Writing

Underground
Reflections on Samizdat Literature
in Totalitarian Czechoslovakia
Martin Machovec
Writing Underground
Reflections on Samizdat Literature in Totalitarian Czechoslovakia

Martin Machovec

Published by Charles University, Karolinum Press

Layout Zdeněk Ziegler
Typeset by DTP Karolinum
Proofreading by Peter Kirk Jensen
First edition

© Charles University, 2019

Text © 2019 by Martin Machovec
Translation © 2017 by Kip Bauersfeld, 2008 by Melvyn Clarke,
2017 by Vanda Krutsky, 2015 by Markéta Pokorná, 2017 by Marek Tomin,
2007, 2010 and 2018 by Gerald Turner
Cover photo © 1974 by Ivo Pospíšil

ISBN 978-80-246-4125-6
ISBN 978-80-246-4151-5 (online : pdf)
ISBN 978–80–246–4291–8 (mobi)
ISBN 978–80–246–4292–5 (epub)
Univerzita Karlova
Nakladatelství Karolinum 2020

www.karolinum.cz
[email protected]
CONTENTS

1. The Group of Writers Around the Půlnoc Series (1949–1955):

a Specific Example of Underground Cultural Activities  /7
2. Underground and “Under-the-ground”  /25
3. Charter 77 and the Underground  /42
4. Ideological Orientation and Political Views and Standpoints
of Representatives of Czech Underground Culture, 1969–1989
(Underground and Dissidence – Allies or Enemies?)  /63
5. The Theme of “Apocalypse” as a Key Building
Block of Underground Literature During the Period
of “Normalization”  /85
6. Exploring Modern Art: Czech Underground
Rock Musicians  /104
7. The Types and Functions of Samizdat Publications
in Czechoslovakia, 1948–1989  /131
8. Three Examples of a Variety of Relations Between
Czech Samizdat and “Tamizdat” Book Production of the 1970s
and 1980s  /161
9. My Itinerary Has Been Monotonous for Quite a While:
Magor’s Swan Songs  /173
10. Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival by Ivan Martin
Jirous – Its Origins, Structure and Function  /185

Selected Bibliography – Discography – Filmography  /212

Underground Music  /233
Documentary Films  /235
Author’s Note /237
Index of Names  /244
1. THE GROUP OF WRITERS AROUND THE PŮLNOC
SERIES (1949–1955): A SPECIFIC EXAMPLE
OF UNDERGROUND CULTURAL ACTIVITIES

Nowadays there is quite an extensive literature, comprising literary

history, essays and memoirs1 on the activities of the underground
group of poets and prose writers who brought out their works in one

1) BONDY, Egon, “Kořeny českého literárního undergroundu v  letech 1949–1953”

[The  Roots of the  Czech Literary Underground, 1949–1953], Haňťa Press 2, no.  8
(1990); in MACHOVEC, Martin (ed.), Pohledy zevnitř. Česká undergroundová kultura
ve svědectvích, dokumentech a interpretacích, Praha: FF UK, 2008; In English in MA-
CHOVEC, Martin (ed.), Views from the Inside. Czech Underground Literature and Culture
(1948–1989), Praha: FF UK, 2006; 2nd edition, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018; BONDY,
Egon, Prvních deset let [The First Ten Years], Praha: Maťa, 2002; BOUDNÍK, Vladimír,
Z literární pozůstalosti [From the Literary Papers], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1993;
HRABAL, Bohumil, “Co je poezie?” [What is Poetry?], “Made in Czechoslovakia”, “Blitz-
krieg”, in Jarmilka. Sebrané spisy Bohumila Hrabala 3 [Collected Works of Bohumil
Hrabal 3, Jarmilka], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992; JELÍNEK, Oldřich, “Jak to všech-
no začalo...” [How it All Began], Haňťa Press 5, no.  14 (1993); MACHOVEC, Martin,
“Pokus o nástin geneze a vývoje básnického díla Egona Bondyho” [Attempted Outline
of the  Birth and Development of Egon Bondy’s  Poetic Work], Vokno, no.  21 (1990);
MACHOVEC, Martin, “Šestnáct autorů českého literárního podzemí (1948–1989)”
[Sixteen Authors from the Czech Literary Underground], Literární archiv PNP, no. 25
(1991); MACHOVEC, Martin, “Několik poznámek k  podzemní ediční řadě Půlnoc”
[Several Notes on the Underground Midnight Series], Kritický sborník 13, no. 3 (1993);
MACHOVEC, Martin, “Vídeňská bohemistika o  Půlnoci (Česká podzemní literatura
1948–1953)” [A Viennese Student of Czech Literature on Půlnoc (Czech Underground
Literature 1948–1953)], Kritický sborník 18, no. 2–3 (1999); MACHOVEC, Martin, “Náčrt
života a díla Egona Bondyho” [Outline of Life and Work of Egon Bondy], in Bouda Bon-
dy. Projekt Bouda IV. [Czech National Theatre Summer Stage], Praha: Národní divadlo,
2007; MAINX, Oskar, Poezie jako mýtus, svědectví a hra. Kapitoly z básnické poetiky
Egona Bondyho [Poetry as Myth, Testimony and Game. Chapters from the Poetics of
Egon Bondy], Ostrava (Czech Republic): Protimluv, 2007; PILAŘ, Martin, Underground.
Brno (Czech Republic): Host, 1999; TROUP, Zdeněk, “Poezie totality” [Poetry of Total-
ity], Rozeta 1, no. 1 (1991); TYPLT, Jaromír F., “Dvě svědectví o Židovských jménech”
[Two Testimonies of Jewish Names], Host 13, no. 3 (1997); TYPLT, Jaromír F., “Absolutní
realismus a Totální hrobař” [Absolute Realism and the Totalitarian Gravedigger], Host
22, no. 1 (2006); VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo – MAZAL, Tomáš, “S Ivo Vodseďálkem o letech
radostného budování 49–53” [With Ivo Vodseďálek on the Years of Happy Building up
Socialism 49–53], Vokno, no. 18 (1990); VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo, Felixír života [Felixir of Life],

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of the  first ever Czech samizdat series (discounting underground
works under the Protectorate) in the Půlnoc [Midnight] series and
as separate associated texts, in individual volumes sorted by names,
which were dated 1951–1955, but which were mostly written be-
tween 1949 and 1953. As the actual literary work that was brought
out in the  Půlnoc series has been preserved more or less in its
­entirety and was then mostly published2 as early as in the first half
of the 1990s, the situation is now fairly clear.

Brno (Czech Republic): Host, 2000; ZAND, Gertraude, Totaler Realismus und Peinliche
Poesie. Tschechische Untergrund-Literatur 1948–1953, Wien: Peter Lang, 1998; ZANDO-
VÁ, Gertraude, “Básník – svědek – aktivista: Poetický program a vydavatelský projekt
Egona Bondyho v  čase stalinismu” [Poet, Witness, Activist: The  Poetic Programme
and Publishing Project of Egon Bondy under Stalinism], Česká literatura 46, no.  6
(1998); KUŽEL, Petr (ed.), Myšlení a tvorba Egona Bondyho [Egon Bondy’s Thoughts
and Literary Activity], Praha: Filosofia, 2018; PŘIBÁŇ, Michal (ed.), Český literární
samizdat 1949–1989. Edice – časopisy – sborníky [Czech Literary Samizdat 1949–1989.
Series of Editions – Magazines – Anthologies], Praha: Aca­demia – Ústav pro českou
literaturu AV ČR, 2018 [on Půlnoc series see pp. 208–210; on Boudník’s Explosion-
alismus series see pp. 183–185].
2) This primarily involves the first two volumes of the nine-volume work of BONDY,
Egon, Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho I.–IX. [The Poetic Work of Egon Bondy I–IX], Praha:
Pražská imaginace, 1990–1993; or, more recently, the first volume of Bondy’s Básnické
spisy I.–III. [Collected Poetic Works I–III], Praha: Argo, 2014–2016; see also the first
two volumes of the five-volume Dílo Ivo Vodseďálka – 1. Zuření [Fury], 1992; 2. Snění
[Dreaming], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992; see also Vodseďálek’s  one volume
Dílo [Works], Praha: Argo, 2019; see also a  volume of texts by KREJCAROVÁ, Jana,
Clarissa a  jiné texty [Clarissa and Other Texts], Praha: Concordia, 1990; see also
KREJCAROVÁ-ČERNÁ, Jana, Tohle je skutečnost (Básně, prózy, dopisy) [This is reality
(poems, prose, letters)], Praha: Torst, 2016; see also a  selection from the  samizdat
volume by SVOBODA, Pavel, “Poesie i prósy” [Poetry and Prose], Haňťa Press 7, no. 17
(1995); see also an excerpt from a text by BORN, Adolf – JELÍNEK, Oldřich, “Urajt”,
Haňťa Press 7, no. 17 (1995); see also SVOBODA, Pavel – MACHOVEC, Martin, “Zapome-
nutý spolutvůrce ‘trapné poetiky’” [A Forgotten Co-Creator of ‘Embarrasing Poetics’],
Revolver Revue, no.  93 (2013); Bondy’s  complete translations of Morgenstern from
1951 were published in a single volume: MORGENSTERN, Christian – BONDY, Egon,
Galgenlieder / Šibeniční písně [Gallows Songs], Praha: Labyrint, 2000; 2nd edition,
Šibeniční písně, Praha: Labyrint, 2010; Bondy’s  experimental “novel” 2000 (written
in 1949–1950) was published in Revolver Revue, no.  45 (2001); another part of it is
found in Bondy’s memoirs Prvních deset let – see Footnote 1; a problem is presented
by Karel Žák’s literary work, which might well have been “passed down orally” by

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Within the broad range of unofficial cultural activities which were
originally given the  avant-garde label and which existed at least
in trace form after 1948 (hence leaving aside those writers who
emigrated, fell entirely silent, were imprisoned or, of course, those
who after “victorious February” attempted to comply or join the
mainstream in one way or another), pride of place is taken by Teige
and Effenberger’s surrealist group, which carried on its pre-1948 ac-
tivities almost entirely in isolation. Its most prominent talents were
clearly Mikuláš Medek and Karel Hynek. Activities also continued in
Zbyněk Havlíček’s the “Spořilov” group and among some members
of Skupina 42 [Group 42], particularly Jan Hanč, Jindřich Chalupecký,
and Jiří Kolář. Entirely isolated from the other posthumous children
of the Czech avant-garde was the Záběhlice surrealist group known
as the Libeň psychics (librarian Zdeněk Buřil, 1924–1994, varnisher
Jiří Šmoranc, 1924–2003, radio mechanic Vladimír Vávra, 1924–2005,
and bookbinder Stanislav Vávra, *1933), whose 1950s work was as
a whole considered lost or destroyed, so that it only very ­gradually
penetrated the  Czech literary context after 1989.3 However, as

other Půlnoc participants, but which never actually appeared in the series. A couple
of fragments from this work from between 1947 and 1955 were collected in 1979
by Ivo Vodseďálek in the  samizdat volume Hra prstíčků mých neklidných [Game of
my Restless Little Fingers], from which again only a couple of small samples were
presented a/ in Haňťa Press 3, no. 9 (1991), b/ in Voknoviny 1, no. 2 (2014); a curious
second samizdat edition of Vodseďálek’s Trapná poesie [Embarrassing Poetry], 1952,
richly illustrated by Adolf Born and Oldřich Jelínek in a  single samizdat copy, has
never been published by regular printing presses.
3) With regard to the Záběhlice (or Libeň) group see the memoir article by VÁVRA,
Stanislav: “Záběhlická skupina surrealistů – Libenští psychici” [The Záběhlice Surre-
alist Group – Libeň Psychics], Jarmark umění, no. 2 (April 1991); see also Haňťa Press 3,
no. 10 and 11 (1991); see also extracts from original work by S. Vávra and J. Šmoranc
in Haňťa Press 3–5, no. 14 – no. 17 (1993–1995); also an interview: VÁVRA, Stanislav –
TYPLT, Jaromír F., “Ukázat pramen a  podat pohár” [To Show a  Spring and to Offer
a Goblet], Iniciály 2, no. 17/18 (1991); the fictionalized memoirs of S. Vávra present
a testimony that is rather late and highly stylized (VÁVRA, Stanislav, Zvířený prach
[Swirling Dust], Praha: MČ Praha 8, 2004); see also the three following volumes of
texts by the “Libeň Psychics”: VÁVRA, Vladimír, Muž v jiných končinách světa [A Man
in Other Corners of the  Earth], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992; VÁVRA, Stanislav,
Snovidění [Dreamseeing], Praha: Pražská imaginace 1992; ŠMORANC, Jiří, Děti periferie
[Children of the Periphery], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1996.

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early as 1948 the former avant-gardists became aware of Vladimír
Boudník, with his first “explosionalist” manifesto on 14th August
1948. Bohumil Hrabal (and evidently Hrabal’s “neo-poe­tist” associ-
ate Karel Marysko, 1915–1988, who made a living as a performing
concert musician) apparently got to know Jiří Kolář back in 1946,
although awareness of Hrabal’s breakthrough 1950 texts that were
so highly rated decades later4 only got through to this very limited
“public” some time later, perhaps around the  mid-1950s. Skupina
Ra [The Ra Group] entirely ceased its activities. Of those mentioned
above, Teige and Hynek died shortly afterwards and none of those
remaining were able to obtain vocation relating in any way to lit-
erature at least from 1949 until the mid-1950s. Most of them were
engaged in working-class occupations. Kolář, who from 1948 to 1951
eked out a living at the Dílo co-operative and then at the Propaganda
Section of the SNKLHU [State Literature, Music and Art Publishers],
was imprisoned from 1952 to 1953, and did not go back to work
when he was released. Other “maladjusted individuals” in similar
straitened circumstances during the first half of the 1950s included
Josef Škvorecký, Vratislav Effenberger, Vladimír Vokolek, Ladislav
Dvořák, and Jan Zábrana, while repudiated Czech literary grand-
masters such as Vladimír Holan, Jakub Deml, Bohuslav Reynek and
a large number of other authors were totally isolated with no hope
of publication. Subsistence issues of a  similar kind also affected
all the members of the group whose work was brought together in
the Půlnoc samizdat series.
The initiators, creators and most prolific authors of the series, Ivo
Vodseďálek (1931–2017) and in particular Egon Bondy, actual name
Zbyněk Fišer (1930–2007), were in a certain sense the “rene­gades”
from Teige’s and Effenberger’s surrealist group. Bondy made his sam-

It was not until after the death of Vladimír Vávra in 2005 that his younger brother
Stanislav Vávra managed to reconstruct from his surviving manuscripts an anthology
of texts by the “Libeň Psychics” lost in the 1950s. This anthology was published under
the title Libeňští psychici. Sborník básnických a prozaických textů z let 1945–1959 [Libeň
Psychics. Collected Poetic and Prose Works from 1945–1959], Praha: Concordia, 2009.
4) HRABAL, Bohumil, Bambino di Praga – Barvotisky – Krásná Poldi [Bambino di Pra-
ga – Color Prints – Beautiful Poldi], Praha: Československý spisovatel, 1990; see also
Sebrané spisy Bohumila Hrabala, vol. 2 – Židovský svícen [Jewish Candleholder], also
vol. 3 – Jarmilka, Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1991 and 1992.

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izdat debut, for the first time with his Jewish pseudonym, in what was
still an entirely surrealist anthology Židovská jména [Jewish Names],
which came out in early 1949 with Vratislav ­Effenberger, Karel Hy-
nek, Oldřich Wenzl, Jan Zuska, Zdeněk Wagner, Jana Krejcarová and
others5 all represented under other Jewish pseudonyms. To a large
extent, in spite of their manifesto for a radical schism with the po-
etics of surrealism, as documented particularly in the  programme
collections Ich und es: totální realismus [Ich und es: Total Realism]6
(Egon Bondy, samizdat 1951)7 and Trapná poesie8 [Embarrassing
Poetry] (I. Vodseďálek, samizdat 1951). It is also possible to include
their work from the early 1950s, like that of Hrabal at the same time
and much of Skupina 42 (Kolář, Blatný and Kainar) among the work
of those who repeatedly insisted on matching themselves with
the  surrealist legacy. In the  case of Bondy and Vodseďálek, there
remained the poetics of the  objet trouvé, the idea of dreams being
equal to life (and of course life being equal to dreams!), admiration
for the  poetics of horror and the  roman noir, the  requirement for
“purety”, “nakedness”, the linkage of the unlinkable, the drasticity
of testimony aiming to épater le bourgeois [shock the  bourgeois],
the stylization of “childish naiveté”, the inability to hierarchize val-
ues, and in particular dogmatic “leftishness”, faith in the  socialist
revolution (albeit of a Trotskyist anti-Stalinist kind) and resistance
to “religious obscurantism”. Some of these traits are more evident in
Bondy, others in Vodseďálek, and still others in Krejcarová, but all of
them can be pointed out in the Půlnoc series texts as a whole. What
was radical, however, was the retreat from metaphor and imagery
in poetic language, the  drastic “purification” and “de-aestheticiza-
tion”. Key works from the Půlnoc series, some of which were to be of
crucial importance to the aesthetic orientation of the 1970s artistic

5) MACHOVEC, Martin (ed.), Židovská jména [Jewish Names], Praha: NLN, 1995; see
also MACHOVEC, Martin, “Židovská jména rediviva. Významný objev pro dějiny
samizdatu” [The  Jewish Names Revived. An Important Finding for the  History of
Samizdat], A2 3, no. 51–52 (2007).
6) For this and other cited texts from the  1950s see BONDY, Egon, Básnické spisy
I.–III. (see Footnote 2).
7) Dtto.
8) For this and other cited texts from the 1950s see VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo, Dílo Ivo Vod-
seďálka I., II. (see Footnote 1).

