DONATA MITAITĖ Lithuanian Literature in 1968: Interstices of Meaning within Meaninglessness

ABSTRACT. For Lithuanian Soviet literature, which had struggled to recover from wartime and post-war losses (the Soviet invasion, the emigration of writers, deaths in the partisan resistance) and endured Soviet ideological coercion and repressions, 1968 was a good year. Although Lithuanian literature had not yet reached the level of creative output of the pre-war period or the emigre community, and though the Soviet context compromises the artistic value of some works, that year saw the publication of a number of important texts. Works by literary theorists indicate a clear desire to restore the continuity of a literary tradition which was fractured in the post-war years in order to clearly indicate that it did not emerge in tandem with Soviet power. Literary and cultural periodicals show a marked attention to creative work by Lithuanian emigres and to world culture, in particular Czechoslovakia's. With the exception of Tomas Venclovas poem "Eilėraštis apie draugus" (A Poem About Friends, dedicated to Natalia Gorbanevskaya), the Prague Spring repressions did not leave many traces in the Lithuanian literature of that time. Nevertheless, the increased feelings of despair and absurdity that are evident in works published in autumn 1968 and in 1969 can be indirectly linked to the events taking place in Czechoslovakia. In Lithuania, Soviet ideological control intensified not in 1968, but in 1972, after the self-immolation of Romas Kalanta in Kaunas. KEYWORDS: Prague Spring, literature of Soviet Lithuania, literary tradition, ideological coercion

In 1968, waves of unrest rolled across the world. The first that comes to mind is the French student riots, which are sometimes referred to as a revolution. So as not to appear too Eurocentric, we should also remember the 1968 government massacre of Mexican students, where hundreds are said to have been killed. There was something in the air that seems to have triggered various protests against the existing order - something that inspired the hope that one's rights could be defended as well as the aggression that was often expressed while fighting for them. An aggression that, sadly, was often met with even greater force, smashing hopes that life might someday change for the better.

31 In Lithuania, the year 1968 was marked by the hope inspired by the Prague Spring as well as its tragic outcome. Under more favourable circumstances, that year could have seen the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the establishment, in 1918, of the independent state of Lithuania, as well as those of Latvia and Estonia. Obviously, the official Lithuanian press spoke only of the 50th anniversary of the declaration of Soviet power in Lithuania in 1918, and of the anniversaries of the Lithuanian Communist Party and the Komsomol (the Communist Youth League), which were established in the same year. These commemorations coincided, strangely, with the suppression of the Prague Spring; one might say that history was assisting editors who, as ideological control intensified, no longer had to rack their brains about how to fill the fall issues of their periodicals. Maria and Arkady Dubnov (those who listened to Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty will recall these names) titled their book about life and the mood in Russia (mostly Moscow) in the sixties and seventies Tanki vPrage, Dzhokonda vMoskve: azart istydsemidesiatykh (Tanks in Prague, La Gioconda in Moscow: the Excitement and Shame of the 1970s).1 It goes without saying that, even though our countrymen were amongst those providing so-called "international support" to Czechoslovakia, people in Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia identified with the Czechs - they felt anger, despair and perhaps other similar feelings, but not shame, about events taking place there. For most people living and doing creative work in Lithuania in the 1960s the situation must have looked quite dreary, and could be captured in the words "nothing will ever change here" (an exhibition with this title, and dedicated to the year 1968, was held in Warsaw several years ago). Nevertheless, there were some outstanding breakthroughs in different cultural spheres - though when we speak of these achievements we should almost always take note of official reactions to them. It was in 1968 that the ūlm Jausmai (Feelings; screenplay by Vytautas Žalakevičius, directed by Algirdas Dausa and Almantas Grikevičius), which was awarded a Special Jury Prize at the San Remo International Film Festival, was made. Soviet cinema functionaries tried to withhold the fact of the award from the creators of the film, which could only be shown in semi-exclusive film clubs in Lithuania, and was not shown anywhere else in the Soviet Union. In 1997, audiences and critics \otcdjausrnai the best Lithuanian film of all times. On the last day of 1968, the Kaunas Drama Theatre premiered Kazys Sajas Mamutų medžioklė (The Hunt for the Mammoths, directed by Jonas Jurašas,

