Donata Mitaitė Tomas Venclova: The Poet and Totalitarianism

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The life of poet, translator, and essayist Tomas Venclova (b. 1937), is quite unique in the history of Lithuanian culture. While he was raised in the family of a writer of the Soviet establishment who authored the Soviet Lithuanian anthem, Venclova has become not only an acclaimed poet and a professor at , but also a person who refused to obey and compromise with the totalitarian regime while living in the , as well as in immigration. Antanas Venclova (1906-1971), the father of Tomas, upheld leftist views from his young days. It may be alleged that he actually served 258 Donata Mitaitė

the Soviet regime (he was a Minister, an elected representative in the Parliament, the head of the Writers Union, etc.) in his convictions (there is no evidence that he experienced any internal crises because of this); however, testimonies attest that he was sincerely interested in the development of Lithuanian culture and was tolerant towards the cultural traditions of the past. In any case, Antanas Venclova amassed an abundant library at home and, unlike his contemporaries, had opportunities to travel to and bring home books and modern art albums from foreign countries. Some books, not accessible to ordinary readers, ended up in , in the hands of Antanas Venclova, who, according to the Soviet regime, was a reliable person and impossible "to spoil" by enemy ideology. So, this bookshelf, which "raised" Tomas, helped to shape an intellectual, one who was open to different global cultural phenomena and was pre-programmed to resist Soviet society and a State based on an isolated and solely Marxist ideology. Unlike many other patriotic Lithuanian intellectuals, who based their search for like-minded individuals on nationalism, Tomas Venclova forged relationships with people on a democratic and intellectual basis. From the early days, he traveled widely in the Soviet Union, and after graduating from , he lived in Moscow, Leningrad, as it was called at the time, or Tartu, where he was taken to by complications in his personal life or supplementary education, and even more so, because he was unable to secure permanent employment in . He translated sporadically and sometimes substituted for absent lecturers at Vilnius University. For a few years, he worked as a literary consultant at the Šiauliai Drama Theatre and also at the Institute of History. Many local intellectuals opened their doors to the girted, curious young man, who had been raised with openness to different cultures; he also had an international circle of friends. This escalated the conflict not only with the Soviet government, which viewed with disdain Venclova's literary authorities - or , his famous friends - the literary scholars Yuri Lotman and Yefim Etkind, the philosopher Grigori Pomerantz, and also new and up and coming literary figures such as Josef Brodsky, as well as his environment of democratic dissent, for example, the poet and human rights activist Natalya Gorbanevskaya, but TOMAS VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 259 also came into conflict with a large part of the Lithuanian intelligentsia who thought that the preservation of and culture required disassociation and isolation. Sometimes, for example, when Boris Pasternak was awarded the Nobel Prize, or during the days of public condemnation, this disassociation took on very unpleasant forms. So, Venclovas views were shaped during his young days; in 1976, they brought him to the Lithuanian Helsinki Group, and it was because of these views that he was forced to emigrate. The Lithuanian poet , when speaking of Venclovas role in Lithuanian culture, once said that he was forced to leave Lithuania (this happened in 1977) not only by the Soviet government, but also because of the stereotypes of Lithuanian thought: "Tomas didn't care about who you were: a Russian, a Pole, or a Jew, because for him, the most important things was and is intellectual contact."' As time went on, Venclova's views changed very little, if at all. The only collection of poetry by Venclova published in Soviet Lithuania is Ka&K źent/as (The Sign of Language, 1972). This collection, like all the books published in the Soviet Union, was blessed by the censors. Before submitting the book for publication (to the Glavlit), the editor-in-chief eliminated four poems he (bund suspicious from the collection. Also, one of the eliminated poems - "Eilėraštis apie draugus" (A Poem about Friends), had already been published in 1969 in the Poezi/ospaiwarü (Poetry Spring) almanac. By the way, the poem was dedicated to an individual identified only by initials, while the full name, "For Natalya Gorbanevskaya," was disclosed much later, when the book was published in emigration.' The poem was written in 1968 as a tribute to those who dared to go to the Red Square of Moscow - Natalya Gorbanevskaya was one of the seven who protested the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia:

And again it's autumn, full of lavish (oily. Inside (he city, which some souls have won, Above (he alien trolley cars and dwellings, A( (his very hour, September has begun. Imposing barges stand allixeü (0 piers. 260 Donata Mitaitė