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underground include Bondy’s poem Jeskyně divů aneb Prager Leben
(Pražský život) [Cave of Wonders or Prager Leben; Prague Life] (1951),
the poetics of which are notably similar to those of Hrabal’s Bambi-
no di Praga, which was written around the same time, even though
Bondy and Hrabal did not know of each other at that time and met
first only by the end of 1951. In other respects, it hints at Bondy’s fu-
ture development as an implacable critic, a  ­regular firebrand and
a dogmatic “wielder of the truth”. Also of importance is the collec-
tion Für Bondys unbekannte Geliebte aneb Nepřeberné bohatství [For
Bondy’s  Unknown Love or Inexhaustible Wealth] (1951), which to
some extent restores the  direct connection to the  poetics used by
surrealists at that time (e.g., applying Dalí’s paranoid-critical method
and Hynek’s “graphic poetry” principle), as well as Velká kniha [Great
Book] (1952), which was to be highly popular in the  underground,
particularly with its groundbreaking section Ožralá Praha [Ham-
mered Prague], its barbaric-style antipoetisms, its nursery rhyme
pseudo-primitivisms and of course its “naive realist” testimonies of
the absurdities of the era, which form a striking counterpoint, e.g.,
to Kolář’s contemporary “eye-witness” poetics. The long poem Zbyt-
ky eposu [Remnants of an Epic] (1955), is outstanding for several of
its highly de-tabooing passages, which show inadvertent parallels
between Bondy’s early poetical works and several elements in those
of writers of American Beat generation, as well as being a splendid
display of surrealist poetics linking the  unlinkable and ultimately
testimony of Bondy’s return to some sources of Czech literary mod-
ernism (Erben, Mácha, and Havlíček Borovský).
In his Půlnoc texts, Ivo Vodseďálek is far more consistent in
­adhe­ring to the  poetics of “embarrassment”, disrupting the  tra-
ditional punchline and of course the  imagery of the  poetical text
(e.g.,  in the  collection Cesta na Rivieru [Trip to the  Riviera], 1951,
Smrt vtipu [Death of the Joke], 1951, Pilot a oráč [Pilot and Plough-
man], 1951, Americké básně [American Poems], 1953) poetics, which
in a  reevaluation of the  surrealist objet trouvé and in contrast to
Bondy’s poetic work anticipates all the pathos-free poetics of Ameri­
can pop-art and hyperrealism. He also, on the other hand, revives
the beauty of surrealist spectrality and chimerality in novel contexts
(in the  collection Krajina a  mravnost [Landscape and Morality],
1953, the  prose work Kalvarie [Calvary], 1954), while generally in

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a number of his texts he uncovers the appeal of “Soviet mythology”
(e.g., in the collection Kvetoucí Ukrajina [Blooming Ukraine], 1950,
1953), while admitting to his defencelessness in the face of the myth
accepted by the masses and the futility of any resistance, which he
nevertheless does offer, even though he is aware of the absurdity of
such conduct, thus again presciently anticipating the ideas of some
of his underground successors. (However, Vodseďálek’s work was
unknown to the underground circle surrounding the Plastic People.)
In hindsight, it is quite tempting to see this grouping as a more
or less monolithic school of poetry, if not actually as some kind of
latent resistance cell, even though circumstances around the late
forties and early fifties, i.e., the  political reality of the  times and
the  personal situations of the  majority of members of that group,
who were mostly around twenty years of age, largely rules out
anything of that nature. Zand9 calls them a “poetic circle” in an at-
tempt to indicate the low degree of homogeneity within the group.
The  fact is that both initiators of the  Půlnoc series  – Bondy and
Vodseďálek – were classmates at the Ječná Street grammar school
in Prague, and they were brought together mainly by their interest
in modern art in general and surrealism in particular, as well as
ultimately to attempt a joint debut, which unfortunately took place
during the period immediately following February 1948. These two
artists, whose early works (i.e., at least until 1952) still bore many
of the  signs of juvenilia (e.g., experimenting and seeking out new
forms, attempting a wide variety of genres, much “finding oneself”
as it were, and almost desperate attempts to come up with some-
thing novel, independent and non-epigonic), had the good fortune
to find a couple of congenial writers and artists among their con-
temporaries (poet and collagist Pavel Svoboda, 1930–2014, Jana
Krejcarová-Fischlová-Černá-Ladmanová, 1928–1981, sculptor and
poet Karel Žák, 1929–2015, and later book graphic artist and pho-
tographer Jaromír Valoušek, 1928–1993, in the early 1950s chemistry
student and for a  short time Vodseďálek’s  wife Dana “Dagmara”
Prchlíková, 1931–2006, at that time the  “suprasexdadaists” Adolf

9) ZANDOVÁ, Gertraude, Totální realismus a trapná poezie. Česká neoficiální literatura

1948–1953 [Total Realism and Embarrassing Poetry. Unofficial Czech Literature
­1948–1953], Brno (Czech Republic): Host, 2002; ZANDOVÁ, Gertraude, “Básník  –
svědek – aktivista” (see Footnote 1).

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Born, 1930–2016, and Oldřich Jelínek, *1930, later psychologist Miloš
Černý, 1931–2018, poet Emil Hokeš, 1931–2000 and perhaps a couple
of others), who showed appreciation for their creative ambitions and
who at least to some extent responded to them by showing them
their own works. Another who was close to this group, or at least to
some of its members, during the first half of the 1950s (typically, not
all the aforementioned personally knew all those named below!) was
a quite unknown secondary graphic art school graduate, Vladimír
Boudník (1924–1968)10 whom Zbyněk Fišer got to know as early
as in 1948, as well as Mikuláš Medek (1926–1974), Emila Medková
(1928–1985), Jaroslav Dočekal (1926–1975), Karel Hynek (1925–1953),
Zbyněk Sekal (1923–1998) and Jan “Hanes” Reegen (1922–1952)11 to
name at least those whose familiarity with underground publishing

10) Regarding his work, see BOUDNÍK, Vladimír, Z  literární pozůstalosti (see Foot-
note  1); BOUDNÍK, Vladimír, Z  korespondence [From The  Correspondence] I  (1949–
1956), Z  korespondence II (1957–1968), Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1994; MERHAUT,
Vladislav, Zápisky o Vladimíru Boudníkovi [Notes on Vladimír Boudník], Praha: Edice
Revolver Revue, 1997.
11) The  literary work of Mikuláš Medek, in which connections can be found with
the  Půlnoc writers, was published in the  volume: MEDEK, Mikuláš, Texty [Texts],
Praha: Torst, 1995; of great value with regard to Medek and Boudník’s relationship
to Bondy and his circle is the correspondence between Medek and Boudník: HART-
MANN, Antonín – MRÁZ, Bohumír (eds.), “Boudník a Medek, korespondence” [Boud-
ník and Medek, Correspondence], Umění/Art 45, no. 3/4 (1997); see also HARTMANN,
Antonín  – MRÁZ, Bohumír (eds.), “Boudník a  Medek, dodatek ke korespondenci
a další ‘texty pro Mikuláše Medka’” [Boudník and Medek, Additions to Correspond-
ence and Other Texts for Mikuláš Medek], Umění/Art 45, no.  5 (1997); the  work of
the  artist and  writer Jaroslav Dočekal has not yet been successfully collected in
its entirety, nor has it been appropriately examined. For samples of his work see:
DOČEKAL, Jaroslav, “Smršťovače  – hořké dávky. Z  dopisů Jaroslavu Rotbauerovi”
[Shrinkers – Bitter Doses. From Letters to Jaroslav Rotbauer], Revolver Revue, no. 29
(1995); see also Dopisy Jaroslava Dočekala Vladimíru Boudníkovi I.–II. [Letters of Jaro-
slav Dočekal to Vladimír Boudník I–II], Praha: Jan Placák – Ztichlá klika, 2017; HYNEK,
Karel, S vyloučením veřejnosti [With the Exclusion of the Public], Praha: Torst, 1998.
Regarding Jan Reegen see the  samizdat volume: REEGEN, Jan, Listy příteli. Dopisy
Vladimíru Boudníkovi (1949–1952) [Letters to a  Friend. Letters to Vladimír Boudník
1949–1952], published by Václav Kadlec as the 56th publication is his samizdat Pražská
imaginace series in 1989 (Stream 4, vol. 8). Bondy provides a testimony of his friend-
ship with Reegen in his memoirs: BONDY, Egon, Prvních deset let (see Footnote 1).

( 14 )
activities at Půlnoc can be verified in some way.12 (The Medeks and
Hynek formed a  connection for some time at least between Bon-
dy’s and Vodseďálek’s circle and Effernberger’s surrealist group, to
whom it seems otherwise Bondy had a rather ambivalent relation-
ship). The late avant-gardist JUDr. Bohumil Hrabal (1914–1997), who
was quite isolated in the late 1940s and early 1950s, did not get to
know Bondy until the  end of 1951 (according to the  latter’s  infor-
mation), although the dating and content of Boudník’s short story
Noc [Night] – 10th October 1951 – indicate that they actually got to
know each other somewhat earlier. Bondy recalls that (probably as
early as 1951, but quite likely in 1952, evidently from 1951 or 1952)
he met not only Boudník at Hrabal’s, but also Karel Marysko.13
Surprisingly, however, the  authors of the  “Midnight Circle” did
not have any demonstrable contacts with some of the other promi­
nent artists and writers who at least for some time and in some
respects “went underground”, and who were in frequent contact
during the 1950s with Hrabal and particularly with Jan Zábrana or
Jiří Kolář (whose work they knew at least to some extent according
to various testimonies), and Kolář’s artistic and human double Josef
Hiršal, who stated himself that he got to know Bondy’s translations
of Morgenstern at Hrabal’s maybe in 1952, but perhaps as late as
1955, i.e., at a time when contacts between Bondy and Hrabal were
again very limited.14 Out of all the Půlnoc authors, Jana Krejcarová
was the one who always led the most sociable life, and she evidently

12) In his memoirs Prvních deset let (see above) for the  1949–1955 period Bondy
also refers to contacts with e.g. Alexej Kusák, Miroslav Lamač, Jaroslav Puchmertl,
František Jůzek, Blanka Sochorová, Josef Lehoučka, Konstantin Sochor, František
Drtikol, psychiatrist Václav Pinkava (Jan Křesadlo), or Andrej Bělocvětov. At Charles
University, Faculty of Arts, where Ivo Vodseďálek studied aesthetics part-time, he
got to know Milan Kundera, and even though he maintained occasional contact with
him throughout the 1950s, he allegedly never told him about his literary ambitions.
13) The  conspicuous similarity between some of Karel Marysko’s  poetic work and
some of Egon Bondy’s  is pointed out in a  study by MACHOVEC, Martin, “Literární
dílo Karla Maryska” [The  Literary Work of Karel Marysko], Revolver Revue, no.  34
(1997); Egon Bondy confirmed that he had met Marysko at Hrabal’s home in Libeň
in a personal conversation with the author.
14) HIRŠAL in MORGENSTERN, Christian, Bim bam bum, Praha: Český spisovatel,
1971, also in MORGENSTERN, Christian, Morgenstern v Čechách. 21 proslulých básní
ve 179 českých překladech 36 autorů [Morgenstern in Bohemia. 21 Famous Poems in

( 15 )
had the  most contacts with people outside the  isolated circles of
post-avantgardists, even though she evidently gained a reputation
as the  rather extravagant, albeit charmingly eloquent and forth-
right daughter of Milena Jesenská and Jaromír Krejcar, not as an
underground writer, which is indirectly indicated by her alleged
apprehension and indignation following the samizdat “publication”
without her consent of her prose work Clarissa in 1951.15 A  more
remote awareness of the Půlnoc authors’ activities can be attributed
to several more quite prominent writers who found themselves to be
in more or less similar straitened circumstances in the early 1950s,
e.g., Oldřich Wenzl, Zbyněk Havlíček, Ludvík Kundera (as testified
for example, by correspondence between Kundera and Zdeněk
Wagner16), Vratislav Effenberger, Jaroslav Rotbauer17, Jan Bouše, and
Libor Fára. Until their premature deaths, Záviš Kalandra and Karel
Teige were also allegedly in contact with Bondy at least, although
hard evidence is thin on the ground, and for the most part we can
only rely on the  memories and indirect testimonies.18 Clearly, as

179 Czech translations of 36 authors], Praha: Vida vida, 1996; see also HIRŠAL, Josef –
GRÖGEROVÁ, Bohumila, Let let [Flight of Years], Praha: Rozmluvy, 1993.
15) VODSEĎÁLEK in KREJCAROVÁ, Clarissa a jiné texty (see Footnote 2).
16) Extracts from the correspondence of Zdeněk Wagner (1923–1991), a former par-
ticipant in the Židovská jména anthology who became a veterinarian, were printed
in TYPLT, Jaromír, F.  – WAGNER, Zdeněk, “Fascinantně divý muž Zdeněk Wagner”
[The  Fascinatingly Wild Man Zdeněk Wagner], Host 16, no.  5 (2000); an extract
from a  letter dated 3rd January 1949, entitled “Slovo o  pluku Fišerově” [A  Word on
Fišer’s Regiment], testifies to the fact that at that time Fišer (E. Bondy) made a con-
siderable impression upon Wagner (even if evidently a somewhat ambiguous one);
though what is also rather conspicuous is that Wagner does not make the slightest
mention of the Židovská jména project, which was to come to a head just as this let-
ter was being written. Wagner’s complete work (including quoted correspondence)
was published in book form: WAGNER, Zdeněk, Virgule [Rod], Praha: Cherm, 2007.
17) EFFENBERGER, Vratislav, Moderní kultura v  socialistické revoluci [Modern Cul-
ture in a  Socialist Revolution] (manuscript from 1965, whose existence is testified
in TYPLT, Jaromír F., “Dvě svědectví o  Židovských jménech” (see Footnote 1); con-
cerning Jaroslav Rotbauer, see also DOČEKAL, Jaroslav, “Smršťovače – hořké dávky”
(Footnote 11).
18) See BONDY, Egon, Prvních deset let (Footnote 1); [HERDA, Milan], Protokolární
výpověď o  trockistech [Protocol testimony on Trotskyists], Czech Interior Ministry
Archive, file shelf No. 305-738-1 –“Trotskyist surrealists. Testimonies to the  police

( 16 )
soon as the Půlnoc series was established, i.e., late 1950/early 1951,
its creators kept their activities hidden for obvious reasons, even
from some of their former friends from whom they had in any case
gradually become artistically estranged one way or another.

Since the Půlnoc series was primarily the offspring of its two ini-

tiators, then again in retrospect it is possible to gain the somewhat
erroneous impression that its primary contents were mainly meant
to be Bondy’s and Vodseďálek’s “totally realistic”, “embarrassing”,
“anti-poetic”, “de-tabooing”, “neo-Dadaist”, often specifically politi-
cal, or “witness” reactions to some surrealist practices, which as has
become evident with the passage of time, already had its precedent
in the somewhat similar reactions of some members of Group 42 and
the Ra Group (in any case Bondy undoubtedly found an affinity with
Hrabal and Boudník due to this similarity). What is more likely is
that this (partly illustrated) typescript series was originally meant
to serve more as a  platform for creative dialogue with parallel
unofficial artistic trends, and even more probably as a platform for
attempts to continue this dialogue even under the extraordinary and
absurd conditions of the day. Evidence of these efforts is confirmed
by the  “guest” appearances made by Hrabal, Boudník, Born and
Jelínek. In 1950, it was still undoubtedly unclear where the artistic
paths of these two – Bondy and Vodseďálek – were taking them and
which of the other Půlnoc authors would produce works of lasting
value that might compete with them one way or another, and in
particular, in which political and social circumstances the work of
all those involved might develop further. Back in 1950, everything
was bogged down by doubts and uncertainties that were surely
much greater than those which twenty years later dogged Bondy
and Vodseďálek’s “underground” successors, who were thrust into
a situation that was otherwise quite similar. The fact that the cre-
ators of the  series saw the  early 1950s as some kind of stopgap
situation whose duration could only be guessed at is confirmed by

and Gestapo on Trotskyists. Trotskyist leaflets”, its part was published in a section
in Jarmark umění (Bulletin Společnosti Karla Teiga), no. 11/12 (1996); [HERDA, Milan],
“Protokolární výpověď M. H.” [M. H. Protocol testimony], in ALAN, Josef (ed), Alter-
nativní kultura. Příběh české společnosti 1945–1989 [Alternative Culture. The Story of
Czech Society 1945–1989], Praha: NLN, 2001, p. 523.

( 17 )
Vodseďálek’s statement19 that the usual Půlnoc edition, represent-
ed generally by four typed copies (1 + 3), was primarily intended
to conserve the texts that had been written, i.e., to preserve them
until they could be published, which of course was ultimately to be
four decades later, and the question arises whether just an intima-
tion of this fact would not have entirely undermined the creativity
of writers who were around twenty years of age. The  similarities
between the early 1950s and the early 1970s were considerable for
debuting artists and writers, e.g., the loss of the option to publish
freely and the imposition of political repression; however, the early
1970s had its precedent in the early 1950s, so then it was possible
to look back and seek examples.
Hence, while in retrospect it is evident (from an art history or
literary history standpoint) that the most prominent “core” authors
in the “Půlnoc circle” were Bondy and Vodseďálek, while Hrabal and
Boudník remained on its “periphery”, this did not yet necessarily
appear to be the case around the early 1950s. There is no doubt that
much was expected from Jana Krejcarová, whose literary work has
only come down to us in fragments, though the reputation of her
output is enhanced by the legend of her life.20

What might the  objective of the  Půlnoc series creators have

been? Probably first and foremost to continue to address other
non-conformists and modernists (hence in 1950 this could only take
place “underground”) and to enter into debate with them. They un-

19) VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo  – MAZAL, Tomáš, “S  Ivo Vodseďálkem o  letech radostného
budování 49–53” (Footnote 1).
20) This is borne out not only by the Austrian documentary film by director Nadja
Seelich made in 1992, Sie sass im Glashaus und warf mit Steinen, on Krejcarová’s life,
but also by a monograph which Krejcarová (Černá) herself wrote on her own mother:
ČERNÁ, Jana, Adresát Milena Jesenská [Addressee Milena Jesenská], Praha: Divoké
víno, 1969 (1st edition); Praha: Concordia, 1991 (2nd edition); Praha: Torst, 2014 (3rd edi-
tion). There are also numerous testimonies stating that the poet also used this text
to project her own twists and turns in life onto her mother’s fate, e.g. VODSEĎÁLEK,
Ivo, Felixír života (Footnote 1); see also BONDY, Egon, Prvních deset let (Footnote 1);
see also MILITZ, Anna, Ani víru, ani ctnosti člověk nepotřebuje ke své spáse: příběh
Jany Černé [Neither Religion, nor Virtue are Necessary for One’s Salvation: the Story
of Jana Černá], Olomouc (Czech Republic): Burian a Tichák, 2015.

( 18 )
doubtedly wished to create a fitting and a true reflection of the times
in which they lived, and not to succumb to the enormous pressure
of mass psychosis and the  general mythologization of reality, but
rather to unmask the  imposed myths with particular mockery,
and thus somehow to actually “disarm” them. They also wanted
to maintain the continuity of modern art and modern literature (to
be specific, at the time this meant the continuity of artistic work,
which was still understood as avant-garde, i.e., inventive, pioneering,
and innovative). They might have also wanted a  confrontation in
which they could stand up for their particular articulated artistic
credo and their own distinctive standpoint, but these efforts only
succeeded to a limited degree: echoes of Bondy’s work (but almost
to no extent that of Vodseďálek) can be found in some works by
Hrabal, to some extent Boudník, as well as to a limited extent for
example in Medek, Hynek, and Marysko. Only Bondy’s poetic work,
and of course his later prose and philosophical work, exercised
a  profound influence on the  younger generations of underground
authors some twenty years later, even though this was all rather
spontaneous and had little to do with the Půlnoc authors’ original
aspirations. Hence Bondy’s and Vodseďálek’s attempt of some kind
in the early 1950s to make their texts at least part of a substitute
literary scene can be said for the most part to have been unsuccess-
ful, as such a “practice” only emerged to a very limited extent even
within the Půlnoc series itself; today it is clear that some of their
publication activities between 1950 and 1955 were primarily rather
individual matters of a “piratical” nature which the other Půlnoc
authors did not necessarily know about (as was already the case for
the compilation of the Židovská jména collection around 1948/1949;
not all of these authors were informed about being involved in this
“business”). Hence fear of prosecution clearly played a greater role
here than the organizers cared to admit.
In the  given circumstances, they could rule out any idea of
accomplishing Bondy’s  subsequent objective, as testified by Vod-
seďálek21, of making the Půlnoc authors into an artistic group which
(doubtless on the model of the various surrealist groups!) would be
highly homogeneous and would strive (as in the case, at least for

21) See VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo, Felixír života (op. cit.).

