emotion, and the poetry of escape, all to some extent characteristic of an age of repression, are familiar motives in Czech literature; and, in consequence, some of its sweetness may be thought to be offset by a lack of contact with reality, while a further influence working away from the portrayal of the problems of contemporary life was the conscious imitation of foreign writers. Yet, in the first quarter of this century, when full freedom at last returned to the Czech people, their poetry can be said, in one sense, to have reached a climax of fulfilment in the work of Wolker. If the poetry of Neruda and Čelakovský has the remoteness of a lovely dream, that of Wolker has the jagged impact of frightening reality: in his writings bitterness, humanism, and startling beauty are combined; and his early death robbed Czech literature of a poet of world stature.

In this little selection of poems, circumscribed as it is by the conditions of today, there is no claim that a representative picture of Czech poetry can be given, nor that the English versions do anything like justice to the Czech originals. It will be enough if it serves to indicate the presence of a rich and diverse literary tradition, too often ignored and neglected because of linguistic difficulties of approach, and because it represents the voice of a small people. It is hard to hear this voice amid the beating drums of bigger powers; but it is perhaps timely to remind ourselves that the abiding achievements of a people bear no relation to the extent of its population or territory, but rather to the intensity of its devotion to certain ideals and standards, both moral and intellectual. So may it be possible, even amid the din of today, to remember, in a quiet hour, the achievements of a people whose claims have always been modest—to live, to be free, to be able steadfastly to believe that the truth will prevail.

Adelaide, 1958.

 

Through the fields murmuring waters glide,
Forests rustle on the hill side.
Springtime blooms stretch fragrantly,
A paradise on earth to see.

There it lies, the lovely country
Of Bohemia, my homeland,
Bohemia, my home.

(From the song of J. K. Tyl)