Since morning, every nerve is wound up tight, And, on the road, the first leaf that appears Is crooked, like the armour of a knight.^ (trans, by Diana Senechal)

The editor-in-chief of the publishing house was very well aware that Venclovas poetry did not stray from reality; it was accused of this later. Its social character was just different from other books published by Soviet publishers. Sometimes, the external portrayal of the words misled the censors as well. In 1967, when presenting his translations of to a Lithuanian audience, Venclova wrote: "He deeply understood the historical changes in his country, estimated them with real civic maturity."* This was the absolute truth. Mandelstam paid for his public spirit, and for expressing, in his poems, his thoughts about the "narrow necked" leaders and the "highlander" of the Kremlin, with his life. However, in the mind of the Soviet censor, civic maturity was only coupled with the development of communism and the sophisticated leadership of the Party; therefore, without knowing much about Mandelstam, the censor probably did not notice that Venclova imparted true meaning to his words. When Vitas Areška, one of the reviewers of Ka#os źeMJWaf, said that he missed the "real sense of history" in the book and encouraged the poet "to expand the boundaries of his work by imbuing it with more live reality,"* he demonstrated the meanings of the settled words in the new Soviet language. Not coincidentally, a few decades later, when reviewing Vencolova's book, the America critic Michael Scammell described Venclova, similar to Adam Zagajewski and Czesław Miłosz, as particularly "loyal toward reality."* Scammell, who also wrote a biography of , had a good understanding of the realities of Eastern Europe. Venclova, in step with Modernist poetry, wherein the issue of language is one of the most essential, emphasized language in the title of his poetry collection KaM%» źent/os. Language, poetry, and conversation, heard by God, are the only things that one can depend on in the totalitarian winter: TOM*! VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 261

There where the capital turns in circles And the snow-games weary us, Where fog does not betray the things, Thank God there is still the dictionary. In the kingdom where a friend's hand Will never hurry to help Emptiness or the highest power Sends the angel - rhythm and language. (49; trans, by Jonas Zdanys)

The collection Ka/6o; zemWa; opens with "Eilėraštis apie atmintį" (A Poem about Memory), and ends with - "Poeto atminimui. Variantas" (In Memory of the Poet. A Variation). So, the theme of memory frames the entire collection of poems. Human contact and relationships are particularly important to Venclova. People are connected both by "the depth of vocabulary," the language itself, noted in the book's title, and by telephone calls, letters, and telegrams - there are so many modes of communication between friends, colleagues, and lovers in the poetry collection. Memory is also the bond, perhaps even the most essential one, that creates connections between people. It is because of memory that Venclova understands that he engages in the tradition, subject not to a specific time in history, but to a higher power:

Not harmony, nor measure, once they're quelled, Return to life, nor crackling, nor the smell Inside the hearth, which time has kindled well; Yet, there exists a timeless hearthlike focus And optics, mapping destiny, whose essence Consists of fortunate coincidences, Or simply meetings and continuations Of what is neither temporal nor local. (51; trans, by Senechal)

K0/&K ŹCM&&» is essentially about time, death, and language. Viewing it today, Venclova's poetry was so evidently anti-Soviet that when 261 Donata Mitaitė

Algirdas Julius Greimas, a renowned semiotician, reviewed the book, he wrote that Venclova, in his poems, cares "not about the expression of feelings, nor the search for beauty, but about the declaration of truth."' Also, the anti-Soviet, anti-totalitarian intentionality of Venclovas poetry was not directly stated; it was embedded in the structures of the text. This is why the censor who read the aforementioned manuscript of the Poezi/os pavaam's almanac did not eliminate "Eilėraštis apie draugus" (A Poem about Friends), and why, in 1971, the magazine Pergo/ė published "Pašnekesys žiemę" (Winter Dialogue), one of the most fundamental poems written by Venclova, also included in the collection KaWos źfM&&», published in 1972. The poet himself once said, "no matter how many poems I write in the future, if I had to publish one large collection, I would name it PaJbekeyc žiema (Winter Dialogue)."* In fact, the translated collections of Venclo- vas poems published in English, Polish, Albanian and German have the same title - Mnfer DMqgwe. Therefore, it is evident that the poem "Winter Dialogue" (44-46) is very important to the poet. The title of the poem is symbolic; it refers to a specific winter, and, inversely, is related to a collection of poems written by Maironis, one of the most important poets of the period of national rebirth in Lithuania in the late 19*, early 20* century, Pavasano Wsai (Voices of Spring), which optimistically discusses the spring of national rebirth in Lithuania. Venclova, on the contrary, identifies, indirectly, of course, the present as the totalitarian winter. By the way, winter, cold, and oppressing isolated space - these were the post-revolutionary signs, so dangerous to society, which prevailed the work of Osip Mandelstam, one of the central poetic influences in Venclovas creative life. The winter that inspired the poem was the winter of 1970, when the first strikes were launched in the Gdansk shipyard in December, and Venclova, on the opposite shore in Palanga, was unable to receive messages from his Polish friends. The break in communication is accented in the poem: although the continent is "filled to the brim with voices, though unseen," however:

No telegrams, no letters stay behind, just photographs. No sound from (he transistor. TOMA! YEKCIOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 163

A candle, you would say, had sealed the time Of danger with its burning hot wax drippings. (trans, by Senechal)

Two lines coincide in the poem: on one hand - winter, emptiness, death, and on the other hand - the hope that sprouts "from seed and sacrifice" and the voice that "sometimes outlives the heart." In the line "the fields are barren like unlocked halls" one notes a contrasting allusion to the poem "SonoTaa ocem," (Golden Autumn) written by Boris Pasternak. In light of Pasternak's emphasis on the richness of autumn, the variety and beauty of the colors and images: "Kax Ha BMCTaBxe xapTHH: / sa/iw, sa/ibi, sanbi, sanw / Basos, RceHeM, ocMH / B nosonoTe HeÓMBanoń,"* the emptiness of Venclovas winter is even more apparent. However, there is hope that a third silent speaker exists, that if people, because of the broken means of communication, do not hear the conversation, God is still listening. At the end of the poem, the environment is vividly marked by death (or, knowing the context, by the fight):

A piece of ice, split into particles, A skeleton of boughs, a brick wall, crumbled Beside the roadway's bend... Then all is silence On this side of the sea, and on the other, (trans, by Senechal)

Later, Hamlet, who ponders "on this side of the sea and on the other," is replaced by the active Fortinbras (the phrase "the rest is silence" - the Anal dying words of Hamlet). The end of Shakespeare's Ham/ef and his character were very significant to Venclova at the moment. The poem "Pasakykite Fortinbrasui" (Tell Fortinbras) was also published. Among other things, Venclova states:

Time, voice and gesture they refused, And so escaped the weight of unknown legacies, Ihey tucked captivity beneath the doorsteps 264 Donata Mitaitė

And never came to see the Anal act, And Denmark, Denmark is no more, (trans, by Algirdas Landsbergis)

According to readers and critics, this poem, which reveals the essence of life in the totalitarian world, is very important in the work of Venclova (the collection of poems by Venclova published in Hungary was even titled 7g// Forfmbn».) However, later Venclova himself admitted that he lost the ability to write on this theme to the Polish poet Herbert, and did not include the poem in the collection." The poem "Winter Dialogue" reached his Polish friends. Venclova remembers:

It seems that in 1973 I received a letter from Wiktor Woroszylsky in saying that he read my poem "Winter Dialogue" translated by a great poet. I replied that I probably knew the translator, because there was not an abundance of great poets, but that I also wanted to know where the translation had been published - was it in some cultural city? (I, of course, had Paris in mind, or the magazine Kwffwrc published in Paris.) Voroshilsky confirmed my presumption and quickly, by clandestine routes, I soon received a copy ofKwffwra, and I felt as though I were knighted."

The fate of the poem "Winter Dialogue" strangely reflected the time period (it is worth mentioning that the topic of knighthood is found in the above cited "A Poem about Friends"): because the censors did not understand the poem and essentially gave it their blessing, it returns adequately comprehended, having traveled far beyond the Iron Curtain. More than two decades later, Miłosz, who translated the poem, said that he "liked the unusually strong aura of that winter, reflected in the poem, and that spiritual situation."" The 57"" number of the underground magazine 7w fermz, published in Warsaw in May 1987, had two epigraphs: four lines from Milosz's "Traktat moralny" (Moral Treatise) ("Żyjesz tu, teraz. Hie e( nwnc. / Masz jedno życie, jeden punkt. / Co zdążysz zrobić, to zostanie, / Choćby ktoś inne mógł mieć zdanie") and five lines from TOMU VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTAUTAKIANISM 265