( 19 )
 some time, of André Breton’s group) not only to achieve a “revolu-
tionary change in human consciousness”, but also for a  material
“revolutionary change throughout the world”. However, it is also evi-
dent that the mere declaration and articulation of such an immodest
ambition could have been conceived by Bondy in the  early 1950s
as an inspiring and stimulating necessity. In any case, a number of
other “immodest” aims and ambitions showed up in his subsequent
life and work.
The  reactions at the  time of the  Půlnoc authors’ artistic
fellow travellers were, generally speaking, insofar as they can be
followed at all, rather restrained.22 We might well include those of
Boudník, who indeed maintained an aesthetic distance from Bon-
dy and Vodseďálek – more in the graphic arts than in literature –
but less with regard to “world view”: his explosionism did not in
the  least lag behind Bondy’s  maximalist postulates in its radical-
ism and his artistic work and lifestyle were viewed even by those
­artistically close to him with some distrust if not disdain. The most
prominent fellow-traveller of the Půlnoc authors was undoubtedly
Bohumil Hrabal, who was also the  only one to always have a  full
understanding of, and high appreciation for, Bondy’s  work. How­
ever, he was certainly not one of them, as his age, education and life
experience alone inspired respect and kept him at a certain distance.
It is doubtless little exaggeration to conclude that artists like Medek,
Fára, Havlíček, Wenzl, Effenberger (and ultimately, Born and Jelínek
too, who were still Applied Arts College students in the early 1950s)
were above all apprehensive about Bondy’s political explicitness and
so rather sought to distance themselves from the Půlnoc “core”. This
might also have been caused by nothing more than a simple distaste
for Bondy’s and Krejcarová’s (not to mention Boudník’s) extravagant,
eccentric behaviour and minimum social adjustment, which could
appear quite dangerous in the early 1950s.23 Bondy’s ostentatious

22) HAVLÍČEK, Zbyněk – PRUSÍKOVÁ, Eva, Dopisy Evě / Dopisy Zbyňkovi [Letters to Eva
/ Letters to Zbyněk], Praha: Torst, 2003, pp. 45, 152–153; see also MEDEK, Mikuláš,
Texty (Footnote 7); DOČEKAL, Jaroslav, “Smršťovače  – hořké dávky” (Footnote  11),
also EFFENBERGER, Vratislav in TYPLT, Jaromír F., “Dvě svědectví o  Židovských
jménech” (Footnote 17).
23) [HERDA, Milan], Protokolární výpověď M. H., 2001 (Footnote 18).

( 20 )
leftish and “revolutionary” tendencies24 could also have been off-put-
ting, while for many Bondy and Vodseďálek’s “desertion” of “high” art
was incomprehensible. The question remains whether the primary
objections and aversions involved in their disassociation with them
were of a purely personal nature (and this applies not just to Bondy,
but above all to Krejcarová, whose “spontaneous animalism” simply
frightened many of her contemporaries and friends, as a number of
testimonies bear witness), or mainly aesthetic, artistic or relating to
their world-view. Here, we are compelled to remain in the realm of
speculation, as we cannot ascertain to what extent the later testimo-
nies of the participants are influenced by their view of that period
through the  prism of later events. In any case, the  Půlnoc group
had fallen apart by 1955 anyway25 and communications between its
former participants were irregular and occasional in the following
years, as they all went their separate ways.
It is no exaggeration to say that the Půlnoc series and the liter-
ary works published in it have become a tale, a pseudo-fiction and
a legend, which was occasionally perpetuated, no doubt deliberately
and consciously, by Bohumil Hrabal in his works published during
the 1960s, but whose original creator was undoubtedly Egon Bon-
dy: let us recall his cycle Legendy [Legends] from the collection Für
Bondys unbekannte Geliebte26. Several contemporaries testify to his
numerous statements from the 1960s in “as the poet Bondy spake”
mode. (Bondy’s “split” into “I” and “he”, which is well-represented
as an autostylization throughout his lifelong work, was repossessed

24) For example, the graphic artist Vladimír Šmerda, who associated with the young
Zbyněk Fišer 1947–1948 recalls how at that time Z. F. repeatedly assured a number of
friends that after the victorious socialist revolution they would “hang them in their
own interest”: whether he was serious, half-serious or only joking it was clear that
such arguments were not necessarily to everybody’s taste (from a personal conver-
sation between the author and V. Š. in spring 2000).
25) BONDY, Egon, Prvních deset let (Footnote 1); VODSEĎÁLEK, Ivo – MAZAL, Tomáš,
“S Ivo Vodseďálkem o letech radostného budování 49–53” (Footnote 1).
26) BONDY, Egon, Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho II [The Poetic Work by Egon Bondy
II], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992; BONDY, Egon, Básnické spisy I [Collected Poetic
Works I], Praha: Argo, 2014.

( 21 )
in masterly fashion by Hrabal in his Něžný barbar, 197327, which is
actually a kind of legend of a legend.)

As regards the  State Security’s  (StB) familiarity with Bon-

dy’s  and Vodseďálek’s  activities, the  only material that is so far
publicly available at the  Interior Ministry archive (now ABS) re-
lates mostly to the 1948–1949 period, i.e., before the Půlnoc series
was launched. There is an undated testimony from Milan Herda,
­imprisoned in the 1950s, evidently from the period between 1952 and
195428, which indicates two things: although the testifier attempted
to rather trivialize the artistic (and indeed the political) activities of
Bondy (always called Fišer in the report), Vodseďálek and Krejcarová
(Fischlová), to portray them as grandiose mystifications, or as ordi-
nary economic crime (especially in comparison with the  “serious-
ness” of the activities of Karel Teige, to whom the entire testimony
relates), although he provides facts which could definitely have been
of some use to State Security. (For example, he mentions the plan –
fulfilled later, in 1950, – to smuggle Czech glass to Vienna.) Hence
it can be assumed that if the State Security had wanted, they could
have monitored the Půlnoc organizers activities from an early stage.29
Public reactions to the  activities of one of the  first and most
original underground artistic groupings were general practically
zero until the late 1960s: the Půlnoc works from the 1950s were not
published and the activities of the initiators were only a “legend”.

27) See HRABAL, Bohumil, “Něžný barbar”, in Obrazy v hlubině času. Sebrané spisy
Bohumila Hrabala 6 [Collected Works of Bohumil Hrabal 6, Images in the  Depth of
Time], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992; the book was to come out in the English trans-
lation by Stacey Knecht in 2017 under a title The Tender Barbarian by Archipelago
Books – see their website https://archipelagobooks.org/book/the-tender-barbarian/,
visited 26th Jan 2017, but has not got to print by 2019.
28) [HERDA, Milan], Protokolární výpověď o trockistech (Footnote 18). Another part
of this testimony, this time dealing directly with the Fišer-Bondy circle and friends,
was printed in the Documentation section in ALAN, Josef, Alternativní kultura op. cit,
pp. 523–527. See also BONDY, Egon, Prvních deset let (Footnote 1).
29) Research over the last few years has confirmed that throughout the 1950s State
Security monitored the activities of people connected to Půlnoc, not just because of
their literary work, but also due to their political, i.e. anti-Soviet attitudes, which were
considered “Trotskyist”. See the “Surrealists” file No. 11135 from the Czech Security
Services Archive (Archiv bezpečnostních složek, ABS, Prague).

( 22 )
(One exception is Boudník’s  artistic work, but that is only rather
indirectly related to the Půlnoc authors’ literary activities, running
in parallel to them.)
So again, it is only a slight exaggeration to say that if Bondy’s poe­
tic work had not been discovered in the late 1960s by director Ra-
dim Vašinka,30 literary critic Jan Lopatka, and in the early 1970s art
historian Ivan Martin Jirous, the  Půlnoc underground would only
have lived on as Bondyian and Hrabalian legend until 1989, if not to
this day. It is only the fact that the early 1970s underground artists
enthusiastically seized upon Bondy’s poetry and began to put it to
music and so to spread it among a public that was of a very different
character, education, and social origin that allows the underground
Půlnoc circle to be understood in retrospect as a kind of prelude to
the greatly differentiated underground activities of the 1970s and
1980s. Without this capitalization, the Půlnoc circle would have re-
mained a mere episode in the history of the Czech unofficial cultural
scene, as was unfortunately the  case with so many small groups
and individuals, e.g., the “Libeň psychics” and the various regional
activities. The public (albeit narrow and limited) only started to be
aware of the importance of the Půlnoc authors’ artistic and literary
activities, in fact only those of Egon Bondy and perhaps also of Jana
Krejcarová, in the late sixties and the early seventies. It was only
many years later as the importance of the role played by this little
group in the  creation of the  later Czech underground movement
became evident.
The circle around the Půlnoc series can in any case be consid-
ered to be one of the  most prominent examples of underground
artistic activities in the 1950s. The main reason is that the group
did not carry on its previous public activities underground, as in
the case of the great majority of other unofficial activities performed
by individual artists who after February 1948 were merely trying
to continue illegally, i.e., underground, what they had been able
to do legally up until that time, but now actually “making their de-
but” in the underground. Hence for the public it was now “dead”,

30) VAŠINKA, Radim, “Vydolováno z nepaměti I–V” [Retrieved from Time out of Mind
I–V], Divadelní noviny 10, no. 5–9 (2001); VAŠINKA, Radim, “Bondy a Orfeus” [Bondy
and Orpheus], in Bouda Bondy, projekt Bouda IV, Praha: National Theatre, 2007.

( 23 )
“inexistent” and indeed “underground” in the true sense. Moreover,
the  Půlnoc initiators made their underground debut with artistic
works that were for the  most part so innovative that it would be
difficult to find anything similar even in published literature before
February 1948 (hence they were not weighed down by any concerns
at all regarding censorship or the “acceptability of the work”, which
any publishing author would have had to deal with to a  greater
or lesser extent). These were works which often very specifically,
drastically, veristically, and realistically portrayed the  times in
which they were written, i.e., the Stalinist pandemonium of the early
1950s in Czechoslovakia: ergo they could not have been written
in any other way but in the  underground, and in a  form which
only a couple of decades later started to be called samizdat, thus –
paradoxically – following the example of the Soviet Union.

2001, 2008
Translated by Melvyn Clarke

( 24 )
2 . U N D E R G R O U N D A N D “ U N D E R - T H E - G R O U N D ”
The standpoints of the underground community
in Czech society in the 1970s and 1980s and the specific values
of the underground culture1

The  terms “underground” and “under-the-ground”2 have not been

clearly defined in Czech culture so far. Traditionally, “underground”
comprises the community which emerged in the early 1970s around
the rock band The Plastic People of the Universe. This community,
which later became part of Czech dissent and to a  great extent
merged with the community around Charter 77, was composed of
poets, musicians, artists, as well as philosophers, essayists, and
samizdat publishers of various focus and political orientation.

Let’s  start with a  few quotes linked to the  question of what is

and what is not “underground” in Czech, or also even world culture,
and what misunderstandings may arise and prevail with regard to
this term, with all its historical, literary and, in the  broad sense,
cultural connotations.
The  first comes from Ivan M. Jirous’s  memoir Pravdivý příběh
Plastic People [The True Story of the Plastic People]. There is a rather
humorous passage in which the author remembers how, in the early
70s, he tried to explain to the less bright members of the Plastic Peo-
ple the difference between “psychedelic” and “underground” music:

I  explained to them that psychedelic music is a  matter of an artistic

genre or style whereas underground is a spiritual attitude. As an exam-
ple I named Lennon and The Beatles, who was underground, although

1) The study was first written in English, then translated into Czech and published
abridged, then translated back into English and published again. See the details in
Author’s Note.
2) In Czech: “underground” and “podzemí”; “podzemí” being the literal translation of
the English word, carrying the same secondary meaning, referring to “unofficial cul-
tural sphere”, “counter-culture”, “anti-establishment movements” etc., however, with
a broader meaning, i.e. culture and art not necessarily inspired by Anglo-American
“underground culture”, but by some domestic predecessors as well.

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 The Beatles cannot be considered an underground band. Števich3 simpli-
fied this into the rule ‘no fires, that’s the underground’, which we later
often quoted in our group.4

The catchphrase “no fires, that’s the underground” (unlike psy-

chedelic rock shows where such effects were essential) was later
used by Milan Hlavsa and Jan Pelc as a title of the publication of their
interview about the fate of the Plastic People and the establishment
and development of the Czech underground as such.5
The next quote is a statement which was made in a debate fol-
lowing another English lecture by the author at a textology confer-
ence at the University of Seattle in October 1997.6 After the author
suggested a certain parallel between the early stage of the Czech
underground culture, represented in the  early 1950s primarily by
Egon Bondy and other authors around the samizdat Edice Půlnoc
[Midnight Series], and the beginnings of the literature of the Beat
Generation, in particular with respect to poems by Allen Ginsberg
from the  same period, prof. David Greetham (City University of
New York Graduate Center) made an authoritative comment saying
Ginsberg was no underground, which had such a disarming effect on
the lecturer that any potential polemics rather faded away.
The misunderstandings concerning what is and what is not un-
derground primarily stem from the ambiguous meaning of the term,
naturally with respect to its figurative, metaphorical meaning. In
the  Anglo-American cultural sphere, the  term “underground” will
mostly refer to unofficial cultural events, or to publishing of texts

3) Jiří Přemysl Števich was a guitar player in The Plastic People band at the turn of
the 1960s–1970s.
4) JIROUS, Ivan Martin, “Pravdivý příběh Plastic People”, in JIROUS, Ivan Martin,
Magorův zápisník (ed. Michael Špirit), Praha: Torst, 1997, pp. 255–256.
5) See HLAVSA, Milan  – PELC, Jan, Bez ohňů je underground [No Fires,
That’s  the  ­Underground], Praha: BSF, 1992; 2nd edition: Praha: Maťa  – BSF, 2001;
3rd edition: Praha: Maťa – BSF, 2016.
6) See MACHOVEC, Martin, “Czech Underground Literature, 1969–1989. A Challenge
to Textual Studies”, in MODIANO, R.  – SEARLE, L. F.  – SCHILLINGSBURG, P. (eds.),
Voice, Text, Hypertext: Emerging Practices in Textual Studies, Seattle – London: Walter
Chapin Simpson Center for the  Humanities  – The  University of Washington Press,
2003, pp. 345–357.

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using one’s  own means, without any institutional backing, i.e.,
something quite similar to the  samizdat in the  former Soviet Bloc.
In the field of popular music it originally (i.e., most likely already at
the turn of the 50s and 60s) applied to deliberately non-commercial
trends as an opposition to the requirements of show business, against
the entertaining pop music that was popular with the consumerist
society. And it is also very well known that in the  latter meaning
of the word, this Anglicism made its way into the Czech culture in
the  late 1960s where it was confronted with its Czech equivalent,
“podzemí” which may be translated as “under-the-ground” to point
out the difference: the term “underground” does not have an identical
meaning to the Czech word “podzemí” since it does not directly refer
to any particular “counter-cultural” sphere of the  Anglo-American
culture. And this very non-identity of the meaning logically implies
numerous misunderstandings, not only in English-Czech translations
but also in attempted interpretations. For instance, how do you ex-
plain in English that the university professors Jan Patočka and Vá-
clav Černý, after they had been forbidden to work in their respective
university departments in the  early 1970s, were still able to work
“unofficially”, in a  “hidden” way, that is, in fact “under-the-ground”
(though, probably not really illegally), but definitely did not belong to
the “underground”? Professor Černý’s sharp criticisms7 of the Czech
cultural “underground” (or, better to say of what he himself under-
stood under the name, as it is quite clear from his texts that he knew
very little about what this term really referred to; however, this is
rather irrelevant in the given context) show that he was well aware
of the difference between the words “podzemí” and “underground” in
the Czech language. Let’s admit that the criticisms raised by Václav
Černý, forgetting for the time being that his concept was faulty, were
also partly true. If the intolerance of the totalitarian regimes chased

7) See the study ČERNÝ, Václav, “Nad verši Věry Jirousové a o kulturním stanovisku
našeho undergroundu” [On Věra Jirousová’s Poetry; also on the Cultural Standpoint
of our Underground], in ČERNÝ, Václav, Tvorba a  osobnost, Praha: Odeon, 1992,
pp.  900–908; ČERNÝ, Václav, “O  všem možném, dokonce i  o  ‘hippies’ a  ‘novém
románu’” [Miscellanea, even on “Hippies” and “The  Nouveau Roman”], in ČERNÝ,
Václav, Tvorba a osobnost II, Praha: Odeon, 1993, pp. 553–562 (eds. of both volumes:
Jaroslav Kabíček and Jan Šulc); and ČERNÝ, Václav, O povaze naší kultury [On the Na-
ture of Our Culture], Brno (Czechoslovakia): Atlantis, 1991, mainly pp. 61–62.

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intellectuals, scholars, leading minds away “under the  ground”,
that did not mean they had to share aesthetic, ideological and value
preferences with the  audience of the  underground, which indeed
originally drew on the values of the cultural revolution initiated by
the  rock music sphere in the  1960s; a  revolution which also radi-
cally transformed the  entire lifestyle of those who were young in
the 1960s. Naturally, this cultural revolution first started in the West,
but soon it also arrived behind the  Iron Curtain  – to the  great dis-
pleasure of the Soviet Kulturträgers. So at the beginning of the 1960s,
a majority of the young people in the West (including also the absurd
“Soviet Bloc”, which became the “East” only in the wake of the bipolar
political arrangement of the world then, although a major part of it
has always belonged to the “West” in terms of culture) went through
a radical reassessment of values – while this decidedly was not only
due to the negation of values which had been “dominant” by then. It
is common knowledge, it was the representatives of the anti-commer-
cial “underground rock” who were most radical in this reassessment.
But where were the dismissed Czech university professors and
where were the admirers of the music played by bands like The Vel-
vet Underground, The Fugs, The Mothers of Invention, or Captain
Beefheart’s Magic Band!?
And still, the  cultural community of the  Czech intellectuals
forced to go “under the ground” and the Czech rockers living “un-
derground” had a lot in common. The Czech underground oriented
itself mainly to the revolt of American rock, the hippy movement,
including the  relatively popular communitarian way of life,8 but
in a  broader perspective also to protest songs, the  liberalism of
the representatives of the rebellions at US universities in the 1960s,
to the Afro-American culture and also the poetics of the Beat Gene­
ration. The cultural community of the Czech underground was also
much inspired by, for instance, so-called poètes maudits, both French
and Czech, existentialists like Boris Vian, anarchists, decadents
and various intellectual solitary figures and “outcasts”: the cultural
genealogy of the Czech underground should also include František
Gellner, Arthur Breisky, Jakub Deml, Ladislav Klíma and even Karel

8) See the  anthology STÁREK, František Čuňas  – KOSTÚR, Jiří (eds.), Baráky. Sou-
ostroví svobody [Shanties. The Archipelagos of Freedom], Praha: Pulchra, 2010.