32 who would be forced to emigrate in 1974). "One might expect that this fresh and suggestive piece of theatre will attract strong audience support and extensive critical reaction,"2 wrote Eugenijus Ignatavičius immediately after the first performance. But though the production garnered high public and critical acclaim, it was banned after barely a year in the repertoire (it was performed about 70 times). Both the audience and the authorities were able to precisely decode the imagery in this grotesque drama, understanding the search, by the participants of an unreal feast who get stuck in tar, as the quest for a bright communist tomorrow. Visual artists who had distinguished themselves in Soviet years (Vincas Kisarauskas, Saulė Kisarauskienė, Linas Katinas, Aloyzas Stasiulevičius, Antanas Kmieliauskas) became the targets of party bailiffs. Inspired by the Prague Spring to tighten ideological censorship, the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR passed a resolution on January 7, 1969, indicating that these artists and publications which reproduced their works had fallen out of favour with the authorities - their art was seen as "formalist and void of ideology" and as ignoring the educational purposes of socialist art.3 The philosopher Romualdas Ozolas (b. 1939) says that the years 1965 to 1968 saw the rise of the slogan "Let us think." Without a doubt the magazine Kultūros barai and its column "Round Table Conversations"4 were instrumental in this. The contribution of the emigre community to freeing the spirits of people living in Lithuania was increasingly recognized. The archaeologist and anthropologist Marija Gimbutienė (Marija Gimbutas, 1921-1994), who made her second visit to Lithuania in 1968 and gave a lecture at Vilnius University, described her impressions to the US-based emigre sociologist Vytautas Kavolis:

[they] talk even too boldly, and the veins are just now opening up for an injection of new blood. [...] The Grand Hall of Columns at Vilnius University was packed. If anybody had wanted to do away with the entire artistic and intellectual elite of Lithuania in one full sweep, this was the opportunity: all the artists, writers and scientists were there, young and old, from Vilnius, Kaunas and elsewhere; but most of all there were many young students.5

In the same letter she emphasised that Metmenys (a literary and cultural magazine published in Chicago since 1959) was very important and eagerly

33 awaited in Lithuania, and was passed from one person to another like books during the period of the publication ban. The paths of other emigre publications and books were very similar. Because the marking of the fiftieth anniversary of Lithuania's independence was suppressed, a paper by the emigre historian Vincas Trumpa (1913-2002) in Metmenys played a very important role. In it he considered the idea of independence but also took a broader view:

It is impossible to imagine a nations freedom without individual freedom. He who is against individual freedom is also against the freedom of a country. There is no other choice or path. It is good that today we are constantly speaking of alien tyrants, but we should, at least occasionally, keep in mind the danger of our own tyrants.6

Ideas like that were another type of injection that was badly needed in Lithuania at that time. But new ideas did not come exclusively from the emigre community. Yuri Lotman, who founded the world-renowned school of semiotics and was forced to leave Leningrad (St. Petersburg) for Tartu, gave a series of important lectures in Vilnius in 1968. Reaction to his lectures was mixed, ranging from high praise to doubt and hostility. In his attempts to justify the demand for a structuralist poetics, Tomas Venclova, who would soon emigrate himself, wrote a paper with a very academic title: "Poetinio komunikato konstruktas" (The Construct of Poetic Communication). In it, he directed his criticism not so much at traditional research methods in literary theory or in the humanities in general, as at the ideologically regulated state and the degradation of these disciplines in Soviet Lithuania in particular, and in the Soviet Union in general:

It is uncommon to speak, in public or in private, of the backwardness that exists in the humanities, which generally attract the high school graduate who feels he lacks the talent or patience for other disciplines. Here, studies arc not difficult - or they are certainly easier than they were fiftyo r a hundred years ago. Not only it is not mandatory to delve into subjects like palaeography and hittitology, but even languages do not have to be learnt properly. Cleverly juggling a number of phrases suitable for any time and any place, the student can usually earn a degree, sometimes even cum laude?

34 Structural poetics and semiotics often helped critics to avoid using ideo- logical formulae and quoting Marxist classics. In talking about the literature of 1968, as with the whole of Lithuanian Soviet literature, it is necessary to bear in mind that World War II and the post- war repressions chopped off the roots and branches of Lithuanian culture: large numbers of writers and members of the cultural elite emigrated, many suffered from the Soviet repressions, and others were killed during the partisan resistance. Acutely aware of the pressures and taboos of a repressive totalitarian state, Lithuanian literature was trying to revive itself; just as it had in the early twentieth century, it looked to newcomers from the impoverished countryside and, at least atfirst, t o folklore and mythological sources. This is what Marcelijus Martinaitis wrote about those newcomers (including himself):