Venclovas "Winter Dialogue," translated by Miłosz ("This century is managing without / A sign; there's just statistics." "Gravity of death has fettered person, plant, and thing, / But sprouts burst forth from seed and sacrifice, / And then not all is over, or so I think." [trans, by Senechal]). After publishing Ka/6of źemM», Venclova wrote a number of poems which, together with the poems eliminated from the manuscript or not even submitted, were incorporated in his books of poetry in a chapter entitled /icMo dy<&» (The Shield of Achilles). Venclova has said that he wrote the majority of those poems in a short period of time, when, as a in Soviet Lithuania, he strongly felt the threat of repressive structures, which affected even everyday life. "In the evenings, returning home on the empty Tilto Street, I carried a steel club with me just in case some strangers bothered me, I would try to fight back (I knew that the KGB often used physical force against , or at least tried to intimidate them physically)."" The fate of Russian poet and translator Konstantin Bogatyrev, to whom the poem "Nei mezzo del cammin di nostra vita" is dedicated (Bogatyrev was beaten to death at the front door of his home; it is presumed that this was the work of the KGB), demonstrates that such a fear was not unfounded; it is not by chance that the title of the poem includes a quotation from Dante's Az/ėrMO. This was obvious, at the time, to not only Venclova, but also his friends. Algirdas Patackas, who differed from Venclova, though he also belonged to a group of non-Soviets, stated: "I have seen how, for several months, he walked as though condemned to death... tried to help Tomas Venclova; we followed him. We thought, if anything, we could act as witnesses if anything were to happen. He actually does not know about this."" It is only natural that this threatening atmosphere left traces in his poems. Almost all of the poems in Ac/ii/o dy<&» are imbued with a feeling of inescapable fatality: "I'm attracting misfortune, just as the north pulls a magnet, / Like a magnet pulls magnet, misfortune attracts me in turn" (;;, trans, by Senechal). In the poem "On the loveliest town of Eastern Europe" (56, trans, by Vyt Bakaitis) death is everywhere; it even takes up the most space in the apartment, where a person "cannot become accustomed to death." The lines "Things cling to the face only Z66 Donata Mitaitė to vaporize, / And heads of beds have no angels around" (54, trans, by Senechal) speak not only about the fragility of life and living, but also about a person's loneliness on this earth, about the fact that he was abandoned by the transcendental powers that usually protect him. In the poem "Lyg nuotraukoj, erdvu ir nesaugu" (As if in a photograph, unsafe and vast; 68), written in 1974, the aforementioned cold, unrelated to weather, as well as the isolation of the space are clearly interconnected: "An early frost transfixes every word, / Singeing the mouth and lungs until they burn, / Inside the empire by the locked-up seas" (trans, by Senechal). A person's existence is uncomfortable, but the final lines of the poem signal a hope for change: "The hour disintegrates above the river / and time transformed into a gesture." Venclova contrasts death, like any form of entropy, with art in the poem "The Shield of Achilles," dedicated to , who at the time when the poem was written, had emigrated to the United States. Venclova conveys the idea that poetry is the only realm of freedom for a poet, regardless of the society in which he lives: "because our skies, because our terraferma / Are the voice alone" (58, trans, by Senechal). These themes are prevalent in all of Venclovas work, even though we may assume that they appear mostly in the chapter AcAi'/o skydas. The poem "Ruduo Kopenhagoje" (Autumn in Copenhagen, 90-94), written by Venclova, has garnered the most attention from international critics. Scamell says that this poem is "the most accomplished and moving of all poems in Venclovas collection."'* It is probably one of the most tragic poems written by the author. 'Autumn in Copenhagen" tells the story of a love triangle: a love affair with a woman, love for the homeland, and love of the native language. Each meets a tragic end; the love of the woman turns out to be fleeting and joyless ("the whole dictionary, in error / coincides with the pronoun 'we'"). Clouds remind one of the homeland, the day "brims with the black taste of the homestead" and the only tangible and relatable object - "the leaking uranium whale / on the crags of the shore" (in other words, a Soviet submarine run ashore), evidently testifies to the imminent world of danger and winter, and does not evoke any nostalgia. The love affair with the native language is also unrequited: TOMAS VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 267

Dislodged the consciousness fumbles though language as if through a drawer. Moods, adjectives humming, negations, the blindness of infinite particles, crowded sentences, and, only now and then, the dry as if unfamiliar but breath stopping pain and silence. (trans, by Senechal)