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 Hynek Mácha, later also Bohumil Hrabal and his “tender barbarians”
of the early 1950s.
And it is also well known that this curious cultural hybrid, which
the Czech underground culture of the 1970s and 1980s surely was,
was shaped based on a  certain affiliation or even co-existence of
a  number of intellectuals and artists with the  rock “primitives”.
In this respect, the role of Ivan Martin Jirous is absolutely unique.
At the same time, though, the cultural values of the Czech under-
ground of the 1970s were also largely affected by Jiří Němec, Egon
Bondy, and last but not least, Václav Havel – the last maybe “only”
by being able to mediate these values to people from other unoffi-
cial groupings, by being able to rouse interest in them and in this
way providing the underground poets, musicians and artists with
a certain amount of feedback.
On the  other hand, it must be said that the  rocker rebels did
indeed differ, even in their “underground edition” from their pre-
decessors “under-the-ground”. This difference lay in the  fact that
the core of the underground community was formed of people with
no formal education, often with no high-school diplomas, let alone
university degrees, and that the “rock’n’roll revolution” was a “re-
volt of the barbarians”, no longer very tender or holy9, rather than
being a result of some intellectual, ideological-aesthetic discourse.
These rocker “primitives” also formed the core of the Czech under-
ground community, at least in the early 1970s when it crystallized
and slowly started to realize its own existence as a community sui
generis. And it was these people who gave it the energy and who
were the bearers of the underground ethos.
The  above-mentioned, however, only seemingly contradicts
­Jirous’s  definition of the  underground as a  result of a  certain
spiritual approach to life because such an approach might have
been shared without reflection, wordlessly, spontaneously: matters
of artistic orientation, expression, specific preferences were margin-
al – this can be demonstrated, for instance, by the diversity not only

9) The metaphor of the “barbarians” has become well established in Czech literature

and culture, primarily thanks to Bohumil Hrabal, and needs no comment; however,
it may be of interest that American literary historians soon started to use the same
metaphor when dealing with the Beat Generation, e.g., LIPTON, Lawrence, The Holy
Barbarians, New York: Julian Messner, 1959.

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of the underground music of the period (musical experiments close
to minimalism, and the concrete music of Zajíček and the DG 307
band, the art rock with touches of free-jazz by The Plastic People, or
simple musical “traditional” of Karásek, to give just a few examples),
but also of the  underground literature (see, for instance, the  first
four underground samizdat anthologies from the mid-1970s, which
shall be discussed later on).
Defining the underground in this way may also help to establish
a demarcation line between, firstly, this specific Czech community
and the communities “under-the-ground”, which held similarly neg-
ative views of the majority society anywhere and anytime in history
(regardless also of whether this was or was not under totalitarian
regimes); and secondly, between the underground community and
those who simply went with the flow, for whom underground was
a fashionable thing in a sense that it was “in” to be “anti”.
The Czech underground, thus, cannot be simply reduced to prim-
itive rock music. Two more delimitations are needed in this respect.
A/ It is a  fact that the  Czech underground community consist-
ed, primarily at the beginning, mostly of rock musicians and their
friends – that is originally the fans of The Plastic People of the Uni-
verse and before that of The Primitives Group, and Knížák’s Aktual,
and that it was thanks to this community and its “rockers’ revolt”
that underground proved to be unusually and unexpectedly re-
sistant in the following years. However, very soon different artists
and intellectuals that later significantly enriched the Czech under-
ground culture started to exercise their influence over the commu-
nity. We can claim that the new quality, which was an attribute of
the Czech underground culture, emerged as a result of the extraor-
dinary ­cooperation of the  “rock primitives” on the  one hand and
the artists and intellectuals on the other. This was quite a unique
phenomenon and not only in the  Czechoslovakia of that time  –
the worlds of the dissident intellectuals and of the rock “long-haired
freaks” usually did not blend. In this way, the underground gradually
ceased to be just a showcase of some sort of a provocative (pseudo)
art, or this or that musical trend, but under the pressure of the to-
talitarian regime it also started to absorb impulses from previously
alien domains. In the context of the upcoming “normalization era”
with its idiotic intolerance and effort to sooner or later criminalize

( 30 )
all that was beyond its control, and which at the same time from
the  early 1970s seemed like a  permanent, constant phenomenon,
the Czech underground community was first marginalized in soci-
ety and later the  normalization regime strived to make its future
existence altogether ­impossible. On the other hand, though, mainly
under the  influence of Ivan M. Jirous and Egon Bondy, the  group
started to perceive itself as an alternative community and a cultur-
al scene, as an underground both “an sich” and “für sich”, not just
a “counter-culture” of a kind but as a “second culture” that aims to
be fully independent of the “first culture”, which was continuously
and systematically brought to uniform by the  totalitarian regime.
However, we also need to note that such radical, even extrem-
ist ambitions could not in fact be accomplished, particularly after
the  Czech underground community was partly (never wholly)
­incorporated into the wider collective of Charter 77 in the year 1977;
the main “regulation” of Charter 77, as is well known, was to open
a discussion “with the power” on a strictly legal platform.10
B/ The  spiritual attitude and values of the  Czech underground
(primarily those which were typical for the  ambition to create
a  truly independent “second culture”) also need to be contrasted
against various sectarian, millenarian religious opinions and atti-
tudes which may show certain similarities when compared cursorily,
primarily when we realize how varied the sectarian movement is in
the period of the so-called New Age.
When studied from a  psychological perspective, the  attitudes
held by the  Czech underground might be seen as some sort of
a panic, an escapist solution when brought face-to-face with the in-
comprehensibility and extensive complexity of the so-called modern
technical civilization, a side effect of which – at least in the Christian
world – is also mass secularization.
Perhaps we could also agree with certain similarities detected
between the  underground culture and some negativist sectarian

10) The group around Charter 77, with its personal and social structure, in a certain
way resembled the  underground community, but it must be highlighted that its
agents were in the majority of cases only prominent dissidents, intellectuals, latent
leaders of a potential political opposition who also pursued their own goals. In this
way, unfortunately, the unique homogeneity of artistic and intellectual plurality of
the underground became blurred and faded within the Charter 77 community.

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cults, at least in the way they renounce the “evil world” and deli­
berately resort to living in a “parallel” or even “illegal” world. More
similarities can be found concerning the  presence of the  chiliast,
nihilist, self-destructive attitudes as a manifestation of the deepest
resignation to publicly combat the horrors of today’s world.11
It must be stressed that these similarities are merely external and
that on the  inside the  Czech underground community was struc-
tured in a distinctly different manner. For one, it totally lacked an
indispensable charismatic religious leader and a structure of strict
subordination, there was no analogy to the “chosen ones” who would
allegedly survive the up-coming apocalypse. And last but not least,
as a rule, sectarian fanatics are not interested in art, literature, and
music: all this is part of the “sinful world” which is doomed.
In order to underline the difference, allow me one more parallel.
On the one hand, there is a certain similarity between the radical-
ism of the Czech underground and the original leftist radicalism of
the  anarchists, or leftist aspirations which have not yet been de-
formed by being incorporated into political structures; on the other
hand, there is a similarity between the different militant sectarian
religious cults with extreme-right movements. Also here we must
not be misguided by potential identical exterior traits. The original,
genuine left pursued goals which were totally different from those
of the extreme right – and that is also why it has never succeeded
in achieving them.12

11) The fact that the underground community was perceived as a kind of “sect” by

at least some intellectuals from the Charter 77 movement can be demonstrated by
quoting one phrase from Václav Benda’s essay The Parallel Polis from 1978: “[...] under-
ground, which forms by far the most numerous part of the Charter has been able to
politicize and overcome its sectarianism; however, the permanency of such a result
is probably conditioned by our abilities to ‘enlighten’ these circles.” PREČAN, Vilém
(ed.), Od morální k demokratické revoluci. Dokumentace, Scheinfeld – Praha – Bratisla-
va: Čs. středisko nezávislé literatury – ÚSD ČSAV – Archa, 1990, pp. 46–47.
12) The  subject of where to look for the  cultural and social legacy of the  Czech
underground of the 1970s and 1980s and regarding the possible interpretation and
misinterpretation of where the Czech underground was placed within the traditional
political spectrum was presented in October 2014 in the  Lidové noviny newspaper
(supplement Orientace/Salon, 11–12 October 2014) in a discussion Ať si mladí udělají
vlastní underground [Let the  Young Make their Own Underground], by Jiří Fiedor,
Stanislav Komárek, Zbyněk Petráček, Jáchym Topol, Martin C. Putna and Břetislav

( 32 )
 Thus, the radical attitudes of such an internally diversified com-
munity, as was the Czech underground in the 1970s, can be appre-
ciated and adequately interpreted only bearing in mind the period
when the community was established and existed. And only then
can we truly understand how special it was among the  different
contemporary, and to a certain extent similar movements, labelled
as “counter-cultural”, “anti-commercial”, “alternative” in the  West
or “dissident” and “parallel” in Czechoslovakia of that time. It
was a  specific mixture of radicalised rock revolt of the  1960s,
the  avant-garde, experimental art schools of the  period including
performances, happenings, land art and of course also pop-art,
together with residues of free-thinking intellectual fermentation in
Czechoslovakia in those years. And one more and very important
difference: Czech underground community renounced any kind of
explicitly political ideas and objectives.
The underground in the 1970s was also strongly influenced by
the literary work of Egon Bondy (not so much by his ultra leftist po-
litical aspirations), which he had been creating “under-the-ground”
since the late 1940s, and was open to both Christians and Marxists
(of a purely anti-partisan, anti-Soviet breed); the underground was
a safe haven for feminists and environmentalists, pacifists and ad-
mirers of the US Army, rock’n’roll and folk musicians, teetotallers
and junkies, artists and experimental poets, samizdat publishers,
followers of oriental religions and philosophies – and from time to
time, naturally, StB agents could also be encountered there. When,
after a few years, the underground community to a certain extent
merged with the Charter 77 movement (which inadvertently proves
the  absurdity of any potential suspicion that the  community had
inclinations towards some sort of a sectarian quietism), it also start-
ed to be influenced by Václav Havel, primarily by his concepts of

Rychlík. This debate made it clear that different interpretations of the term “leftism”
still exist in Czech society. Did the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia have anything
in common with the political left in the normalization era, apart from (some) of its
slogans? Wasn’t it rather an ultra-conservative, fascist-like quisling clique, whose
ideology was empty and whose interpretation of so-called socialism led to establish-
ment of a crypto-consumerist society? If it was indeed so, it also has consequences for
the interpretation of the social and political position of the opponents of the regime,
among whom a certain place should be reserved also for the Czech underground.

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“non-political politics” and the “power of the powerless” (although
a possibility also exists that Havel was in his concepts influenced
by his intense interest in the  culture of the  underground). It was
a pluralistic community, open and striving to maintain and further
develop the  unalienated, authentic values, both generally human
and artistic, under extremely unfavourable conditions in a country
where a totalitarian regime was reinstated, which in fact continued
in the Stalinist tradition.
Twenty years of existence of this specifically Czechoslovak com-
munity, which can justifiably be called the underground, introduced
examples of almost all cultural and artistic trends specific to the al-
ternative culture in the  Western world of the  period  – and maybe
sometimes generated some extras, something which was totally
unique.
The  main phases of its development and the  leading ideas of
the underground prior to its becoming part of the Charter 77 com-
munity were best summarized by Ivan M. Jirous13 and Egon Bondy14.

13) Jirous’s work Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození was written in 1975 and
since then has been published many times in the Czech language as well as being
translated into a number of languages. Probably the most important Czech edition
in which the text is included is the anthology of Jirous’s essayistic and publicist work
JIROUS, I. M., Magorův zápisník (ed. Michael Špirit), Praha: Torst, 1997, pp. 171–198.
For the latest (and textually most reliable) edition of Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním
obrození see MACHOVEC, M.  – NAVRÁTIL, P.  – STÁREK, F. Č. (eds.), “Hnědá kniha”
o procesech s českým undergroundem undergroundem [“Brown Book” on the Trials of
the Czech Underground], Praha: ÚSTR, 2012, pp. 17–31. The text was published in its
English translation by Paul Wilson (not specifically cited here) several times under
the title “Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival”. See e.g. in Views from the Inside,
Praha: Department of Czech Literature and Literary Criticism, Faculty of Philosophy
and Arts, Charles University, 2006; 2nd edition: Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018.
14) In the  first place, the  anti-utopian / dystopian novel Invalidní sourozenci [Dis-
abled Siblings] (samizdat, Praha 1974), in which Bondy, in a  poetic vision, tried to
explore the possibility of establishing a fully autonomous subculture. This vision of
his gained wide acceptance in the underground community at that time. (For now
the  latest Czech publication: BONDY, Egon, Invalidní sourozenci, Praha: Akropolis,
2012.) Throughout the  1970s and 1980s, Bondy was perhaps the  most outspoken
proponent of cultural autonomy of the underground and dismissed both compromises
with the official culture and drawing closer to the culture of the prominent dissidents.
At the same time, though – and this only became public in 1990 – in some periods

( 34 )
At the  end of his “manifesto” Zpráva o  třetím českém hudebním
obrození [The Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival] he says,
among other things:

of his life he was forced to cooperate with the  StB to a  certain level. A  wealth of
material exists about the cooperation and the avoidance thereof between Fišer-Bon-
dy and the StB which has not been processed by experts, let alone assessed. Some
comments came from Petr UHL in his extensive interview with Zdenko PAVELKA,
Dělal jsem, co jsem považoval za správné [I  Did What I  Thought Was Right], Praha:
Torst, 2013, some of which were rather critical (pp. 155–173) although Uhl defends
Bondy in many aspects. However, in the same book he also says: “It never came to
my mind to draw any conclusions from the  fact that the  State Security had listed
someone in some category. It was a mendacious, conspiratorial organization, even
towards individual StB members. [...] But if someone claims today in an effort to
pretend that the documents of the State Security are truthful, that the organization
was bureaucratic and well controlled from within and that is why Mr. XY ‘for sure’
must have been an informer and a snitch, then that person is not telling the truth.
The relationship between the StB member and its victim – they were always victims,
no matter in which category they were listed or what position they held and despite
the fact that they often also acted amorally – should be explained by studies of oral
history with the actual people concerned, before all of them pass away” (pp. 491–492).
More recently Bondy’s  contacts with StB were treated by Miroslav VODRÁŽKA
(sometimes signing his texts by a feminized version of his name: Mirka Vodrážková).
Vodrážka interprets the matter differently from Uhl and strictly condemns Bondy, try-
ing especially to put an end to the “Bondian myth” of a hero of underground culture.
Subsequently, Vodrážka’s texts roused sharp polemics See: VODRÁŽKA, Mirek, “Filo-
sofický sendvič. Jak chutná Bondyho dílo?”, https://www.advojka.cz/archiv/2015/10
/filosoficky-sendvic; VODRÁŽKA, Miroslav, “Pohromové myšlení současné české
levice (k diskusi o tajné spolupráci Zbyňka Fišera alias Egona Bondyho)”, http://www
.bubinekrevolveru.cz/pohromove-mysleni-soucasne-ceske-levice-k-diskusi-o-tajne-
spolupraci-zbynka-fisera-alias-egona; VODRÁŽKA, Miroslav, “O  duchovním zelinář­
ství”, http://www.bubinekrevolveru.cz/o-duchovnim-zelinarstvi; MACHOVEC, Martin,
“Ad Miroslav Vodrážka: Vodrážkův Bondy, Fišer, Kořínek... ale hlavně Vodrážkův
Vodrážka”, http://www.bubinekrevolveru.cz/martin-machovec-ad-miroslav-vodrazka-
pohromove-mysleni-soucasne-ceske-levice-k-diskusi-o-tajne; PLACÁK, Petr, “Několik
poznámek k  otázce vztahu Egona Bondyho k  minulému režimu” + “Jak feminista
Vodrážka znásilnil básníka Egona Bondyho”, Paměť a dějiny 9, no. 4 (2015); PLACÁK,
Petr, “Cesta kanalizačními trubkami. Poznámky rázu literárního a psychologického
(psychiatrického) k případu básníka Egona Bondyho a jeho vztahu k režimu v době
normalizace”, in KUDRNA, Ladislav (ed.), Reflexe undergroundu, Praha: ÚSTR, 2016.

( 35 )
 The word underground has been used many times and the term second
culture at least twice. To conclude, we should clarify what it refers to.
The underground is not linked to any specific artistic movement or style
although, for instance, in music it is mostly represented by rock music.
The underground is a spiritual position held by intellectuals and artists
who intentionally take up a critical stance towards the world they are
living in. It is a declaration of war to the establishment, the existing po-
litical system. It is a movement which works primarily through artistic
means but whose representatives realize that art is not and should not
be the ultimate goal of artistic efforts.

And a few lines below:

It is a common and sad thing in the West, where the underground was

theoretically formed and established as a movement in the early 1960s,
that some artists after they had achieved acclaim and fame through it
entered into contact with the official culture (we shall call it first culture
for our needs), which gleefully accepted them and absorbed them like it
absorbs new car bodies, new fashion or anything else. Here things are
fundamentally different, much better than in the  West [highlighted
by the author of this article] because we live in an atmosphere of total
agreement: the first culture does not want us and we do not wish to have
anything to do with the first culture. In this way there is no temptation,
which for every artist is a seed of doom: the desire for acclaim, success,
awards and titles and, last but not least, material wellbeing which
­ensues from all of the above. While in the West, a lot of people who we
might befriend here based on their thinking are living in confusion, here
things have been clearly delimitated for once and for all. Nothing that
we do can be to the liking of the representatives of the official culture
because it cannot be used to create the illusion that all is in order. To
be sure, things are not in order.