To us, the post-war children of villages and small towns - and especially those from poor families that rarely had books, not to mention libraries - apart from Salomėja Nėris no other decent poetry was known to us. It was not accidentally, then, that, when the so-called thaw began, the first books by Paulius Širvys (1920-1979), Justinas Marcinkevičius (b. 1930), Algimantas Baltakis (b. 1930), and later Janina Degutytė (1928-1990) were read so voraciously.8

The experiences of Judita Vaičiūnaitė and Tomas Venclova (who is said to have been born in his fathers book-case) were of course very different. For those of us who write about them, it is extremely important to grasp this context, in which young Lithuanian writers of this period found themselves, of a broken literary tradition. Vytautas Kavolis' monograph Nužemintųjų generacija. Egzilio pasaulėjautos eskizai (The Uprooted Generation: Sketches of the Exile's Worldview), published in the United States in 1968, is the result of his analysis, during the years 1961-1966, of the work of the emigre poets Algimantas Mackus (1932-1964), Liūne Sutema (b. 1927) and Jonas Mekas (b. 1922). The study reveals that it is no longer possible to speak of Lithuanian literature of that period using the language of superlatives. Compared to what had been written during the early post-war years, the growth of literature, even that written in 1968, is evident. What is also sadly evident is its modesty if we compare it to pre-war or Emigre literature, to say nothing of world literature of the period. At the same time, it was clear that Lithuanian literature had great potential, and as that potential began to manifest itself, the pendulum began to swing away from

35 emigre literary production. According to the literary critic Albertas Zalatorius (1932-1999), the emigre literati passed on the baton as late as the 1970s.9 At the end of the day, Soviet writers and critics could rejoice at their achievements, but the volume of these achievements began to wane as soon as a new point of reference appeared. Zalatorius wrote:

I remember when, in 1968, the press were losing their heads over Alfonsas Bieliauskas' Kauno romanas (A Kaunas Novel). Petras Juodelis, a well-known pre-war critic who spent ten years in the gulag after the war and had preserved his independent thinking and good taste, said to me, "I was reading the novel and felt ill at ease because of the author"10

In a 1968 polemical paper on issues in literary criticism, his colleague Vytautas Kubilius (1926-2004) also referred to Kauno romanas as a second- rate novel that was getting undeserved praise from the critics." In 1968, Justinas Marcinkevičius' novella Pušis, kuri juokėsi (The Pine That Laughed) was praised not only in Lithuania, but also in Metmenys, which described it as "brimming with consistent freshness and spontaneity,"12 although today its conservative, single-minded anti-modernism would not allow us to speak about it in such glowing terms. In fact, many works that were praised then look quite humble today. In diary entries from that period, Vytautas Kubilius writes about the main reason for this modesty: "I have been writing about contemporary literature that cannot say everything, that cannot tell the truth."13 While Aesopic language and the nature of metaphor allowed poetry to get closer to the truth, prose of the period remained much more constrained. The literary critic Jūratė Sprindy tė is correct when she says that "at that time, the internal monologue was best realised not in highly acclaimed novels but in Saulius Šaltenis' novella Mėnesiena (Moonlight; published in the magazine Nemunas in 1968), which reveals the horrible experiences of a sensitive young man serving in the Soviet army". This can be seen as the emergence of a theme that is sharply conveyed later, in Sigitas Parulskis' first poetry collection // ilgesio visa tai (It All Comes from Longing, 1990) and in his popular novel Trys sekundės dangaus (Three Seconds of Heaven, 2002). In Sprindytc's opinion, 1968 saw the novella generally expanding the boundaries imposed on Soviet literature (c.f. works by Jonas Mikelinskas, Leonidas Jacincvičius, Romualdas Lankauskas, Aušra Sluckaitė).14