These failures create a sense of threat that penetrates the very being ("and Telemark ice is the wind, and fog is the breath of Kattegat / and death is death"), which the lyrical protagonist of the poem is prepared to stoically accept like a challenge, like a zone of emptiness, indispensable when transferring from the "old space" that was originally "marked" by the "uranium whale" to the new, unknown space. The poem was written in 1983; it essentially summarizes the experience of leaving home. Venclova found himself in another space, no longer "locked," but open, where he was able to freely express his ideas, travel, at the start, as if "taking inventory" of the countries and cities previously known only in books, and to come to an ironic or self-ironic conclusion: "It seems, everything is in its place."'* However, the experience of totalitarianism informed a clear scale of values and, in this respect, Venclova is very categorical: "The Postmodern trend to make everything uniform and relative is foreign to me - like many other people who were marked by the same experience: 'EcTb ųeHHOCTeA Heswo/ieMaa exam' ("The scale of values is immovable' - Mandelstam): period."" Although, at the same time, this experience engendered a sense of empathy for others who suffered or are suffering under the totalitarian regime or other cataclysmic events in history. The observant eye of the poet in a foreign land records the typical realities of landscape, architecture, or history; however, the diagnosis of the world is almost more important than experiences as a tourist. For example, the poem "Tu, felix Austria" (123-128) illustrates Vienna, where Sigmund Freud and Adolph Hitler once lived, and Sisyphus becomes a part of the city's architecture. However, the poem was written during the 268 Donata Mitaitė war in Bosnia, and current events are most important to the poet. The ancient slogan of the Austrian empire "Be//agera»f a/::, fw./e/kAwsfrfo, Mw6e" (May others wage war, you, happy Austria, marry) has a cynical connotation in the context of the poem: "The train no longer enters the terminal / where fire and space are fraternal, / where machine guns, speaking in Morse, / answer Moses and Christ / in snapping retorts" (trans, by Senechal). The "happy Austria" is isolated, "others will perish there, / not we." However, borders do not protect one from death. In this poem, as in the rest of the world, death has lost its serious and noble aura:

Nothing and clouds extend Through the window. Death Is not here. Death is at hand. She rides around in the cage of the room, Crosses out the next calendar date, Then looks in the mirror and meets You face to fate. (trans, by Senechal)

There are, in the history of Austria, Albania, China, and other countries, several repeated acts of violence and other crimes, which Venclova encountered while living in the USSR and reflects on in his poetry. It seems as though he wants to cast a spell over them so as to "preserve the living memory and to prevent these evils from ever happening again."" Personal memoriesorhistorical figures provide the stimulus for poetic reflection; the models presented by history become the benchmark that monitors and assesses contemporary life and people. There, the theme of a party in the poem "Kopos Watermille" (Dunes at WatermiU)" creates a circular composition, and at the end of the poem, a quote from a poem "rinpw" (Feasts) by Boris Pasternak highlights the mythological cycle of death-rebirth. This particular rebirth, in this case, is new; it is essentially a different life, released from totalitarian hell. The fates of four people, including the speaker, are presented. This is one of them: TOMAS VENUOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 269

A different destiny awaited a lawyer's son A.S. (now a professor). They seized him near the border, apprehended in a barn, (his shoulder still marked by a scar from a bayonet wound incurred in passing). Later in the taiga, he felled fir trees, uprooted shrubs, managed to execute his lumberjack trade so well, he worked for two - for himself, but also for his mother, who was unable to do the heavy work. They made their way to freedom through Iran, but that is another story, (trans, by Ellen Hinsley)

One sees the fates of everyone in the bookstore of Watermills, Long Island, which seems like the idyllic land of Lotofagas; however, because the planet has become too small, the idyll is disturbed not only by memories, but also by "a newspaper on the cooling lawn / with photos from the Balkan front." There is almost no real idyll in Venclova's poetry. In one of his most recent poems is "Priešistorė" (Prehistory)," Venclova discusses prewar Klaipėda, where he was born and spent the Arst year and a half of his life (at the time, his father was a teacher in Klaipėda; later, the family moved to , and after the war - to Vilnius). The city of Klaipėda, in the poem, is drawn from his parent's memories, maybe also books. The story creeps into personal "prehistory:" German girls who used to lean over the baby carriage and utter Sü#« KW [sweet child], "were longing for the emblems of empire, stepping on the yellow/ sand, clapping to the shadow in the balcony of the Old Town, / so their hairstyles, hats and rings into bland / water of the sea were sunk by the 'victor' Marinesco." The poem recalls not only Hitlers visit to Klaipėda (i.e., applauding his shadow) but also the captain of the Soviet submarine Aleksander Marinesco, who sunk a German ship which was carrying five refugees from Klaipėda aboard. Nevertheless, everything: the oldest residents- the Prussians, the Baltic Veneti, the Livonians, and 270 Donata Mitaitė