Of course, we do not have to agree with Ivan Martin Jirous that

“here”, that is, in Czechoslovakia in the 1970s, things were “much
better than in the  West” but he was right when he compared
the  (pseudo)values of the  established societies on both sides of
the Iron Curtain to the spiritual climate of the Czech underground
“ghetto” of those years, which was undoubtedly much sounder

( 36 )
than the spiritual climate of the majority societies. This community
can be a model of the underground resistance, both for its radical
ambition, at least for some time, to create a culture truly indepen-
dent of the pseudo-culture of the totalitarian regime, without any
compromises, and for the surprising variety of artistic and literary
activities which emerged from this environment.
The  latter of the  two characteristics, the  variety of the  artis-
tic activities, resulted from the  former. Following the  pressure of
intolerance of the  Czechoslovak “normalization” regime, people
were driven to the underground “ghetto” who were often creative
and who, under so-called normal circumstances, would be unlikely
to encounter each other  – and would probably have no reason to
communicate with each other. In this respect, we can paradoxical-
ly thank the  pro-Soviet regime of President Husák as it uninten-
tionally became the co-author of the social and cultural variety of
the  Czech underground (it is obvious that this could also be said
about the broader community surrounding Charter 77).
It would make no sense to demonstrate this variety of, for
­instance, underground literature, by presenting a  short list. It suf-
fices to mention the first underground anthologies from the 1970s.15
At first sight these are rather heterogeneous conglomerates of texts
of different poetics, for what is there in common between, for exam-
ple, the fragile dreamy poetics of Věra Jirousová, drawing mainly on
the work of Bohuslav Reynek and appraised by prof. Václav Černý,16
and the  satanic, nihilist, apocalyptic visions of the  rocker Josef
“Vaťák” Vondruška? What connects the “totally-realistic” poems, or

15) See primarily samizdat collections edited by Jirous in 1975: Egonu Bondymu
k  45.  narozeninám invalidní sourozenci [To Egon Bondy on his 45th Birthday from
Disabled Siblings]; Ing. Petru Lamplovi k 45. narozeninám [To Ing. Petr Lampl on his
45th Birthday]. Also an anthology edited by Martin Němec in 1975: Děti dvou sluncí
[Children of the Two Suns]. Finally an anthology edited by Pavel Zajíček in 1977:
Nějakej vodnatelnej papírovej člověk  – Jiřímu Němcovi k  45. narozeninám a  Martinu
Jirousovi k jeho návratu z Mírova [A Certain Dropsy Man of Paper. To Jiří Němec on
his 45th Birthday and to Martin Jirous on his Return from Mírov Prison]. For a list
of these and more collections see the  bibliography “Nejvýznamnější samizdatové
sborníky undergroundové literatury (1975–1989)”, https://www.ustrcr.cz/data/pdf
/projekty/underground/underground-samizdat-sborniky.pdf (quoted as of June 2019).
16) See the the first study by Václav Černý mentioned in the Footnote 7, pp. 900–908.

( 37 )
rather diary entries of the radical Marxist and Maoist Egon Bondy,
with New Testament parables of the  Protestant priest Svatopluk
Karásek? What do the zaum, carefully polished, linguistically exper-
imental verses by Andrej Stankovič or Eugen Brikcius, share with
the  sarcasm of the  lyrics by Charlie Soukup? How to understand
the  spontaneous, “schizoid” texts of Fanda Pánek, full of so-called
vulgarisms or even blasphemies? On the outside, formally, there are
not many similarities, but the  authors for whom the  underground
community was a natural background were connected by what was
totally lacking in the official culture: the feeling of unity, mutual toler-
ance, the awareness that in the spirit of defiantly gained “complicity”
something new was hopefully being created – something authentic,
unalienated. And it is probably this aspect which was responsible
for the  specific values with which the  underground community of
the  1970s and 1980s contributed to Czech, or even world culture.

In conclusion, let me give you one example of how the variety and

plurality of opinions, ideas and artistic approaches within the Czech
underground community was reflected in the life of one of its main
protagonists  – the  founder of the  originally “Prague psychedelic
band” called The  Plastic People of the  Universe, musician Milan
“Mejla” Hlavsa (1951–2001).
In 1968, Hlavsa was one of many Prague teenagers with long
hair, like many of his peers he played rock’n’roll in different ama-
teur bands. Incidentally, he came across a record by the New York
band The Velvet Underground, which was not yet very well known
abroad, and their music made a great impression on him. The front-
man of the  band, Lou Reed, became his idol. Hlavsa put together
a band with which he played songs by The Velvet Underground, but
he named it after a song by another of the pioneers of the American
underground, Plastic People by Frank Zappa, adding “of the  Uni-
verse” to the  title  – perhaps as an allusion to John Lennon’s  song
Yer Blues from the White Album. And by mere chance, the young art
historian Ivan Martin Jirous came to see one of the gigs by The Plas-
tic People and was captivated, immediately started cooperating
with the band, wrote articles about them for artistic journals, and
promoted the band’s music and performances among his fellow art
historians, artists and authors.

( 38 )
 However, following the  Soviet occupation in August 1968, so-
called normalization started – and artists and writers who were not
willing to submit to the regimentation of cultural life were very soon
deprived of the  possibility to work in their profession; pushed to
the margins of society, their names were erased from the history of
literature and arts. In the field of popular music in particular there
were only a few who were able to resist and who did not disgrace
themselves by complying with the  requirements of the  “normali-
zation” regime – and soon Hlavsa’s “Plastic People” became a true
symbol of such resistance. However, the  stronger the  oppression
was, the more the solidarity among the oppressed grew. Different
“ghettos” and paths to the underground were established and these
were the only possible way to create dissent. They were no longer
a handful of crazy rockers, eccentric students and suspicious phi-
losophers: in this way, solidarity was gradually stirring with the rep-
resentatives of the nation’s oppressed elite.
Hlavsa and his friends from the underground were in touch with
leading dissident intellectuals even prior to the  establishment of
Charter 77 – in particular with Václav Havel and Jan Patočka, while
many others such as Ludvík Vaculík, Zdeněk Mlynář, Jaroslav Seifert
and even Václav Černý (though in his case undoubtedly with some
reservations) manifested their solidarity with the underground as
they understood that persecutions inflicted on the underground by
the regime in 1976 might soon concern them as well. In 1977, the ma-
jority of the underground musicians and artists joined Charter 77
out of solidarity, although the original thinking of the underground
was not very close to the  “legalist” principles of Charter 77, and
consequently due to police terror and the  manifested solidarity
the  underground community, disintegrated to a  large extent at
the  turn of the  1970s and 1980s and it was only with difficulties
and thanks to the younger generation that it was able to activate
again in the 1980s. And as The Plastic People were not even allowed
to play private concerts, they resorted to making “studio” records
which were then distri­buted through samizdat means, or rather
“magnitizdat”.
For Hlavsa, the revolution in November 1989 probably came just
in time as he had been fatigued by police terror in the years leading
up to it and consequently finally inclined towards certain conces-

( 39 )
Lou Reed and Milan Hlavsa play in the White House in 1998; photo: Alan Pajer

sions, compromises – just to be able to play the music he loved.

One of the consequences of the change of the regime after No-
vember 1989 was a  total disintegration of the  underground com-
munity, which to a certain extent lost its raison d’être in the newly
established state of freedom. The  Plastic People stopped playing
together even before, as early as 1988, which brought about much
bitterness and disappointment. Hlavsa joined other bands and it
looked like this chapter in the history of Czech independent culture
would come to an end once and for all.
However, in 1997 Hlavsa managed to get The  Plastic People
together again, this time as a  living legend. After that they often
played at home and abroad, already as a  completely professional
band and releasing new music records.
In 1998, they were offered a great opportunity thanks to Presi-
dent Havel. They were invited by President Clinton to play for him
and President Havel in the  White House. Hlavsa accepted, but he
also had one wish: he asked for the idol of his youth, former leader
of The  Velvet Underground to play with him in the  residence of
the  US president. His wish was granted and so on 17 September
1998, to quote Bohumil Hrabal, the “unbelievable came true”. Not

( 40 )
just The Plastic People, but also Lou Reed played in the White House!
It is hard to imagine that any representative of American alternative
culture or counter-culture would be able to smuggle the ill-famed
New York rocker, worshipper of heroin and self-destruction, into
the sanctuary of the US establishment.
Milan Hlavsa did it.

2006, 2015
T r a n s l a t e d b y M a r k é t a Po k o r n á ( O L D C H O O L )

( 41 )
3. CHARTER 77 AND THE UNDERGROUND

It is now a generally accepted, although not always sufficiently em-

phasised fact that the  so-called trial of the  Czech Underground in
1976 was one of the main impulses for the founding of Charter 77.
The nineteen people arrested in March 1976, seven of whom (Havel-
ka, Skalický, Stárek, Jirous, Zajíček, Karásek and Brabenec)1 were
convicted the following September, received the unequivocal support
of the future leading Chartists, such as professor Patočka, Jaroslav
Seifert, Václav Havel, Petr Uhl, and Zdeněk Mlynář. 2 And yet, Ivan
Martin Jirous was the only defendant to have had a certain, albeit not
very close, contact with one of the Charter founders, namely Václav
Havel.3 And it is also a well-known fact that, thanks to the solidarity
of leading Czechoslovak dissidents – some of them famous abroad as
well as at home – not only did a number of underground artists and
activists receive much milder sentences than the  despotic regime
authorities had prepared for them, but also dozens and dozens of
entirely unknown friends and supporters of the underground were
prepared, a year later, not to leave their colleagues in the lurch, and
on their account they abandoned the proverbial “merry ghetto” of
the underground and joined the wider community of people working
to “improve human affairs” (Comenius), even under the conditions
of Husák’s totalitarian “normalization” regime.

1) See “The  Plastic People Of The  Universe v  datech”, in RIEDEL, Jaroslav (ed.),
The  Plastic People Of The  Universe: Texty, 2nd edition, Praha: Maťa, 2001; see also
“The Plastic People Chronology” in the English translation of the book: The Plastic
People Of The Universe, Praha: Maťa, 1999.
2) See two samizdat editions of “Hnědá kniha” o procesech s českým undergroundem,
compiled and published in 1977 by Jaroslav Kořán and Václav Vendelín Komeda and in
1980 by Jaroslav Suk (Libri prohibiti collection); see its printed, enlarged, c
­ ommented
edition: “Hnědá kniha” o procesech s českým undergroundem, Praha: ÚSTR, 2012.
3) In the documentary film The Plastic People of the Universe, directed by Jana Chy-
tilová (Czech TV 2001), Václav Havel states that he knew Jirous “a  little bit from
previous years, from the sixties”, and only became better acquainted with him and
the activities of the underground sometime around the end of 1975 and beginning of
1976, i.e. just prior to the “Second Festival of the Second Culture” held at Bojanovice
and their arrest in March 1976. Before Havel met Jirous in person it was apparently
František Šmejkal who recommended him to take an interest in the  activities of
the underground.

( 42 )
 Before trying to elucidate the fairly complex relations that the un-
derground established in 1976 and 1977 with the emerging commu-
nity of Charter 77 signatories, I would like briefly to recall the his-
tory of the Czech cultural underground, which will make it easier
to understand the mutual solidarity established in the crisis years.
Ivan M. Jirous probably provided the  best explanation in his
“mani­festo text” entitled Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození
[Report on the  Third Czech Musical Revival] dating from February
1975.4 Jirous’s Report is not addressed to “his own ranks” (i.e., poets,
artists, and particularly rock musicians, and of course also their sup-
porters), so much as to the wider community of Czech dissent, which
was very fragmented in the mid-1970s. Being himself an intellectual
he described in terms understandable to intellectuals what had been
happening spontaneously for a  number of years. Jirous’s  Report is
also an attempt to appraise the author’s own work, because it was
chiefly due to him that one of the many groupings of the “rock and
roll youth”, that generation of very extravagant, non-conformist,
young rockers, who, at the  end of the  1960s wanted to fulfil their
artistic ambitions irrespective of regime change, transformed itself
by the  mid-1970s into a  richly structured community, which was
initially pushed into the cultural underground by the doltishness of
cultural policy during “normalization”, but then reflecting the new
situation is a given, and one that was liberating in a sense. So before
1975, the activities of the “psychedelic rock-band” The Plastic People
of the Universe, a band which was then and still is a direct incarna-
tion and synonym of the Czech cultural underground of the 1970s
and 1980s, attracted the support of many creative people and intel-
lectuals, who would hardly have been expected to have an interest in
the rockers’ primitivist art. Thanks to Jirous, a number of artists, par-
ticularly representatives of the so-called “Křižovnická škola” [Crusad-
ers’ School], including Karel Nepraš, Zorka Ságlová, Eugen Brikcius,
Otakar Slavík and Olaf Hanel, were already interested in the Plastic
People and had already taken part in some of their events, at some of
which rock concerts merged into happenings organized by Brikcius

4) See Magorův zápisník, Praha: Torst, 1997, pp.  171–198 (in English published
last in Views from the Inside. Czech Underground Literature and Culture (1948–1989);
2nd edition, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018. See also the last chapter of this volume.

( 43 )
and Ságlová, and somewhat earlier by Milan Knížák who although
soon distanced himself from events organised by Jirous, continued
to have a lasting spiritual and artistic influence on the underground
community as is came into being. The “plastic underground” received
a  further very significant intellectual boost when that community
became friends with the  Catholic-oriented philosopher Jiří Němec
and his wife, the  psychologist Dana Němcová, and through them
with a number of people connected with the defunct Tvář journal. It
was Jirous who introduced the members of the Plastic People band
at the beginning of the 1970s to the poet and non-conformist leftist
thinker and philosopher Zbyněk Fišer alias Egon Bondy, whose verse
from the  1950s and 1970s, as performed by the  Plastics would be
written in letters of gold in the  annals of the  Czech underground.
Jirous also inspired the creation of several other underground bands
or art and music ensembles in the early 1970s, some of which cre-
ated works of lasting worth. We particularly have in mind the band
DG 307, founded by the poet, musician and artist Pavel Zajíček. And
it was also via Jirous that the Plastics community became close to
graduates of the Protestant faculty of divinity such as Vratislav Bra-
benec or Svatopluk Karásek, and somewhat later Jan Kozlík, Aleš
Březina or Miloš Rejchrt. And Jirous’s above-mentioned Report was
a  reflection on that colourful underground community which had
come into being quite unexpectedly and unprecedentedly.
However, Jirous was one of the first to be arrested in the critical
year of 1976, and one of the first to be sent to prison, with the long-
est sentence of all: 18 months. So in addition to Jirous’s Report there
was a need for someone else to speak to people organising support
for the  imprisoned members of the  underground community, and
later to those who were coming up with the idea to found Charter 77
(to a great extent the same people), a vibrant personality who was
relatively still at liberty. At this point one should stress the  role
played by three people above all: Václav Havel, Jiří Němec and Dana
Němcová. Thanks to their personal contacts and their intellectual
capabilities the latter two were able to convey the message about
the underground into a language understandable not only to Václav
Havel, but also to such diverse people as Ludvík Vaculík, Jan Patoč-
ka, Jaroslav Seifert, Jiří Hájek, Karel Kosík or Ladislav Hejdánek, and
persuade them that it was not just worthy of their interest, but also

( 44 )
of their involvement; that in the case of the trial of the Plastics et al.,
“tua res agitur”. And that was successful as we know.

Now, let us explore the mutual relations between the initially un-

derground community and the loose community around Charter 77
that was coming into being in the course of 1977. First, a couple of
comments:
1) Unlike the  later Charter 77 community, the  underground
community was essentially a group of close friends, and friends of
friends, who were attracted to each other partly by a desire to “live
differently”, in their case as a non-conformist collective, in defiance of
the “real socialism” of the “normalization” regime. It truly was a broth-
erhood and sisterhood of mostly young people who came together at
rock gigs, concerts, festivals, seminars in private homes, poetry read-
ings, or exhibitions, and also – quite frequently – in friendly company
in pubs. Undoubtedly they were linked by a marked commitment to
“passive resistance” and opposition to the world of politics reflect-
ed in adopting an anonymous lifestyle on the  fringes of  society. In
contrast, the  Charter community gradually came into being more
as a fairly loose grouping of separate circles, united chiefly by their
courage to stand up for human rights at a time of totalitarian tyran-
ny. Obviously it was not possible prior to 1989 to hold a meeting for
all of the Charter signatories, so it is highly probable that they did
not know each other very well, and sometimes they had no interest
in mutual acquaintance. Well, it is hard to imagine someone like
the  quasi-satanist underground pioneer of punk rock and a  drug
addict Josef “Vaťák” Vondruška, by profession a wall decorator, in dis-
cussion about the aims and orientation of the Charter with professor
Václav Černý, Václav Benda or Pavel Kohout, for instance! Although
they were all in the “same boat” so to speak, they were linked solely
by the civic courage to enter the arena of their own polis, at a time
when such an act was automatically regarded as criminal by those in
power at the time. But it is evident from the above that social value
preferences of the underground inevitably underwent considerable
changes when that community was incorporated to a certain extent
into the Charter 77 communi­ty.
2) When studying the  structure of the  Charter and trying to
­assess its social make-up, it is necessary to bear in mind that spe-

( 45 )
cific data about the number of signatories can be be very deceptive.
The point has been made on numerous occasions that each signa-
tory represented two, three or more non-signatories, who were de
facto in total agreement with the activities of their signatory rela-
tives. I  have in mind, for instance, family members of signatories
who often did not sign simply so that someone in the family should
not be prevented from obtaining normal employment. In addition
there were many people, particularly students, who were willing to
sign the Charter, but refrained from doing so for their own safety at
the request of “collectors of signatures” or rather after they had been
warned by them. There were also cases of “non-signatories” who
were active “Chartists”  – dissidents, oppositionists. The  following
are three specific instances:5
a) Of the  members of the  Plastic People band at the  end of
the  seventies, four (Hlavsa, Janíček, Kabeš, and Vožniak) never
signed the Charter, while three (Brabenec, Brabec, and Schneider)
did, although there was no difference of opinion among them, at
least about this issue.
b) Jiřina Šiklová, one of the most active members of Czechoslovak
dissent, and of the  Charter 77 community above all, did not sign
Charter 77 until the spring of 1989.
c) In January 2007, the  historian Petr Blažek6 finally published
an article revealing the background to the collection of signatures
in first wave after January 1977. It brought to light a  whole num-

5) As far as the variety of such “non signatories” is concerned, see DRDA, Adam, “Ti,
kteří nepodepsali (O lidech v opozici, ne-signatářích Charty 77)”, in Revolver Revue, 33,
1997, pp. 215–224; MACHOVEC, Martin, “Polopatická impertinence”, in Kritická příloha
Revolver Revue, 8, 1997, pp. 231–235; MANDLER, Emanuel, “O hrdinech a o těch dru-
hých”, ibidem, pp. 218–231; HRDLIČKA, František – BRATRŠOVSKÁ, Zdena (eds.), Jak
chutná nezávislost. 33 životních ohlédnutí, Praha – Olomouc, Czech Republic: Votobia,
1998; ČERNÁ, Marie, “Ti, kdo Chartu 77 nepodepsali”, in Lidové noviny, 17th January
2017, p.  18. Concerning the  case of Josef Mundil, see Anna Marvanová’s  ­article in
JECHOVÁ, Květa (ed.), Lidé Charty 77. Zpráva o biografickém výzkumu, Praha: Ústav pro
soudobé dějiny AV ČR, 2003, p. 106. The overall survey of the variety of oppositional
trends in Czechoslovakia after the Soviet invasion of 1968 is found in OTÁHAL, Milan,
Opoziční proudy v české společnosti 1969–1989 [Oppositional Currents in Czech Society
1969–1989], Praha: ÚSD AV ČR, 2011.
6) See BLAŽEK, Petr, “Alchymie podpisové akce”, Lidové noviny 20, no. 6 (8th January
2007), supplement Charta 77, pp.  I–II; see also “Odpověď na nesvobodu. S  Petrem

( 46 )
ber of oddities, but the  most curious case of all that of the  much
revered and also vilified “guru of the  underground” Zbyněk Fišer
alias Egon Bondy, who would subsequently play a considerable role
in the “underground fringe” of the Charter. Blažek clarifies a matter
that was previously in doubt, and reveals that Fišer-Bondy did sign
the Charter in December 1976, but at a meeting at Václav Havel’s,
“Jiří Němec tore up the paper with Bondy’s signature, explaining that
he did not regard him as legally competent. Uhl therefore created
a  duplicate, and made a  note that it was to be held on deposit.”7
This fact allowed Fišer-Bondy in the  following years to declare
himself to be “an underground philosopher and poet”, a colleague,
and maybe even a  friend of Václav Havel, and even take part as
an actual Charter activist in Charter meetings (the so-called Fora)
where the organisation of the Charter and its policy was debated,8
while on other occasions he was an obdurate and hate-filled critic
of the “shadow Charter establishment”, cursing the Charter almost
as collaborators and secret police stooges.9