36 Yet if we browse the literary and cultural press of 1968 with only the context of Soviet Lithuania in mind, the situation appears quite bearable. Of course, there were some "incantations" characteristic of the time. For example, in the formidable title of his article "Vincas Mykolaitis-Putinas Belongs to Our People," published in the Literatūra ir menas (Literature and Art) weekly very early in the year, Antanas Venclova implies that Mykolaitis-Putinas does not belong to the "reactionary emigres." The pages of the cultural press were generally opening up to the creative work of Lithuanian emigres and literati from around the world. Some issues of that year's cultural magazine Kultūros barai are interesting even today, with its articles on the classics and issues in Western European culture, its features on Lithuanian artists living and working abroad (like one on Vytautas Kasiulis (1918-1995) who lived in Paris and was one of few Lithuanian artists recognised in the international arena, but whose works were not exhibited in Lithuania until 2009), and its rather critical analysis of the situation of Lithuanian society and culture at the time. The magazines contain some fairly good poetry, including works by Judita Vaičiūnaitė, Eduardas Mieželaitis, Janina Degutytė, Sigitas Geda, Albinas Bernotas and Alfonsas Maldonis. Of course one can find all sorts of things in them, as one can today, with the difference that the pulp literature of the period bears the signs of having served the totalitarian system. In particular, I would like to single out the publication, in the literary magazine Pergalė in 1968, of short stories by Juozas Aputis, Jonas Mikelinskas and Bitė Vilimaitė. Other periodicals featured prose by Bronius Radzevičius and Romualdas Granauskas. Some impressive literary translations also appeared during this period (and, to my knowledge, translation was also thriving in the Estonian literary journal Looming): this was the time when Tomas Venclovas translations of chapters fromjames Joyce s Ulysses, Laima Rapšytė s translations of Albert Camus' novel L'Ėtranger, and works by Nathalie Sarraute, Bertold Brecht and others first saw the light of day. Camus' novel La Peste (translated by Rožė Jankevičiūtė) was published in 1968, and as early as in 1969 Tomas Venclova would write in his review of it that "having opted for the path of protest, the individual chooses inner freedom and creates an interstice of meaning in mcaninglcssncss."15 In 1968, efforts were also made in Lithuania to gradually bring genuine Russian literature back to the cultural consciousness. Even before 1968, Venclova published his translations of poetry by Osip Mandclshtam and Boris Pasternak, while poetry by Marina Tsvctaycva

37 (translated by Vytautas Skripka and Jonas Strielkūnas) was published in one of the 1968 issues of Nemunas magazine. The renewed significance of the classics of Lithuanian national literature is also evident in several important literary histories published in 1968: Vytautas Kubilius' Salomėjos Nėries lyrika (The Poetry of Salomėja Nėris), Vytautas Vanagas' Antanas Strazdas, Vanda Zaborskaitė's Maironis (which was approved by the censors on the eve of the Prague events, 19 September), and Algis Samulionis' Balys Sruoga - dramaturgijos ir teatro kritikas (Balys Sruoga - Drama and Theatre Critic). The year 1968 marked the centenary of the birth of the writer, philosopher and cultural figure Vydūnas (1868-1953). The occasion was commemorated with the publication, for the first time in Soviet Lithuania, of a volume of the writers work. In his introduction to the text, the literary historian Jonas Lankutis (1925-1953) starts out by saying that, at that time, Vydūnas probably appeared to be "a very original and mysterious figure, standing somewhat to the side in the history of our cultural values, someone detached from the rhythm, manner of thinking and interests of present times."16 But Lankutis goes on to emphasize Vydūnas' humanism, his exaltation of the individual's spiritual dignity and fulfillment, his struggle against all forms of servility, and his striving towards freedom, truth and goodness. Only a description of this kind could have brought this writer to the foreground in Soviet Lithuania. There appeared reflections, if only recorded in the faintest lines, to the effect that literature of that time in general, and poetry in particular, should have a more serious point of reference. Writing about a large collection of Jurgis Baltrušaitis' poetry in Lithuanian (the poet also wrote in Russian, works that belong to Russian Symbolism) published in 1967, the literary historian Vanda Zaborskaitė tries to draw a parallel between this author and the Soviet Lithuanian poetry of her time:

The temporal gap is so wide that we could almost call it an abyss. There arc almost no fundamental philosophical points of contact. But artistic thinking also reflects allegiance to different schools, different tastes; [contemporary] poetry is becoming garrulous, and a meagre quantity of thought drowns hopelessly in the flow of unwieldy words. In the presence of this danger Baltrušaitis' poetry sounds like a warning. ...[I]t is unclear to which field - aesthetics or ethics - the unity and integrity of Baltrušaitis' poetry should be attributed.17