the residents of Klaipėda drowned by the hero Marinesco, all become a part of the palimpsest of local history. In the end, this is also your fate: "time, / like an experienced censor, will scrape your figure / and gesture from the page, picture, text." This was the rational and stoic synopsis of the poet. The poem "Prehistory" is one where Venclova recounts historical events that many people may not have been aware of. In 2001, he said: "Totalitarianism offered us a few schemes and myths, ordering us to forget all the rest. It deformed historical consciousness, transformed history into a political tool, censored almost everything; the past became an almost continuous kingdom of'blank spots.'"" Venclova contributed significantly by trying to eliminate at least some of these "blank spots" and their stereotypes rooted in the minds of Lithuanians. Venclova, like other prominent intellectuals of the 20'^ century, was known for his personal ethics, which were shaped under the influence of such philosophers as Ralph Tyler Flewelling, Emmanuel Mounier, Nikolai Berdyajev, Karl Jaspers, Emmanuel Lcvinas, Martin Buber and others." When discussing the Holocaust in Lithuania in his article "Žydai ir lietuviai" (Jews and Lithuanians), which ignited several controversial reactions, Venclova, for the first time, formulated an essential conception of his writing:

If we consider the nation a larger self - and experience dictates that this personal point of view is the only valid and fair view in the realm of morality - then this self includes everyone, both the righteous and the criminals. All sins committed are a burden on the conscience of the entire nation and each member within that nation. One must not blame other nations; they will determine their own guilt. We must determine OUR guilt and repent [...] we must speak about everything that took place, without empty justifications, without internal censors, without propagandists distortions, without national complexities, without fear."

Venclova is not talking about collective responsibility, which the contemporary world does not recognize, but instead about the concept of collective consciousness, because if a "a Jew or an Englishman com- TOMAS VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTAUTAKIANISM 171 mitted an offence - then THIS Jew and THIS Englishman committed an offence, and not all the Jews or all of the English; but if a Lithuanian has committed offences, then on a deeper level, I MYSELF am to blame."" Venclova then explains: "We have the right to be proud of our nation's best people, but all of the bad deeds of our citizens are especially painful."* When discussing Soviet Lithuania, Venclova emphasized and continues to emphasize not the danger of assimilation, but, in his view, a more actual threat:

It is with fear that I think about the Lithuanian, who preserves the native language, has a purely Lithuanian family, espouses xenophobia, and yes, is Sovietized - dark, subservient, and obedient, concerned only with material things, is unashamed of betrayal or treachery. With fear, I think about the Lithuanian who does not recognize diversity, is happy with himself and hateful toward those who are different. I know many such Lithuanians, and I know that they are only unfortunate slaves. The mass of slaves and villains does not form a nation: the nation is where awareness, pluralism, and dialogue exist."

Much later on, Venclova declared that the System successfully developed the Aomo jovieficwa, whose one distinctive feature is the "the inclination toward isolation and the fear of cosmopolitism."" The threat of Sovietization arose for all nations within the Soviet Union, including the Russians. Venclova writes about this in his article "Rusai ir lietuviai" (Russians and Lithuanians), where he essentially argues that one cannot align Russians with the totalitarian system. The revolutionaries of different nations were de-nationalized; for them, the Russian language was "just as important as, lets say, Esperanto."" In the Soviet empire, "the fate of the Russians and Lithuanians is essentially the same. The forced worship of the "older brother" is a hypocritical compensation, through which the System found a reason to pay Russians for the destruction of their national and historic existence. For one reason or another, as I have said, Russian nationalism has been useful; it was particularly incited by Stalin, a non-Russian, during and after the war. For these same reasons, masses of Russian speaking people 272 Donata Mitaitė