Uhlem o  ideovém rozpětí chartistů” [Conversation of Filip Horáček and Lukáš Ry-
chetský with Petr Uhl], A2 3, no. 1 (2007).
7) This was confirmed by Ivan Jirous in the documentary film Fišer alias Bondy di-
rected by Jordi Niubo (ČT 2000), where Jirous added that he considered it “a serious
mistake”. Jirous also evinced the opinion that the “censoring” of Bondy’s signature
by Charter 77 was “the reason for his bitterness and animosity” towards it. See also
the reproduction of the duplicate in question in Lidové noviny 20, no. 6 (8th January
2007), supplement Charta 77, p. VI.
8) Fišer-Bondy actively participated in the  2nd (on 28th November 87), 3rd (on 17th
January 88), and 4th Forum (on 14th May 88) of Charter 77; he even wrote a  poem
about the police raid that ended the 4th forum (dated 11th September 1988); see also:
MACHOVEC, Martin, “Ediční komentář”, in BONDY, Egon, Bezejmenná, 2nd edition,
Praha: Akropolis, 2019, pp. 163–166.
9) Bondy added the  following dedication to the  heading of Part 8 of his samizdat
Poznámky k dějinám filosofie (Indická filosofie – pokračování) [Notes on the History of
Philosophy (Indian Philosophy – Continuation)] from 1981 (printed edition 1992 and
1997): “Dedicated to Petr Uhl and Václav Havel, who, while I was able to work, were
held in prison.” Most likely in 1984, i.e after Havel’s release, Bondy wrote the essay
Kritika substančního modelu [Critique of the Substantial Model] for Havel’s philosophy
anthology Hostina [Feast] (samizdat 1985, printed edition outside Czechoslovakia
1989). However, as early as 1985 Bondy’s verse collection Tragédie u Dvořáčků a jiné
básně (abridged in the two editions of his collected works under the title of Petřiny)

( 47 )
 So was Jiří Němec right? And if he was, was he entitled to act
the  way he did in the  case of Fišer-Bondy’s  signature? And was
his motivation really what he said it was? When the Charter was
signed in the spring of 1977 by Bondy’s faithful pupil, the remarkable
poet Fanda Pánek, however someone with a serious psychopathic
disorder and whose personality was affected by drug addiction, no
objections were raised. And there were most likely some other cases
like Pánek’s  among the  Charter signatories… So did Fišer-Bondy
have grounds to be dissatisfied with the “leadership” of the Charter?
These questions remain unanswered.
The above two comments give rise, among other things, to a more
fundamental question, namely, who actually had or did not have
the “right”, even imply a “customary right” to take part in the shap-
ing of the Charter, and subsequently who should or should not take

i­ncluded a  number of overtly rude texts about the  Charter and Václav Havel, e.g.
a  poem dated 26th September 1985: “Prosral jsem životní šanci / že jsem v  letech
padesátých / nezpíval k tanci / Prosral jsem ji v šedesátých / že mi Literárky byly pro
smích / Pak jsem ji prosral znova / že o Chartě jsem nenapsal / pochvalného slova /
Proseru ji ještě do konce života / Jste pořád stejná holota” [I fucked up my chances in
life / because I laughed at Literary News / Then I fucked them up again / when I failed
to praise / the Charter / I’ll fuck them up as long as I live / You’re still the same rabble],
or the poem dated 18th September 1985: “MLADÍKOVI OD DVOU SLUNCŮ L.P. 1985 //
Čti – nečti / Dělej si co chceš / Nahnilost je sladká / to je tvůj život / Nadouvej si střeva
důležitostí / osy světa od Hrádečku do Prahy a zpět /Čím míň let ti je tím dýl budeš
moct blbnout / Už v sobotu pro tebe přijede aspoň Bundeskanzler / abys mu pomoh
zařídit světovou politiku / neboť s Rusy už je amen / Američani je vymazali z mapy /
Myslím / že alespoň celá střední Evropa na tebe čeká / pokud nedáš přednost zřízení
Rakousko-Uherska / ovšem jen ruku v ruce se soudruhem Mlynářem ve Vídni”. [TO
A YOUNG MAN FROM THE TWO SUNS A.D. 1985 // Read – don’t read / Do what you
like / Rottenness is sweet / that’s your life / Swell your guts with the importance / of
the earth’s axis from Hrádeček to Prague and back / The younger you are the longer
you’ll be able to act the fool / The Bundeskanzler is coming for you next Saturday at
least / so you can help him regulate world politics / because the Russians are fin-
ished / the Americans have erased them from the map / I think the whole of Central
Europe is waiting for you / unless you prefer establishment of Austria-Hungary /
but only hand in hand with Comrade Mlynář in Vienna] (see E. B., Básnické spisy III,
Praha: Argo, 2016, pp. 429, 435); however, Bondy had already made rude comments
about the Charter in his prose work 677 (samizdat 1977, printed edition 2001) and
most vehemently in his prose work Bezejmenná [Nameless] from 1986, which will
be mentioned later.

( 48 )
part in discussions about its policy? Who was “welcome” at them?
Only undisputed signatories? It is clear that the growing circle of
actual signatories can be projected – initially fairly rapidly and then
more slowly  – onto a  circle that was possibly twice as big: onto
the “latent Charter support base” of “non-signatories”. The same can
undoubtedly be said about the underground community – or what
in the 1980s should be referred to as communities. One sector of
it overlapped with the Charter community, but its much larger sup-
port base never belonged to the signatories. The estimated seven
thousand (!!) readers of the underground magazine Vokno, a figure
established ex post by František Stárek,10 its publisher, himself
a leading Chartist, speaks for itself.
In addition to the above comments, the following is the result of
our own “survey”, which could help to clarify not so much the breadth
or narrowness of the Charter 77 community, or the breadth or nar-
rowness of the  underground community, but rather the  “social
make-up” of the Charter, or the “generational diversification” within
it, which were subsequently aired in controversies in the late 1980s
over the form and policies of the Charter. On this matter there are
two very specific figures which are of interest: a) the 24211 original
Charter 77 signatories from December 1976; b) the  approximately
1,000 signatories from 1976–79.12 Four leading Chartists, Petr Uhl,

10) Stárek’s estimate is cited in Jana Růžková’s thesis on Vokno, published as “Samiz-

datový časopis Vokno” in Kritický sborník 19, (1999–2000), pp. 193–231 (Bibliography
section – estimation mentioned on pp. 195–196).
11) The number of 242 “first wave” signatories is given in the publication: PREČAN,
Vilém (ed.), Charta 77, 1977–1989, Scheinfeld – Bratislava: Čs. středisko nezávislé kul-
tury – Archa, 1990, p. 13; the number of 241 signatories is given in the feature about
Charter 77 in Lidové noviny 20, no. 6 (8th January 2007), supplement Charta 77, p. III.
(The same issue of Lidové noviny reproduced photographs of a total of 256 original
“cards” with the signatures of the first signatories, i. e. there are 242 cards of the first
signatories + 14 “cards” of signatories whose signatures were not supposed to be
published at first, including Uhl’s  “duplicate” of the  card signed by Zbyněk Fišer,
i.e. Egon Bondy.)
12) From Charter 77’s  statements from 1977–79 it can be established that during
that period a total 1018 people signed it. Specifically: by the end of 1977 (statements
Nos. 1, 5, 8, 11 and 14) there were some 832 signatories [242 + 208 + 167 + 133 + 82]
(the  net figure of 167 signatories for Statement No. 8 is achieved by deducting
242 + 208 from 617 = 167); in 1978 (statements Nos. 17 and 20) 106 signatories; in

( 49 )
Jiří Gruntorád, František Stárek and Ivan Martin Jirous, were invit-
ed to express their opinion about the proportion of “people from
the underground” in the numbers given.13 It soon became clear,
unfortunately, that a  “survey” of this kind would not be possible
without detailed preliminary research into the “personal histories”
of the Charter 77 signatories, which has yet to be carried out. Only
František Stárek has managed to make more extensive and specific
comments on the matter.

People from the underground community were only represented

minimally in the  first wave of signatories of December 1976, and
most of them were “underground celebrities” also known outside
that circle. In addition to Jiří and Dana Němec, those signatories
included Vratislav Brabenec, Věra Jirousová, Svatopluk Karásek, Jan
Lopatka, Eugen Brikcius, Jan Šafránek, Aleš Březina, Olaf Hanel, and
Jiří Daníček, in addition to some others who tended not to be known
in dissident circles,14 and finally – let us suppose – Fišer-Bondy. That
proportion was natural and understandable.

1979 (Statements Nos. 25 and 27) 80 signatories; this accounts for the total of 1018
signatories for the  initial period. Comparison with the  number of new signatories
1980–1986: 1980: 48 signatories, 1981: 44 signatories, 1982: 36 signatories, 1983:
37  signatories, 1984: 25 signatories, 1985: 28 signatories, 1986: 31 signatories. At
the end of the 1980s the number of new signatories once more increased sharply:
1987: 69 signatories, 1988: 111 signatories, 1989 (to 30th September) 291 signatories.
These numbers are certainly not definitive as they do not take into account revoked
signatures, the signatures of secret police agents, the so-called “signatures held on
deposit” from the first wave, etc.
13) Our criteria for this classification are as follows: 1) people who prior to 1977
were entirely or mostly active in the underground community, and not in the cir-
cles of the known dissidents who subsequently set up Charter 77, with whom they
subsequently came in contact particularly through the intermediary of Jiří and Dana
Němec, or Ivan Jirous; 2) people who might have had (or did have) such connections,
but being largely old artist friends of Jirous from the 1960s, were mainly active in
the underground community in the early seventies (e.g. Andrej “Nikolaj” Stankovič,
Věra Jirousová, Eugen Brikcius, Jiří Daníček), they were essentially intellectuals,
university graduates, and qualified artists; 3) sui generis cases, such as Fišer-Bondy,
Jiří and Dana Němec, and Jan Lopatka.
14) Jiří Mrázek, Jana Převratská, Miluše Števichová, Zdeněk “Londýn” Vokatý and
Jan Schneider.

( 50 )
 Some of the leading figures in the underground were still in pris-
on, and none of the original “collectors of signatures” had any con-
tact with the support base of the underground, that would require
the assistance of Jirous who was still in jail. (According to Petr Uhl,
Jiří Němec, then the only “collector” to have contacts with people
from the Prague underground, decided at the time that at least in
this first wave there would be no attempt to get the signatures of
those people  – again for fairly obvious reasons.) The  overall pro-
portion of signatories from the underground in the first wave was
scarcely 6–7 percent.
The  very next wave, however, includes the  names of the  most
active members of the underground community. In addition to Ivan
and Juliana Jirous, they included Marie Benetková, Zbyněk Benýšek,
Ivan Bierhanzl, Jan Brabec, Petr Cibulka, Jaroslav Kukal, Jan and
Květa Princ, Miroslav Skalický, Karel Soukup, Andrej Stankovič,
František Stárek, Ilja Storoženko, Petr Taťoun, Vlastimil Třešňák,
Vladimír Voják, Dagmar Vokatá, Milan Vopálka, Josef Vondruška,
Pavel Zajíček, and Jaroslav Hutka, who was getting much closer
to the underground community at that time. But in addition there
were dozens and dozens, possibly hundreds of supporters of the un-
derground outside Prague, particularly in north and west Bohemia;
these were people whose names meant nothing either then or
now to the  intellectuals who organized the  Charter, and yet they
showed solidarity with the  Charter and deserve as much respect
as the  courage of the  leading Prague dissidents. On the  basis of
the established criteria, František Stárek has managed to identify
164 signatories for the years 1977–79.15 Ivan Jirous identified a fur-

15) The following is a list of all “underground signatories” from 1977–79 (i.e. inclu­
ding the seventeen in the first wave mentioned earlier), as provisionally identified on
the basis of our “survey” by František Stárek (numbers in brackets refer to individual
Charter statements where respective names are found: they are found only with
the names that could be mistaken with other signatories of the same name found
in other statements):

( 51 )
ther 7  signatories,16 which amount to 22 percent of the  total for
the given period, while the overall proportion of those signatories

Libor Albert, Ilektra Almeditu, Michaela Auerová, Vladimír Balabán, Ivan Bálek,
Zdeněk Bartoš, Jozef Benedek, Marie Benetková, Zbyněk Benýšek, Ivan Bierhanzl,
Pavel Blatný, Miloslav Boháček, Oto Bokroš, Jan Brabec, Petr Brousek, Zdeněk Buk,
Ladislav Cerman, Vladimír Cerman, Petr Cibulka, Ivan Černega, Jiří Černega, Michal
Černega, Hana Černohorská, Milan Daler, Josef Decastello, Blanka Dobešová, Antonín
Dolejš, Jiří Doležal, Karel Duda, Bára Dvořáčková, Růžena Faitová, Luděk Farkaš,
Jan Glanc, Viktor Groh, Richard Hamza, Karel “Kocour” Havelka, Jan Havlíček, Pavel
Heřman, Štefan “Timpo” Hiroš, František Hochmann, Stanislav Homola, Miroslav
“Alpín” Hrabáň, Jan Hrabina, Petr Hrach, Jan Hric, Jaroslav Hutka, František Cha-
lupecký, Jiří Chmel, Hana Chmelová-Pípalová, Jaroslav “Šimako” Chnapko, Miroslav
Ilek, Ivan Martin “Magor” Jirous, Juliana Jirousová, Zbyněk Jonák, Jaroslav Kabelka,
Antonín Kamiš, Zdeněk Kazík, Jan Kindl, Michal Kobal, Josef Kordík, Jan Kozlík, Ivan
Kožíšek, Jiří “Hubert” Kratochvíl (25), Karel Kraus (11), Vladimír Kroul, Jiří Křivský,
Jiří Kubíček, Věra Kubíčková-Kabešová, Jaroslav Kukal, Jaroslava Kušnírová, Lilian
Landová, Vendelín Laurenčík, Gabriel Levický, Jaroslav Linhart, Milan Linhart, Martin
Litomiský, Vladimír “Salám” Macák, Pavel Macháček, Vratislav “Quido” Machulka,
Ivan Maňásek, Vladimír Marek, Vlastimil Markytán, Petr Mašek, František Maštera,
Michal Matzenauer, Jitka Matzenauerová, František Maxera, Otakar “Alfréd” Michl,
Věra Mikulová, Jaroslav Mlejnek, Martina Mrázová, Vladimír Muzička, Pavel Myslín,
Marcela Němcová-Kubínová, Markéta Němcová-Fialková, Pavla Němcová-Paloušová,
David Němec, Ondřej Němec, Antonín Němejc, Vladimír Oborský, Jaroslava Odvárk-
ová, Jiří Olt, Pavel Opočenský, Věra Oppelová, Petr “Pinďa” Ouda, Josef Ouroda, Wal-
ter Pannc, František Pánek, Ladislav Papež, Viktor Parkán, Jan Pilnáček, Jaroslava
Pilnáčková, Marcela “Mašina” Pinterová, Milan Píša, Ladislav Plíva, Antonín “Banán”
Pojar, Jiří Popel, Jan Princ, Květa Princová, Petr Prokeš, Petr Ragan, Marie Raganová,
Vratislav Riedl, Ivana Riedlová, Olga Rychtářová-Hochmannová, Zora Rysová, Zdenka
Řeháková, Miroslav “Skalák” Skalický, Bohumír Slavík, Otakar Slavík, David Souček,
Karel “Čárli” Soukup, Marie Soukupová, Andrej “Nikolaj” Stankovič, František “Čuňas”
Stárek, Ilja Storoženko, Xenie Svobodová-Zavadilová, Jan Šafrata, Jan “Šejba” Šeba,
Vlastislav “Wasil” Šnajdr, Petr Taťoun, Petr Tomíšek, Tomáš Toulec, Vlastimil Třešňák,
Jiří Uhrín, Jan “Čágo” Unger, Jaroslav “Boví” Unger, Jaromír Urban, Jiří Vaněk (11), Josef
Vaněk, Jan Velát, Vladimír Voják, Dagmar Vokatá, Josef “Vaťák” Vondruška, Milan
“Dino” Vopálka, Lubomír Vydra, Robert Wittmann, Marian Zajíček, Pavel Zajíček,
Ladislav Zatori, Jiří Zelenka, Jitka Zelenková, Pavel Zeman.
16) Jirous identified the following seven signatories from 1977–79 and one signatory
from December 1976: Stanislav Borůvka, Luisa Geisslerová, Daniel Kumermann, Jan
Litomiský, Martin Novák, Jiří Pallas (1), Jan Patočka jr., Tomáš Petřivý; Milan Kozel-
ka subsequently drew attention to another four “underground signatories” from
the same period: Jiří “Dak” Horák (17), Zdeněk Piras, Jana Pirasová, Jiří Mário Volf.

( 52 )
is estimated by Stárek and Jirous at 40 to 45 percent. (These
­estimates can be compared to the  figures given by H. G. Skilling,
as quoted by Milan Otáhal in Opozice, moc, společnost 1969–1989;
Praha: ÚSD AV ČR – Maxdorf, 1994.)

Let us now consider the profile of the underground community

in the 1980s, in respect to its relations with Charter 77.
It is necessary to recall at the outset that the entire Charter 77
movement lost some of its initial dynamism at the  beginning of
the 1980s, and a number of significant changes occurred in the com-
munity of its signatories. The years 1980–1986, i.e., up to the rise
of Gorbachov, saw an addition of only 250 signatories to the initial
figure of just over a  thousand. The  campaign of intimidation con-
ducted by the  regime and secret police, particularly the  so-called
Asanace [Decontamination] operation17, aimed at forcing as many
Charter 77 leaders and acitivists into exile, or jail them, was suc-
cessful to a  large extent. In addition, secret police agents joined
the Charter ranks, as well as the – maybe even more morally deplor-
able – so-called “Charter tourists”, who saw in the Asanace operation
an opportunity to get a  one-way ticket out of the  country. In this
­connection it should be emphasised that the underground commu-
nity that was partly incorporated into the Charter probably suffered
more than any other “component” of the Charter from the campaign
of intimidation. The following are the gravest instances:
a) Ivan Jirous was in prison during the periods 1977–79, 1981–85
and 1988–89. In addition, during the years 1985–87 he was placed
under so-called “ochranný dohled” [protective surveillance], which
virtually prevented Jirous from continuing his activity as the most
agile organizer of underground cultural events. Although he contin-
ued to be probably the most important figure of the Czech under-
ground, Jirous’s direct influence on later underground and Charter
developoments was naturally minimized. (Václav Havel, the  main
supporter of cooperation with the underground in the Charter lead-
ership also spent the years 1979–83 in prison.)