38 And indeed, what unity or integrity could there be when the Soviet poet was surrounded by countless guardians of ideological purity, when he was overcome by his own fears and had long since set up his own, strictest, censor? The literary historian Kęstutis Nastopka (b. 1940) attempted to tie together the ends of the broken yarn of Lithuanian poetry in an exhaustive article that followed the publication of Lietuvių poezija (Lithuanian Poetry) in two volumes, in which the poetic texts ranged from a fragment from the introduction to the first Lithuanian book (1547) to the young poets of the 1960s (Jonas Strielkūnas, Sigitas Geda). The article deserves mention first all because it was probably one of the first attempts to say something, in the calm tone of a literary historian, about Jonas Kossu-Aleksandravičius (1904-1973), Bernardas Brazdžionis (1907-2002) and Henrikas Radauskas (1910-1970), who found themselves in the emigration after the war. The position of Kostas Korsakas (1909-1986), director of the Institute of Lithuanian Language and Literature, under whose guidance the fourth volume of Lietuvių literatūros istorija (History of Lithuanian Literature), which covered literature from 1940 to 1967, was published in 1968, was the following: a history of literature must preserve the names, while the reader can make adjustments to their descriptions. This explains the presence, in Lietuvių literatūros istorija, of critical epithets next to the names of the above-mentioned poets. For example, Nastopka wrote about Justinas Marcinkevičius' poetry as follows:

Following the tradition of Lithuanian professional lyric that came into being in the first half of the [twentieth] century, the poet aims at artistic suggestion not through the pathetic loudness of the word, but through the active use of a broad stylistic context and several semantic planes.18

Recognizing that this tradition had not emerged simultaneously with that of Soviet Lithuania was very important at the time. Even more important was that poetry as such found support within that tradition. Nastopka emphasized the strong national flavour in Degutytės poetry and singled out one of the young poets represented in the anthology: "Sigitas Geda is noteworthy for his focus on national origins and his deep connection to Lithuanian traditions."19 Interestingly, complaints were voiced in Literatūra ir menas about it being impossible to obtain this anthology - it was published in 1967 - because only ten thousand copies were printed.20 A reprint of

39 twenty thousand copies followed in 1969. The publication history of this book shows that the public desire to learn about poetic traditions was alive, even if this tradition appeared in a rather truncated form in the anthology. For instance, the work of well-known emigre poets was limited to poetry written in Lithuania before the war. A number of important books were published in 1968: Justinas Marcinkevičius' Liepsnojantis krūmas (The Blazing Bush; this was the poet's first book that did not reference Lenin, revolution or other "lightning rods"), Judita Vaičiūnaitės Po šiaurės herbais (Under Northern Emblems), Albinas Bernotas' Karšti lapai (Hot Leaves), Vladas Šimkus' Geležis ir sidabras (Iron and Silver), and Eduardas Mieželaitis' book of poetic journalism Čia Lietuva (Here is Lithuania). Echoing Nastopkas summary of A.J. Greimas' (1917-1992) propositions in a 1966 paper, I would say that while these books refashion some of the static myths that help the individual (or nation) to live and to survive critical situations, there are also more dynamic myths that are capable of complicating the individual's life by forcing change.21 This description best applies to Marcinkevičius, who transforms the toiling peasant's life into meaning-heavy rituals, and to some extent to Albinas Bernotas. Judita Vaičiūnaitė is rightly considered thepioneerofurban poetry in Lithuanian Soviet poetry. As Viktorija Daujotytė writes about Vaičiūnaitės above-mentioned poetry collection, "Vaičiūnaitės Vilnius progressively emerged as a city both of multiple historical layers and meanings, and a discernible prehistory."22 I would dare to say, however, that with their history both Vaičiūnaitės city and Marcinkevičius' village simply support the individual, helping him to survive. In that other historical situation this is understandable and no small thing, but it was probably the predominance of static myths that determined that very distinct difference between "the generation of the uprooted" and what was being written in Lithuania at the time. A normal cultural state requires a balance between static and dynamic myths, but could anyone claim that the Soviet cultural situation had anything to do with normality?

Vladas Šimkus' Geležis ir sidabras (Iron and Silver) stands out in its irony and self-irony, qualities that were not that frequently seen in the dramatic, elegiac or pathetic Lithuanian poetry of the time. Talking of the literature of 1968, it must be added that poets who emerged at this time (in 1968 some, like Vaičiūnaitė and Šimkus published books, while others, like Martinaitis and Juozas Aputis, did not publish books but were writing and were active in the