(not necessarily Russians) can be relocated to outlying Republics. But this is done not for the love of Russians - absolutely not. The system does not love anything; it glimpses the pitied masses from above. This is being done for the interests of the empire alone, because the Russians - at that time the largest population of people - still unite the empire."* When communicating with Russian dissidents, Venclova understood perfectly well that the interests of both nations - the Lithuanians and the Russians - coincided, because the empire, which cannot be viewed as anything distinctively Russian, destroys the national cultures of Lithuanians, Russians, and other nations. According to the historian and journalist Anatol Lieven, Venclovas article about Russians and Lithuanians remains very relevant because, with the fall of the empire, global anti-Russian sentiments rose, and "the almost racist identification of "Russian" with "Asiatic," and "Asiatic" with "barbarian," which Venclova protested as early as 1977, "is now heard at high-level NATO meetings."" Lieven, like Venclova, is of the opinion that anti- Russian chauvinism "by no means helps to establish a united, civilized, and peaceful Europe."" No doubt, the situation in Russia is complicated, but it can only change for the better when the country is no longer isolated from the rest of the world. Even though Venclovas ideas are often met with negative feedback in his native country, he found a congruous tradition in the history of Lithuanian culture: the desire to embrace the whole past, not only its bright moments, tolerance of others and a "typically international attitude and respect for the democratic movements of other nations."" He finds evidence of this in the work of the first Lithuanian newspaper Awfra. In fact, the "typically international attitude and respect for the democratic movements of other nations" is apparent not only in the articles, but also the poetry of Venclova. He considers his poem "Hidalgo," which appears in the series "1956 metų eilėraščiai" (Poems of 1956), worthy of publishing. In this poem, Venclova reflects on the Hungarian revolution via the spirit of the lyrical hero and his solidarity with the Hungarians and a strange condemnation of a battle that can't be won. The poem "Winter Dialogue" and a few others could be attributed to the same paradigm. The victims of the "victor" Marinesco, of course, T0MA5 YENCIOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 273 did not belong to a democratic movement; however, Venclova clearly takes the side of the unarmed victims, and not the "victor." One must recognize that the critics of Venclova's essays on the subject of nationalism very often accuse the author of a lack of love for the homeland. It is as if they don't realize that he is not persuading Lithuanians that they are worse, more sinful, or weaker than other nations, but, on the contrary, he reiterates that there is no basis for such complexes: "The Lithuanian historic tradition is of no lesser value than that of Poland or Sweden; and one must always keep this in mind."B He continues, "Lithuania is a very, even incredibly strong and vital nation. After Dekanozov and Suslov, after the partisan war and deportations, Lithuanians, according to practical mathematics, should have numbered maybe about 30-40% of the residents, when, in fact the number is 80%. The 'perishing island' demographically reclaimed Vilnius and Klaipėda, because, in fact, the knightly Vytis, and not the crooked man, is our symbol."* This is why Lithuania must communicate with its neighbors, not fearful of the past, but with full awareness of the truth about the past. Venclova, firstly criticizing Lithuanians, encourages them to not be fearful of the future, globalization, or other challenges:

The global present is the entire, large fringe: our existence in the present continually forces us to break down borders, to constantly tackle isolation. This does not necessarily signal homogeneity: the borders will always remain, because they add to (he beauty of the world, but, let us hope, that they will never again be totalitarian and absolute."

He is not inclined to yield to panic when talking about present-day Lithuania, about the threat of emigration, Russia, and other issues. Although, when he is asked about his impression of the different periods in Lithuanian history, Venclova utters the following, which some people And disagreeable: "Lithuanians have the legacy of bondage, which manifests in ingratiation, in Lithuanian envy, etc. They are best described by a peasant principle: Let's give them a contribution so they leave us in peace."'* However, Venclova, in essence, Is not inclined to 274 Donata Mitaitė transfer onto others the responsibility for the fate of Lithuania or its citizens: each individual is responsible for their own life. Even when asked by journalists about political and social problems in Lithuania today, which are often explained by traumas of the Soviet period or simply, the legacy of the past, Venclova does not absolve a person of individual responsibility: "Everyone must first think about their personal responsibility. It is very easy to blame the circumstances, though, undoubtedly, the impact of the Soviet Union was very negative. You may blame someone who deceived you and became wealthy, while you did not. But it is very important to think about what you yourself have done and whether or not you were at fault."" There is one issue that was very relevant, painful, and personal for Venclova. After Lithuania regained its independence, the Soviet reality, together with its leadership, which included Venclova's father - Antanas Venclova, was inevitably assessed. Tomas Venclova was often asked to comment on his father; the underlying implication of this request was always a categorical demand for the son to condemn the father, who was a Communist and Soviet functionary. This demand was obviously immoral, and Venclova once expressed his position very clearly: "There will always be people who say negative things about my father; however, I think the son's duty is different. It is denned by God's Fourth Commandment, and I try to obey this Commandment as I do the other Ten in my life. Asking a son to condemn his father is the attempt to perpetuate the mentality of Pavlik Morozov. This will not happen."* This is an honorable position, because the son should not have to criticize his father, no matter how controversial the circumstances. In 1998, Venclova wrote a poem entitled "Vyresniam poetui" (For an Older Poet, 182-184). It is not directly dedicated to his father; the title is universal. Nevertheless, readers first identify "the older poet," who was beside him; whereas the more attentive audience, with contextual references, could see that the author had in mind the poet living in the same house. The beginning of the poem - two poets near a lamp, "under the frayed silk lampshade," united by some text, and nothing else: TOMA! VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTALITARIANISM 275