17) Concerning operation “Asanace” see KOUTEK, Ondřej: “Akce ASANACE”; GRE-
GOR, Pavel: “Vyšetřování akce ASANACE”, Securitas imperii, 13, Praha 2006.

( 53 )
 b) Constant police harassment also bore fruit subsequently. Some
of the foremost underground artists, musicians and activists went
into enforced exile, including Pavel Zajíček, Svatopluk Karásek,
Vratislav Brabenec, Jiří Němec, Zbyněk Benýšek, Vlastimil Třešňák,
Eugen Brikcius, Josef Vondruška, Karel “Kocour” Havelka, Miroslav
Skalický, Karel “Charlie” Soukup, and Zdeněk “Londýn” Vokatý, as
well, of course, as dozens of other less known people.
c) The  last (albeit non-public) performances of the  two best-
known underground bands, The Plastic People of the Universe and
DG 307, took place in 1979 and 1981. The country cottages where
those final concerts were held were either confiscated and burnt
down in terrorist operations by the secret police, StB (the Princes’
house at Rychnov near Děčín, and the house of Jiří Velát at Kerhar-
tice near Česká Kamenice), or at least confiscated from their owners
(the house of Miroslav Skalický, Karel Havelka, and their friends at
Nová Víska near Kadaň).18 After Zajíček went into exile the  band
DG 307 fell apart; The Plastic People of the Universe continued to
exist, but after 1981 gave no further performances under its name,
not even in non-public venues.
d) A number of personalities who were very active in the under-
ground community before March 1976 went into “internal exile”,
chiefly as a  result of relentless police terror. By 1976, the  under-
ground community was far from identical to the  circle of Plastic
People fans from around 1970. In the words of Ivan Jirous “the faint-
hearted abandoned it”.19 But far more testing times were to arrive
at the end of the 1970s. We hasten to add that there could truly be
many more reasons for aversion to the “Chartist incorporation” of
the underground. Perhaps it should be recalled here that aversion

18) See the section: “The Plastic People of the Universe v datech” in RIEDEL, Jaroslav

(ed.), The Plastic People of the Universe: Texty, 2nd edition, Praha: Maťa, 2001, pp. ­22–23;
see also Jana Chytilová’s documentary film mentioned in Footnote 3.
19) In Chapter 5 of his Report on the  Third Czech Musical Revival (Footnote 4; Paul
Wilson’s  translation) Jirous writes about specific changes in the  band’s  line-up at
the beginning of the 1970s: “The group lost its professional status; weaker individu-
als left [highlighted by MM] and the core of the new Plastic People – around Hlavsa
and Janíček  – started off practically empty-handed with no equipment, only a  few
instruments and apparently nothing to fall back on [...].” That comment could apply
pars pro toto for the whole of the underground community at that time.

( 54 )
to the Charter – at least at the beginning – particularly towards its
ex-Communist leaders, was shared by former political prisoners of
the 1950s.20 For many “underground people”, however, it was rather
the case that they had an aversion to the de facto politicization of
underground cultural activity, or a  suspicion that certain leaders
of the Charter simply wanted to use the underground “masses” as
their “navvies” to achieve their latent political ambitions. So for
various reasons, at least outwardly, some of Jirous’ friends among
the  artists distanced themselves from the  Charter-Underground
community, such as Nepraš and Plíšková, as well as Milan Knížák,
of course, who had adopted a  critical stance towards the  under-
ground community much earlier, but also Jirous’s  brother-in-law,
the photographer and film maker Jan Ságl, whose work before 1976
provided posterity with precious photographic documentation of
underground art events.21 By 1977 Fišer-Bondy had also withdrawn
into a kind of internal exile when he started work on the enormous
task, planned several years in advance, of writing his own histo-
ry of philosophy, publishable in samizdat, which he entitled with
­excessive modesty Poznámky k dějinám filosofie [Notes on the History
of Philosophy] (1977–1990).22

20) The author is grateful to Jiří Gruntorád for pointing out that the attitude of former
political prisoners to Charter 77 can be gauged fairly objectively by the proportion
of former members of K  231 club of the  total number of signatories. Of particular
interest is the discovery that in the first wave of signatures (from December 1976),
which was in a certain sense “anonymous” as, apart from the “collectors” the first
signatories did not know who their co-signatories were until the list was published,
there was quite a high percentage of former members of K 231 club; this then fell
sharply. Regarding the attitude of former political prisoners to Charter 77, see also
the discussion “Byly to odlišné světy” [These were different worlds] (participants: Petr
Blažek, Petr Koura, Petruška Šustrová, and Jan Wünsch), Babylon 16, no. 5 (2007), p. 8.
21) When working on his contribution to the publication Alternativní kultura (ALAN,
Josef, ed.; Praha: NLN, 2001) the author spoke about this question with Jan Ságl, who
said regarding his aversion to the linkage between the underground community and
dissident circles something like: “Václav Havel came in one door and at that moment
left by another.” A similar formulation is found in Ságl’s book Tanec na dvojitém ledě
/ Dancing on the Double Ice, Praha: KANT, 2013.
22) Bondy’s Poznámky k dějinám filosofie [Notes on the History of Philosophy] were
published in samizdat in the years 1977–1987; initially the author divided the work
into thirteen samizdat instalments, the last of which, hypothetically the 14th instal-

( 55 )
 e) The  only further and relatively ongoing recording of under-
ground activities, which was once so rich and varied, was left to
samizdat (and “magnitizdat”) projects, particularly, the  magazine
Vokno, which was first published in July 1979 predominantly due
to the efforts of his editor František Stárek.23 However, the secret
police had some success here, as well. Stárek and his fellow editors
were jailed from 1981 to 1985, and the magazine was not published
during that period.

Thus at the beginning of the 1980s, the situation for the Charter

and for the  associated and non-associated underground commu-
nities seemed particularly hopeless. The underground community
was de facto fragmented and shattered. The people who had most
influenced underground activity were suddenly gone, the flock was
scattered, biblically speaking, without a shepherd.
Things eventually changed in 1985 when Vokno resumed publi-
cation, Jirous was released from prison for the fairly lengthy period
of three and a half years, and above all “the younger Czech under-
ground generation” came on the  scene, namely those associated
with the newly founded magazine Jednou nohou, the future Revolver
Revue. During that final phase of the Communist totalitarian regime,
when unofficial events gained increasing momentum with each
passing year, the  Czech underground adopted a  position distinct
from that of the  Charter. In a  series of polemics on the  pages of
Vokno, Revolver Revue, Infoch and other samizdat periodicals it was
again just Egon Bondy who attempted to draw a kind of “demarca-
tion line” between the “young people in the underground”, whose
spokesman he seemingly felt himself authorised to be, and Charter
77, which he mockingly described as the “shadow Establishment”.

ment, was never produced at the time in that form, because it was not completed
until 1990. It was subsequently published as a  printed edition in six volumes in
the Vokno book series in 1991–1997.
23) In her aforementioned work (Footnote 10) Jana Růžková gives some specific data:
issues 1 and 2 of Vokno came out in 1979, issue 3 in 1980, issues 4 and 5 in 1981.
Issue 6 was confiscated in November 1981 and was never subsequently reconstructed
and issued. Issue no. 7 then came out in spring 1985, i.e. after Stárek’s release from
prison in 1984, when he was still under so-called “ochranný dohled” [protective
surveillance].

( 56 )
 That phase of relations between the  Charter and the  under-
ground community was recently studied by Luboš Veselý24 and
somewhat earlier by Martin Palouš25. To summarise the  facts as
we know them so far, of which the most important elements are (i)
a controversy sparked in 1987 by the publication of Dopis signatářům
k 10. výročí Charty 77 [Letter to the Signatories on the 10th Anniver-
sary of Charter 77], which, among other things set out the problems
between the so-called “active core” of the Charter and its “passive
majority”, reflected on the  Charter’s  “generational problem”, and
issued a  call for the  convening of a  “Charter Forum”26; (ii) Anna
Šabatová’s unsuccessful attempt to have František Stárek appoint-
ed as one of the Charter 77 spokespersons, which was opposed by
Petruška Šustrová, Václav Benda, and Rudolf Slánský, among oth-
ers;27 (iii) the so-called Dopis 40 signatářů Charty 77 mluvčím [Letter
from 40 Charter 77 Signatories to Charter Spokepersons] drawn up
by in August 1987 by Stárek in collaboration with Fišer-Bondy;28
and the subsequent polemic on the pages of Infoch between Martin
Palouš and Luboš Vydra, among others;29 (iv) finally, the  fact that
all this eventually led to an agreement between Havel and Stárek
to organize the so-called 2nd “Charter Forum” that was held on 28th

24) See VESELÝ, Luboš, “Underground (Charty 77)”, in BLAŽEK, Petr (ed.), Opozice
a  odpor proti komunistickému režimu v  Československu 1968–1989 [Opposition and
the Resistance against the Communist Regime in Czechoslovakia 1968–1989], Praha:
Dokořán, Praha 2005.
25) See PALOUŠ, Martin, “Poznámky ke generačním sporům v  Chartě 77 v  druhé
polovině osmdesátých let”, in MANDLER, Emanuel (ed.), Dvě desetiletí před listo-
padem 89 [Two Decades before November 89], Praha: Ústav pro soudobé dějiny AV
ČR – Maxdorf, 1993.
26) See Charter 77 Document 3/87 (of 6th January 1987); see it also in PREČAN, Vilém
(ed.), Charta 77, 1977–1989, Scheinfeld – Bratislava: Čs. středisko nezávislé kultury –
Archa, 1990, pp. 307–322; see also OTÁHAL, Milan, Opoziční proudy v české společnosti
1969–1989, Praha: ÚSD AV ČR, 2011, pp.294–299.
27) See Luboš Veselý’s  above-mentioned study, pp.  115–116 (Footnote 24); see also
KUČEROVÁ, Lenka, “Vokno do undergroundu” (“Cyklus Charta: rozhovor s Františkem
Čuňasem Stárkem”), Nový prostor 4, no. 130 (2003), pp. 36–37.
28) See Informace o Chartě 77 10 , no. 10 (1987), pp. 8–10.
29) See Luboš Veselý’s above-mentioned study, p. 118. In hindsight it may seem almost
unbelievable that Dopis 40 signatářů, whose tone was friendly and almost deferential,
could have provoked such a panic reaction among some of the leading Chartists.

( 57 )
November 1987, at which, as Veselý emphasizes, the  influence of
the radical “youth wing” – i.e., de facto the part of the underground
supporting Stárek and Vokno  – prevailed to a  certain extent. To
quote Veselý: “In the controversy over whether Charter 77 should
convene public gatherings, the  view of the  more radical young-
er generation prevailed and a  recommendation was made to
the  Charter spokespersons, Jan Litomiský, Libuše Šilhánová and
Jan Vohryzek, that they should inform the appropriate authorities
that a demonstration would be held to mark Human Rights Day on
10th December 1987.”30
To these familiar facts, which nevertheless tend to be forgotten
these days, it only remains to add a  reflection on what role Egon
Bondy, the  self-appointed “shadow spokesperson” of the  under-
ground Chartist “faction” or wider underground support base,
actually played in them. In his study, Luboš Veselý cites a  source
with the  title Výkaz preventivních opatření provedených útvarem
čs. kontrarozvědky [Report of preventive measures undertaken by
Czechoslovak counter-intelligence],31 which confirms the fact that
in the second half of the 1980s Fišer-Bondy was repeatedly coerced
by the secret police (StB) into a certain degree of collaboration, and
was placed into the category of “důvěrník” [confidant] with the code-
name “Oskar”. Veselý also quotes from that source the sentence: “In
June 1987 OSKAR was directed to compile some material capable
of creating controversy to be disseminated among Charter 77 cir-
cles. In July the text was prepared by OSKAR and was disseminat-
ed in August 87 by Charter 77 signatory František Stárek.” Veselý
also points out that by the  1980 a  good number of underground
and Charter activists realized that during police interrogations

30) See ibidem. The  number of participants in what was in fact the  first public
­appearance by the  Chartists, albeit without official permission yet, which took
place on the Old Town Square in Prague, was estimated at almost three thousand
by František Stárek in the above-mentioned interview with Kučerová (Footnote 27),
and he evidently considered that he and likeminded people in the  Charter should
take the credit for its organization.
31) In this connection Veselý refers to “a document produced by the 3rd section of
Department 1 of Administration X of the National Security Corps (SNB) of 17th ­October
1987”; he does not state where the document is archived however, or whether it can
be accessed by the public; see Veselý’s above-mentioned study p. 117.

( 58 )
Fišer-Bondy “committed many indiscretions, although they knew
nothing about his direct collaboration with the  secret police”. He
concedes, however, that the Letter from 40 Charter 77 Signatories was
truly Stárek’s initiative, that Fišer’s “controlling officer” could sim-
ply have “taken credit” for it, and most importantly, that if the StB
were planning  – particularly as part of “Operation Wedge”32  – to
sow dissension in the  Charter community by using Fišer-Bondy,
for instance, or by taking advantage of Stárek’s enthusiasm – they
failed in their aim, and in fact had the  opposite effect. At its
“2nd Forum”, the Charter was markedly radicalised, and the “passive
majority” became active. So it would only be a slight exaggeration
to say that for the  second time underground activists provided
the dissident intellectuals with a stimulus that gave rise to major
events – the events of 1987–88 that culminated in November 1989.
By now it is clear that Fišer-Bondy’s actual contribution to those
events will never be totally clarified, because part of his file, which
documented his collaboration with the StB in that final period, was
allegedly shredded. However, in this connection it is worth recalling
a number of lesser known facts.
It is possibly no exaggeration to say that in the  second half of
the  1980s Bondy was the  most active member of the  old under-
ground guard, being the  only remaining underground intellectual
who still felt like theorising about the “mission of the underground”.
Jirous simply didn’t have the time or space to do anything like that,
and all the others who could and should have had something to say
about it were in exile. And it is undeniable that “Bondy the  poet”
enjoyed truly enormous authority among the younger underground
generation, in spite of the  fact that even in the  period 1976–77
(when, as would eventually emerge after 1989, he really didn’t col-
laborate with the StB, and on the contrary was classified as a “hos-
tile person”) he was willing to divulge far too much during police
interrogations.33 It was due to his natural plebeian behaviour, and

32) Regarding it see ŽÁČEK, Pavel, “Celostátní projekt ‘Klín’” [Nation-wide Operation
‘Wedge’] Securitas imperii, 1, Praha 1994, pp. 60–87.
33) The  first person to draw attention to this was Ivan Jirous in 1979 in his essay
“Zasadil jsem vám osiku, pane doktore!” [I’ve planted you an aspen tree, Doctor!] in
which he writes specifically: “When they were ‘closing the  file’ and I  was reading
the  testimonies by over a  hundred people, which it contained, the  only testimony

( 59 )
his readiness to listen to absolutely anyone who visited him, even
a totally unknown budding samizdat author, as Petr Placák, Jáchym
Topol, and J. H. Krchovský, among others, have testified.34 But it was
also the legend about him, the legend of a poet who, as he himself
said, was “in the  underground since 1948”, his uncompromising
stance on matters of art and publication, his gift of perceiving
problems from a perspective that was broader than just a few years
or decades, and, when all is said and done, his charm, spontaneity,
and diligence. It was his poetry that truly influenced almost every
author of the underground. The pages of Vokno were always open
to Bondy, so that at one time it looked as if Bondy was willing to
turn the magazine into something like his “notebook”; he was also
welcome at Revolver Revue. However, as his resentment against
the Charter’s “shadow Establishment” gradually increased and be-
came almost paranoid, his “young friends” were no longer willing to
mutely swallow it. Significant in this respect was his polemic with
Ivan Lamper regarding just three chapters of Bondy’s  prose work
Bezejmenná [Nameless] (samizdat 1986, printed edition 2001)35:
“Na Žabinci” [In the  Frogpond Pub], “Plovárna” [Swimming Pool]
and “VOKNO”. In passages inserted into texts with totally different
subject-matter, Bondy – not for the first time, but now with extreme
passion and indiscriminately – attacked the “shadow Establishment”
of the  Charter, and in particular its “pro-American wing”; he also
criticised “the detachment of the local dissidents” from the current

that shocked me was Bondy’s. He was the  only one to betray every little thing to
them. Not only did he tell them everything he knew, and everything they asked, he
told them much more, and at that time I couldn’t find the words to qualify his treach-
ery.” In the same essay, however, he had high praise for Bondy’s poetry, prose, and
philosophical essays. Those reflections should still be regarded as the starting point
for any further study of Bondy’s  literary oeuvre. The  essay is included in Magorův
zápisník, Praha: Torst, 1997, pp. 419–430.
34) Bondy is spoken of in this way by Placák, Krchovský, Topol and several others,
including in Jordi Niubo’s  documentary film Fišer alias Bondy (see Footnote 7);
­Krchovský writes about Bondy’s intense influence on his work in the afterword to
the publication of his juvenilia; see “Doslov (pokračovatele) autora”, in /KRCHOVSKÝ/,
J. H., Mladost – radost..., Brno (Czech Republic): Větrné mlýny, 2005.
35) The  2nd printed edition (Praha: Akropolis, 2019) of the  book contains detailed
comments on the facts and pseudofacts found in the three discussed chapters.

( 60 )
problems of Czech youth, having promoted himself to be their
tribune; elsewhere he mocked those who were attached to civil
liberties, and he developed a theory – which was a fairly overt de-
fence of the Soviet system – that the “age of freedom” – i.e. the age
of human rights – is over”. Certain passages of those texts actually
assume the form of pamphlets whose content is almost denunciato-
ry. Lamper – under the pseudonym Horna Pigment – responded very
vehemently on the pages of Issue 6 of Jednou nohou / Revolver Revue
(1987) in an article “Zpívá hlasitě, ale falešně” [He sings loudly, but
out of tune].36 This was not only the first attempt to criticise Bondy
by an author from the circle of underground journalists, but indeed
the first radical and detailed critique of his attitudes to the Char-
ter (and also his literary output of the previous years), which was
possibly no less a shock for Bondy’s devotees than the Letter from
40 Signatories was for leading Chartists a  year later. The  polemic
had three interesting ramifications:
1) About a  year after his critique of Bondy on the  pages of Re-
volver Revue, Lamper spoke at a meeting of Chartist writers at Ivan
Klíma’s (1988),37 where they discussed contributions to the samizdat
magazine Obsah. Surprisingly, he criticised the writers as being elit-
ist, attention-seeking, and inward-looking, using expressions that
could have been borrowed from Bondy’s “ideological arsenal”. His
arguments were suddenly fully in tune with the Letter from 40 Sig-
natories.38 These abrupt shifts of opinion in one of the most influ-
ential editors of the Revolver Revue are evidence, at the very least,
of how rapidly and dynamically opinions about the actual mission
of the  dissident formations  – the  latent opposition in totalitarian
Czechoslovakia in the late 1980s – started to polarize and be refined.
2) The text of the relevant passage (in the chapter titled “VOK-
NO”) in Bondy’s  Nameless certainly does beg the  question: where
did the  author’s  sudden hatred spring from, all that almost fren-

36) This article is included in the documentation section of the anthology ALAN, Josef

(ed.), Alternativní kultura, Praha: NLN, 2001, pp. 550–556.
37) See the documentary film used in the 4th episode of Andrej Krob’s TV serial Sam-
izdat, Czech Television, 2002.
38) It is worth noting that among those present Karel Pecka reacted with irritation,
Ludvík Vaculík with irony verging on self-irony, while Václav Havel was the only one
to respond dispassionately and with understanding.