40 press) were, according to Martinaitis, holding to the position "do not quote the so-called Marxist classics, do not join the party, do not be tempted by positions related to ideology and official propaganda, do not under any circumstances use the word "Soviet", and in particular do not attach it to the name of Lithuania."23 The literary critic Aurelija Rabačiauskaitė, who in a review was rather critical of the 1968 almanac of the "Poetry Spring" festival, emphasised that Jonas Juškaitis' work included in that publication "is of the same quality as the best examples of world poetry," and that Tomas Venclova has chosen "an entirely original path."24 According to Romualdas Ozolas, Juškaitis, Martinaitis, Geda and Venclova were "poetry's new growth" in the years 1962-1968, and had become "self-contained personalities"25 by 1972. 1968 can be considered the year of Justinas Marcinkevičius. Although Marcinkevičius had previously committed some of the sins mentioned by Martinaitis, the younger poet was more lenient towards him. In addition to the poetry collection Liepsnojantis krūmas, the year 1968 also saw the publication of Marcinkevičius' drama Mindaugas, which was inspired by his wounded national pride - the poet had met Jean-Paul Sartre, who had intimated that he should write in the language of some larger nation. This drama, which describes the foundation of the state of Lithuania and its first and only king, was to be produced in the same year. Literatūra ir menas even announced that it was with Mindaugas that the Academic Drama Theatre would open the new theatrical season. The production, however, was delayed for one year because a play about such a theme could have been interpreted as a commemoration of the suppressed fiftieth anniversary of the Republic of Lithuania. With his narrative poem Donelaitis, written in 1964, Justinas Marcinkevičius began to take his place in Lithuanians' minds as a national poet capable of evoking and consolidating the myths needed to ensure the nations survival. This role of his became noticeably stronger in 1968, and was especially important in the late 1980s, with the emergence of the independence movement. In 1968, interest in Czechoslovakian culture was evident throughout the cultural media: Bohumil Hrabal's prose, translations of poetry by František Hrubfn, Vftezslav Nezval, Jiff Šotola and Jiff Wolkcr (published as separate books), and reproductions of works by Czech painters all appeared that year. Yet only Metmenys could, in 1969, publish Miroslav Holub's poem "Jan Palach's Prague" (translated into Lithuanian by Jeronimas Žemkalnis and M. Slavik):

41 And here stomp Picasso's bulls, in dust. And here march Dali s elephants, on spidery legs. And here beat Schoenbergs drums. And here goes the knight of La Mancha. And here the Karamazovs are carrying Hamlet. And here lies the nucleus of an atom. And here spreads the Moon's cosmic port. And here stands a statue without a torch. And here the torch is running without a statue. And it is very simple: When the human ends, Theflame begins . And then the murmuring of the worm In ashes can be heard. Because billions of people do not speak.26

Expressing their solidarity with the Czechs, the editorial board oiMetmenys published, in the same issue, a number of poems by Czech poets, as well as Žemkalnis' article "Notes on Czech Literature and History." The presence of tanks in the streets of Prague shocked Lithuanian writers. The prose writer Juozas Aputis (1936-2010) remembered how his colleague Vytautas Petkevičius (1930-2008) was distressed when he realised that at a closed party members' meeting at the Lithuanian Writers' Union he would have to express approval of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. He was not, however, brave enough to put his party membership card on the table, and Aputis said that "today it would not be fair to reproach him for not doing it."27 Degutytė, Vaičiūnaitė, Kubilius and others Lithuanian artists and writers travelled to Norway in autumn 1968. Despondent themselves about the events in Czechoslovakia, they had to experience a peculiar collective guilt simply because they were Soviet tourists, with locals boycotting them and writing slogans demanding freedom for Czechoslovakia on their dust- covered bus. At the time of the events in Czechoslovakia, Marcelijus Martinaitis dropped by the cafe of the Vilnius Hotel, where he saw Tomas Venclova commenting on the Prague events in a loud voice, and reading and explaining his poem "Eilėraštis apie draugus" (A Poem About Friends). The poem was dedicated