"Right (here - two good lines." Ihat's what brought us together. The rest we saw differently: the weeping willow by the brick wall, terraces of ruddy stones, summer sands edge of foam. Yes, I discover within myself your respect for rhythm, your distrust of formless content. But I also remember what I wish I didn't: how the distance between us constantly grew... (trans, by Hinsley)

The feelings of understanding, coincidence, hostility, the painful wish for eternal peace reminiscent of experienced historical times ("You lived like your contemporaries, / perhaps more consistently - so that I might noiselessly move my lips/ repeating the words not said after your departure: / may they rest in peace, Lord. Without nightmares / And may Eternal Light shine upon them. Like a light in a coal mine"), at the end of the poem, takes on an ambivalent symbolic meaning:

One day I'll wake up in the station and see you. The lamp suspended from the carriage's end will sway and start to pull away - pick up speed - but we'll remain standing, without looking at each other, estranged and identical, (trans, by Hinsley)

Perhaps the relationship between the younger and older poet described in this poem, like the relationship of the poet with any solemn tradition, imitates the words of Catullus - odi ef amo [I hate and I love]. Venclova, in accordance with , uses these words to define a poets relationship with language. The experience of totalitarianism practically determined Venclovas entire life and creative work. He never lets this experience, or any new possible threats, out of sight, while, of course, maintaining dignified, stoic relations with the past and the potential future. 276 Donata Mitaitė

Notes

1 Martinaitis, 2002,169. 2 Venclova, 1977, 40-41. 3 Venclova,i999, 8;. Henceforth, Venclovas poetry quoted from this book is identified by page number within the text. 4 Venclova, 1967, 22. s Areška, 1972,5. 6 Scammell. 1998,36. 7 Greimas, 1991,79. 8 Venclova, 2000, 253. 9 Pasternak, 1988,457 (Like in a painting gallery: / Hals, hals, hals, hals / Elms, ask, aspen / Unexpectedly gilden). 10 Tomas Venclova': letter to the author, April 12,1999. 11 From: http://zhurnal.Iib.ru/b/bushauskas_a/2$.shtml. 12 Miłosz, 2002,193. 13 Petkus, Račkauskaitė and Uoka, 1999, 488. 14 Patackas, 1991,1. 15 Scamell, 1998, 40. 16 Tomas Venclovas letter to Natal: Trauberg, 1978 (dated according to the mail stamp), Traubergs personal archive. 17 Venclova, 2000, 313. 18 Kollberg and Karlstam, 2001, 26. 19 Venclova, 2005,14-17. 20 Venclova, 2007a. 21 Grass, Miłosz, Szymborska, and Venclova, 2001,106. 22 See: Donskis, 2005,157-204. 23 Venclova, 1991,136-137. 24 Ibid., 137. 25 Ibid., 148. 26 Ibid., 280-281. 27 See: Peleckis-Kaktavičius and Venclova, 2003, 21. 28 Venclova, 1991,158. 29 Ibid., lói. 30 Lieven, 1999, xvi. 31 Lieven, 2000,4. 32 Venclova, 1991,280. 33 Ibid., 245. TOMAS VENCLOVA: THE POET AND TOTAUTAKIANISM 277

34 Ibid., 213. 35 Venclova, 2001,31. 36 Venclova, 2007b. 37 Venclova, 2007c, 3. 38 Venclova, 2000,224.

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