42 to the Russian poetess Natalia Gorbanevskaya, one of seven people who protested against the invasion of Czechoslovakia in Moscow's Red Square. The Latvian poet Ojars Vacietis mentioned the tanks in his narrative poem "The Chestnut Day," written in 1968 but never published during the Soviet period; Latvian emigre poets also wrote about those tanks. But Venclovas poem is remarkable all the same. It is long and tangential, intertextually relating epochs and cultures, but in fact it speaks of the present time, in which "thaw" (also known as "the thaw" in Soviet rhetoric) is disentangled from "frost," and when "truths emerge." The truth is that "a few souls" were, in a sense, saving the city's honour, and the poet saw their deed as knightly ("the first leaf on the road / jagged, like a knight's emblem"). Strangely, in 1969 the poem was included in the "Poetry Spring" almanac. The dedication consisted of initials only, and was spelt out in full - "to Natalia Gorbanevskaya" - only much later. Orders were given to remove the poem from the manuscript of Tomas Venclovas poetry collection Kalbos ženklas (Sign of Speech) that would be published in 1972. Kazys Ambrasas (1931-1970), editor-in-chief of the publishing house at the time, was fully aware of the fact that Venclova's poetry was not detached from reality, something of which it was later accused. "Eilėraštis apie draugus" is clearly related to the Prague events. The rest is hypothetical: one can claim that some poems by other poets, from the autumn of 1968 or from 1969, reflect the despair, absurdity or solidarity that these events inspired. An example of this is a poem of Degutytės: "A wild bridge of blood and fire... / ...A hill piled high with ashes... / Grey evening. Grey bird... / This evening I pray for all."28 The political overtone is probably even more evident in Jonas Strielkūnas' poem written on September 7,1968, which includes the following stanzas:

Like dejected children The nightingales arc silent in the bushes What arc you holding in your hand When such existential uncertainty is in the air?

Don't you know That what was coming lias passed? That blind giants Were changing our summer mirrors?

43 Where is my power, That raging of spring rivers ? Yet the beginning returns - Determined like a slave rebellion.28

Despite "the uncertainty of being" there is still hope, even if it rises from despair "like a slave rebellion." The year ended. The January 1, 1969 issue of Literatūra ir menas came out, with Juozas Macevičius' text "In Lieu of a Toast!" occupying the most prestigious position:

To us, the year 1968 was especially dear and meaningful in that, from the distance of half of a century, we once again returned to our essential source - sacred revolutionary ideals. [...] [The capitalist world] still has millions of people in its clutches. This illustrates that, in a complex situation, even seemigly progressive people can lack understanding."29

This is also what James Aldridge, one of die ideologues' international authorities, spoke of in his article "In Support of a Historical and Class-Based Approach to Phenomena" (as in die above words by Macevičius, Aldridge was also referring to Prague), with which Literatūra ir menas ended the year 1968. It must be emphasized, however, rfiat it was not die Prague events but the live blaze of Romas Kalanta (1953-1972) that led the guardians of ideology to ponder whether Lithuanian writers were not taking too many liberties and, in general, whether a far from independent Lithuanian culture was not becoming too emancipated. Quite a few of Lithuanian writers, critics and translators found their own interstices of meaning - if we understand meaning as genuine creation - within the Soviet meaninglessness of 1968. But to those who were not crushed by the tanks, life itself contained islands of meaning in addition to those offered by artistic creation. A respected Lithuanian humanities scholar once talked to me at length about the year 1968. She finished her story with something like, "You see, that year was the beginning of the most important love story in my life, so I have simply forgotten a lot of what was going on at the time." I would not want to go to extremes, but these were somehow very comforting words.

44 1 Maria Dubnova, Arkady Dubnov, Tanki v Prage, Dzhokonda v Moskve: azart i styd semidesiatykb, Moscow: Vremia, 2007. 2 Eugenijus Ignatavičius, 'K. Sajos 10-oji Kaune', Literatūra ir menas, 1969 01 01. 3 LKP CK Propagandos ir agitacijos bei Mokslo ir kultūros skyrių pažyma apie netei- singą vaizduojamojo meno propagavimą [A Note From the Propaganda and Agita- tion, and of the Science and Culture, Departments of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania Regarding Improper Promotion of the Fine Arts], in: Lietuvos kultūra sovietinės ideologijos nelaisvėje 1940-1990, Vilnius: Lietuvos gyvento- jų genocido ir rezistencijos tyrimo centras, 2005, p. 369-372. 4 Romualdas Ozolas, Atgimimo ištakose, Vilnius: Pradai, 1996, p.101. 5 'Dabar atsiveria arterijos naujam kraujui įleisti'. Marija Gimbutienė s letter to Vytautas Kavolis, Kultūros barai, 1995, No. 11, p. 61. 6 Vincas Trumpa, 'Lietuvos nepriklausomybės idėja, Metmenys, No. 16,1968, p. 33. 7 Tomas Venclova, 'Poetinio komunikato konstrukcija', Pergalė, 1969, No. 1, p. 139. 8 Marcelijus Martinaitis, 'Eduardas Mieželaitis, bet ne tas', in: Eduardas Mieželaitis: post scrip tum /Prisiminimai apie Eduardą Mieželaitį, straipsniai, laiškai, Vilnius: Lietuvos rašytojų sąjungos leidykla, 2008, p. 32. 9 Albertas Zalatorius, Literatūra ir laisvė, Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 1998, p. 89. 10 Ibid.,p. 394. 11 Vytautas Kubilius, 'Kokios perspektyvos?', Literatūra ir menas, 1968 04 04. 12 Rasa Iešmantaitė, Vincas Kazėnas, 'Šiandienybės apraškos tarybinės Lietuvos prozoje', Metmenys, No. 15,1968. p. 71. 13 Vytautas Kubilius, Dienoraščiai 1945-1977, Vilnius: LLTI, 2006, p. 344. 14 See: Jūratė Spiindytė, Lietuvių apysaka, Vilnius: LLTI, 1996, p. 266. 15 Tomas Venclova, 'Dostojevskio mokinys', Pergalė, 1969, No. 6, p. 170. 16 Jonas Lankutis, 'Vydūnas šiandien', in: Vydūnas, Amžina ugnis. Prabočių šešėliai. Pasau- lio gaisras, Vilnius: Vaga, 1968, p. 3. 17 Vanda Zaborskaitė, 'Pirmąkart atėjęs', Literatūra ir menas, 1968 02 03. 18 Kęstutis Nastopka, 'Lietuviškoji poetinė tradicija', Pergalė, 1968, No. 4, p. 130. " Ibid. 20 'Septynios dienos', Literatūra ir menas, 1968 02 17. 21 See: Kęstutis Nastopka, Reikšmių poetika, Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 2002, p. 229-230. 22 Viktorija Daujotytė, Vieninteliam miestui. Juditos Vaičiūnaitės Vilnius, Vilnius: Lietu- vos dailės muziejus, 2009, p. 65. 23 Marcelijus Martinaitis, 'Dešimtmečių sąvartoje', in: Naujausioji lietuvių literatūra, Vilnius: Alma litera, 2003, p. 14. 24 Aurelija Rabačiauskaitė, 'Rudens gaidos Poezijos pavasaryje'. Literatūra ir menas, 1968 0914. 25 Romualdas Ozolas, op. cit., p. 197. 26 Miroslav Hołub, 'Jan Palacho Praha, Metmenys, No. 18,1969, p. 17. 27 Juozas Aputis, Mali atsakymai j didelius klausimus, Vilnius: Alma litera, 2006, p. 118. 28 Jonas Strielkūnas, Lyrika, 11., Vilnius: Lietuvos rašytojų sąjungos leidykla, 2009, p. 119. " Juozas Macevičius, 'Vietoj tosto!', Literatūra ir menas, 1969 0101.

45 DONATA MITAITĖ Lietuvių literatūra 1968 metais: prasmės intarpai beprasmybėje

Sovietinei lietuvių literatūrai, kuri pokario dešimtmečiais bandė atgimti po didžiųjų karo ir pokario praradimų (rašytojų emigracija, sovietinės valdžios represijos, žūtys partizaninėje kovoje) ir kęsdama sovietine ideologine prievar- tą bei represijas, 1968 metai buvo gana sėkmingi, nors išeivijos ar prieškario literatūros lygio ji dar nepasiekė. Tais metais išleista svarbių kūrinių, nors neso- vietinis kontekstas kai kurių iš jų meninį reikšmingumą gerokai sumažina. Li- teratūrologų darbuose ryškus noras surišti pokario metais perkirstas literatūros tradicijų gijas, aiškiai motyvuojant, kad tos tradicijos atsirado anaiptol ne kartu su sovietine valdžia. Literatūrinėje ir kultūrinėje periodikoje akivaizdus dėme- sys lietuvių išeivių kūrybai ir pasaulio - ypač Čekoslovakijos - kultūrai. Prahos pavasario numalšinimas tiesioginių atspindžių lietuvių tuometinėje literatūroje paliko nedaug, minėtinas nebent Natalijai Gorbanevskajai dedikuotas Tomo Venclovos „Eilėraštis apie draugus". Apskritai 1968 m. rudens -1969 m. kūri- niuose pastebimas nevilties, absurdo pojūčio sustiprėjimas netiesiogiai gali būti siejamas su Čekoslovakijos įvykiais. Ideologinė kontrolė Lietuvoje ypač sustip- rėjo ne 1968 m., o 1972 m., kai Kaune susidegino Romas Kalanta.

232