( 61 )
zied detestation of the  Charter’s  leaders? (It must be noted that
Bondy had only conciliatory words for his old friend Petr Uhl.) It
also unfortunately begs the question: cui bono? in respect of it all.
But maybe the  study even of documents such as these can help
clarify something of the internal mental development, and ideolo­
gical diversification in the history of Czech dissent in general and
the Charter in particular.
3) It is also remarkable that some of the wording of the Letter to
the Signatories on the 10th Anniversary of Charter 77 reacts to a certain
extent to some of the rebukes voiced by Bondy in Nameless, although
there is naturally no specific reference in the Letter to the passages
in question. We have in mind the reflections on the need for “gener-
ational renewal”, the effort to involve more of the Charter’s “passive
majority”, such as by means of the proposed organisation of “Charter
Fora”. It cannot be ruled out, of course, that Bondy helped through
his work to create different currents of opinion in the Charter, albe-
it his original intention might have been something quite different,
that his infamous text helped write the last chapter in the history of
the remarkable and sometimes contradictory symbiosis of the Char-
ter 77 and underground communities.

2007
Translated by Gerald Turner

( 62 )
4 . I D E O L O G I C A L O R I E N TAT I O N A N D P O L I T I C A L
V I E W S A N D S TA N D P O I N T S O F R E P R E S E N TAT I V E S
OF CZECH UNDERGROUND CULTURE, 1969–1989
(UNDERGROUND AND DISSIDENCE – ALLIES
OR ENEMIES?)

The political, ideological orientation of Czech or Slovak representa-

tives of the underground movement that existed in the country dur-
ing the decades of totalitarian system can be adequately interpreted
only within the framework of the political ideas of the entirety of
Central and East European dissidence. As there have already been
published many works written by eminent British, Canadian or
American historians (some of whom will be quoted later on) who
have dealt with these and related topics, let me only remind you
of some of the obvious implications that seem to be relevant to us.
When looking back at the  dissident movements that existed
behind the Iron Curtain in the 1970s and 1980s, or even earlier, we
cannot ignore:
a) The  rich ideological variety that existed within each East
European dissident group despite the fact that each of them were
labelled by the  Communist Party bosses and their henchmen as
“hopeless efforts by isolated individuals in the pay of Western impe-
rialists”, as “anti-Soviet activity”, “anti-socialist”, “anti-working class
plots” on the one hand – and on the other, in the West, as “demo-
cratic”, “anti-totalitarian”, “freedom-loving” movements – regardless
of their actual aims and ambitions.
b) The  fact, that in each Central and East European country
in which a  dissident movement existed at least in its embryonic
phase, the  political and ideological ambitions of such movement
were largely subject to the  political and social structure that
existed in each of the  respective countries before the  establish-
ment of the  communist regime. Such revivals of local traditions
in some cases rather contradicted what the  West supposed were
the  freedom-loving, pro-democratic character of all dissident,
­anti-communist movements. Moreover, some of them were headed
by the  ex-Communist Party proponents and apparatchiks, which
often lead to misunderstanding and bitterness on the side of more
naïve western supporters of these movements.

( 63 )
 c) The weak democracies in Central European countries, includ-
ing today’s Czech Republic and the truly pseudo-democratic system
in today’s Russia can be perceived as sad evidence of such historic
developments.
Just a  few examples: the  complete lack of any experience with
a  pluralistic, democratic system in pre-revolutionary Russia ena-
bled not only the  smooth establishment of Stalinism with all its
consequences, but also the ideological orientation of a number of
its opponents. The Russian (or Soviet) dissidence comprised anti-Se-
mitic, racist, chauvinistic tendencies, often idealizing the heritage of
Russian Orthodox church, sometimes even denouncing “the rotten
West” with the same vehemence as the Communist Party propagan-
da – suffice to recall Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.
The  dissident movement in Poland faced similar problems
resulting from the  country’s  pre-war political regime: the  strong
nationalistic, anti-Russian, anti-German, anti-Semitic, religious,
Roman Catholic tradition often contradicted the ambitions of true
democrats among Polish dissidents.
In Slovakia, there were attempts among the few local dissidents
to glorify the  Clerical Fascist regime that existed in the  country
during WW II.
The  GDR dissidents, as far as their ideological orientation was
concerned, were mostly subject to the political development in West
Germany, or at least they had to put up with it, a fact that more or
less guaranteed their democratic orientation. Nevertheless, there
also existed another social undercurrent in the GDR, which r­ esulted
in a neo-Nazi movement in “neue Bundesländer” after German re-
unification.
Seen in such a context, the Czech Lands, i.e., the Czech-speaking
part of Czechoslovakia, with its relatively strong pre-war democratic,
pluralistic tradition, was rather exceptional in the history of the dis-
sident movement behind the Iron Curtain: the Charter 77 movement
being perhaps the best example of such heritage. It is a well-known
fact that Charter 77 united a large number of Czech and Slovak dissi-
dents of the most varied denomination and of very different political
backgrounds and affiliations, starting with former Communist Party
members such as Ludvík Vaculík, Jiří Dienstbier or Pavel Kohout, or
even ex-apparatchiks such as Jiří Hájek, Jaroslav Šabata or Zdeněk

( 64 )
Mlynář, through non-communists or democrats of Masaryk’s  per-
suasion (e.g., Jan Patočka, Václav Černý, Václav Havel), via genuine
anti-communists (e.g., Karel Pecka and most of the former political
prisoners of the 1950s), to Catholic priests (e.g., Josef Zvěřina) and
even to some non-communist leftists (e.g., Petr Uhl or Jiří Müller) –
but definitely no persons burdened with racist or fascist heritage.
Perhaps only such a rich variety of Czech and Slovak dissidents,
who came to be united by their aversion and resistance to this to-
talitarian, fundamentally anti-pluralistic, anti-democratic, and, as
a matter of fact, anti-socialist regime could be ready to incorporate
the Czech musical underground community and its culture.
Since quite a lot of attention from the side of historians has al-
ready been given:
a) to the variety of cultural activities of the Czech underground
community existing within the  given delimitation: i.e., activities
developing not only in rock music, but also in the field of literature,
arts, samizdat book production, journalism and so on;
b) to the dominant ideas, main political views and standpoints of
the best known representatives of Czechoslovak dissidence within
the  given period, especially to the  most important and influential
part of it, as it was represented by the  Charter 77 movement, we
would like to concentrate our attention on less well-known ideas,
views and standpoints of “spiritual leaders” of Czech underground
culture, which cannot by any means be identified with the  views
prevailing in the  Charter 77 movement because at the  very least
the underground movement preceded the foundation of Charter 77
by several years.
Now, within the scope of Czech underground culture there occurs
an issue of primary importance, that has to be answered first of all:
What was really meant by the  notion of “underground” by those
who coined it? Because if the concept “underground” were only to
serve as a label for a certain style of music or certain orientation in
the arts and literature, we would hardly have any matter to discuss.
However, the English term “underground” as it was being used in
Czech culture undoubtedly referred to a specific world view, a spe-
cific orientation in life; it was to denote a specific system of values,
all of which can be adequately interpreted and evaluated only within
a concrete social and political framework.

( 65 )
 What is mostly understood by the  notion of “underground cul-
ture” in Czechoslovakia within the two decades between 1969–1989
follows from the characteristics, or if you like a delimitation, given
by Ivan Martin Jirous, one of the leading figures of the Czech under-
ground movement, in his manifesto Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním
obrození [Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival], written and
published in samizdat in 19751. The  English term of the  so called
“underground” can only be applied to a  certain part of indepen­
dent, anti-totalitarian, unofficial cultural activities: i.e., those that
can be traced and identified in the community that had gradually
gathered around the rock group The Plastic People of the Universe
during the first half of the 1970s and which went on to be surpri­
singly productive until the end of the 1980s. Looking more closely
at Ivan M. Jirous’s Report, his “manifesto” of 1975, we can identify
a  survey of some previous ideas and views that the  author found
instrumental for the formulation of his own ideas with the help of
which he managed to express the  leading principles of the  Czech
underground movement. Thus, we should first discuss the ideas of
Jirous’ “underground forerunners” on the one hand, and those parts
of the ideological background of the given era that generated such
ideas and subsequently led to the main principles of Czech under-
ground culture on the other.
It is undeniable that it was the  entirety of the  “cultural revo-
lution” of the  1960s of which the  Beat generation in the  U.S., or
the post-war French or German Existentialists were only early sig-
nals, that in its most radical modifications led to a certain kind of
re-evaluation of traditional Western values. It was not just the 1960s
in the West, but partially in what was then “the East”, too, that saw
massive changes in the established system of values. Let me only re-
mind you of the immense role of the innovations in aesthetics and in
the whole of the life-style as started by rock’n’roll music, the Beatles,
the hippies, “flower power”, the drug culture, that later generated

1) The text was first published in English (in Paul Wilson’s translation) in The Merry

Ghetto, a catalogue added to the record The Plastic People... Prague. Egon Bondy’s Hap-
py Hearts Club Banned, London – Paris: Boží Mlýn & SCOPA Invisible Production, 1978;
most recently in Views from the  Inside. Czech Underground Literature and Culture
(1948–1989), Praha: Ústav české literatury a literární vědy FF UK, 2006; 2nd edition:
Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018.

( 66 )
more selfconscious anti-war movements, the so-called “sexual revo-
lution”, various anti-establishment movements, the ideas of cultural
“autonomy”, early environmentalist and ecological movements,
left-wing, anarchistically oriented university disruptions, Abbie
Hoffman’s and Jerry Rubin’s Yippies and so on – as far as the ideas
of cultural “underground”. And all of them could be understood as
attempts at creating independent, “autonomous”, non-alienated
social “substructures”.

Indeed, the 1960s represented a fantastic cultural and ideological

ferment the importance of which was later on deliberately blurred
by the  world of show-business and fashion, although it is also
a well-known fact that not all the ideas generated by the 1960s were
necessarily those of an anti-dogmatic, anti-indoctrination character.
Nevertheless the vague, but certainly not politically indoctrinated,
brotherhood and sisterhood of long-haired hippies for the  most
part proved to be quite influential in promoting tolerance and
re-evaluating values, in its effort to defy the political and cultural
establishment of the day. And it was exactly such spontaneous ideas
that formed the cultural background when the Czech underground
movement began to take shape.

Therefore, if we were to trace the most important sources of ideas

that gave the decisive impetus to the Czech underground movement,
instead of studying various theories of the  so-called “counter-cul-
ture” we had better look for the ideas rendered: e.g., in lyrics and
music by Lou Reed, Ed Sanders and Tuli Kupferberg, or David Peel.
Almost the  entire world of Czech underground was predicated in
songs such as I’m Beginning to See the  Light by the  Velvet Under-
ground, Everybody’s  Smoking Marijuana by David Peel, or Nothing
or How Sweet I  Roamed from Field to Field by the  Fugs. Had it not
been such a spontaneous movement lacking any concrete political
programme, the  Czech underground movement, like other move-
ments both in the West and in the East, would have never built on
its strength and endurance and could never have become so varied.
However, as is usual in all social and cultural movements, even
the  so-called underground communities generated theoreticians
who attempted to formulate the “guidelines” for such movements.

( 67 )
Ivan M. Jirous in his above-mentioned Report on the Third Czech Mu-
sical Revival mentions e.g., some of Jeff Nuttall’s ideas in the book
Bomb Culture (1968)2, then, of course, he quotes the  well-known,
though somewhat enigmatic words by Marcel Duchamp about
how “the  great artist of tomorrow will go underground”, and he
also paraphrases some statements by Ralf-Rainer Rygulla whom he
mentions directly in one of his articles written as early as 19693.
Yet one more important source of ideas that might have inspired
him to formulate some of his own thoughts about the underground
culture was the book Do It! by Jerry Rubin (1970)4. It is known from
other sources that Jirous was acquainted with Rubin’s book as early
as the beginning of the 1970s. Since it is especially Duchamp and
Rygulla whose ideas seem to be most influential, we should have
a  closer look at their texts quoted or paraphrased by Jirous, also
because they no longer seem to be very well known nowadays.5
Marcel Duchamp himself recalls the  moment when he uttered
his famous statement in Philadelphia in 1961 in a conversation with
Jean Neyens, which took place only four years later, i.e., in 1965, and
in which he said: […] on m’avait demandé “Où allons-nous?” Moi j’ai
simplement dit: “Le grand bonhomme de demain se cachera. Ira sous
terre.” En anglais c’est mieux qu’en français: “Will go underground.”
Il faudra qu’il meure avant d’être connu […]6.
Duchamp’s  idea actually emphasizes the  necessity for artists,
providing they really want to remain actual artists, to be unknown,

2) NUTTALL, Jeff, Bomb Culture, New York: Delacorte Press, 1968.

3) JIROUS, Ivan M., “The  Primitives Group  – česká tvář undergroundu”, Sešity pro
literaturu a  diskusi 4, no. 30 (1969), pp.  49–50; see also idem, in Magorův zápisník,
Praha: Torst, 1997, pp. 692–696.
4) RUBIN, Jerry, Do It! Scenarios of the Revolution, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1970.
5) Not only in Jirous’s texts of the 1970s and 80s, but also in texts of any other Czech
underground (samizdat) writers of those decades there is no mention of perhaps
the most prominent theoretician of the western “counter-culture”, Theodore ROSZAK,
especially of his book The Making of a Counter Culture (New York: Doubleday, 1969).
Roszak’s ideas, the fact he saw the principal evil in modern technocracy rather than
in communism, fascism or any other kind of traditional ideology, might have been
close to Czech dissidents and underground writers.
6) See http://www.toutfait.com/issues/volume2/issue_4/interviews/md_jean
/md_jean.html

( 68 )
to escape the attention of the world of commerce, of a market econo­
my, but his idea perfectly corresponds with one of the  principal
concerns of the Czech underground community that had to try to
escape the attention of other “devils” in the 1970s.
As far as Ralf-Rainer Rygulla is concerned, the passage that roused
Jirous’ interest is found in his epilogue written for an anthology of an
Anglo-German collection of underground poetry published first in
Darmstadt in 1968 under the title Fuck You! Underground Gedichte7.
There he says among other things: “Der von Ed Sanders geforderte
‘totale Angriff auf die Kultur’ kann nicht durch systemimmanente
Kritik erfolgen, sondern durch Kritik von außen, d.h. von Kriminel-
len, Süchtigen und Farbigen […] Die Leute vom Underground haben
erkannt, daß innerhalb der Legalität nichts mehr verändert kann.”
Jirous’ concept of the  so-called “second culture” was undoubtedly
strongly influenced by some of Rygulla’s ideas.
Now, as far as Jirous’ Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival is
concerned a few preliminary remarks seem to be necessary: Jirous
wrote the text in February 1975: i.e., at a moment when the Czech
underground movement was in full swing, so to say. Therefore,
being one of the  “fathers” of the  entire movement, he probably
felt obliged not only to offer a kind of the “theoretical defence” of
the movement, but also to describe it in terms comprehensible to
other formations or groupings of Czechoslovak dissidence, a fact
which actually made out of his Report one of the first attempts at
opening a  dialogue within the  whole of the  Czechoslovak “unof-
ficial world”. Jirous’ Report thus mostly contains a  description of
the  variety of the  underground community’s  artistic activities,
and the  “ideological aspects” are only included as an addendum:
undoubtedly due to the fact that they did not play a very important
role. Nevertheless, they are found there and can be summed up in
the following quotation8:

I have often used the term “underground” and twice the term “second

culture”. In conclusion, we should make clear what this is. In Bohemia,

7) RYGULLA, Ralf-Rainer (ed.), Fuck You! Underground Gedichte, Darmstadt: Josef

Melzer Verlag, 1968; 2nd edition: Frankfurt/M.: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1980.
8) See Views from the Inside, op. cit., p. 30–31.

( 69 )
the  underground is not tied to a  definite artistic tendency or style,
though in music, for example, it is expressed largely through rock music.
The underground is a mental attitude of intellectuals and artists who
consciously and critically determine their own stance towards the world
in which they live. It is the  declaration of a  struggle against the  es-
tablishment, the  regime. It is a  movement that works chiefly through
the various art forms but whose representatives are aware that art is not
and ought not to be the final aim of an artist’s efforts. The underground
is created by people who have understood that within the  bounds of
legality nothing can be changed, and who no longer even attempt to
function within those bounds. Ed Sanders of the Fugs put it very clearly
when he declared a total “attack on culture”.
This attack can be carried out only by people who stand outside that
culture. […] Two absolutely necessary characteristics of those who have
chosen the underground as their spiritual home are rage and humility.
Anyone lacking these qualities will not be able to live in the  under-
ground. It is a  sad and frequent phenomenon in the  West, where, in
the early 1960s, the idea of the underground was theoretically formu-
lated and established as a  movement, that some of those who gained
recognition and fame in the underground came into contact with official
culture (for our purposes, we call it the first culture), which enthusiasti-
cally accepted them and swallowed them up as it accepts and swallows
up new cars, new fashions or anything else. In Bohemia, the situation is
essentially different, and far better than in the West, because we live in
an atmosphere of absolute agreement: the first culture doesn’t want us
and we don’t want anything to do with the first culture. This eliminates
a temptation that for everyone, even the strongest artist, is the seed of
destruction: the  desire for recognition, success, the  winning of prizes
and titles and last but not least, the material security which follows.
In the West many people who, because of their mentality, would perhaps
belong among our friends, live in confusion. Here the lines of demarca-
tion have been drawn clearly once and for all. Nothing that we do can
possibly please the representatives of official culture because it cannot
be used to create the impression that everything is in order. For things
are not in order.[…] The  aim of the  underground here in Bohemia is
the creation of a second culture: a culture that will not be dependent
on official channels of communication, social recognition, and the hier-
archy of values laid down by the establishment; a culture which cannot

( 70 )
 have the destruction of the establishment as its aim because in doing
so, it would drive itself into the establishment’s embrace […]

As Jirous is quite explicit in his characteristic of what he calls

“underground” and “second culture” not much comment on the quot-
ed passage seems necessary. It is obvious that Jirous was trying to
compose a kind of “underground apology” by employing the theo-
retical arsenal of some of his predecessors. His concept of the “sec-
ond culture” seems to be influenced by Rygulla’s  postulate: in its
stress upon the necessity of its becoming absolutely independent
of the so-called “first”, i.e. the established culture, a fact which met
with criticism on the  side of some Czechoslovak dissidents, and
even on the  side of some of his underground colleagues. Also his
preference for the  “situation in Bohemia”, i.e. in Czechoslovakia,
must have raised a few eyebrows, to say nothing of his “millenarian”,
“chiliastic” vision of the future of the country (“lines of demarcation
drawn once and for all”).
However, the political and cultural situation in the mid 1970s in
Czechoslovakia seemed so hopeless that Jirous’ radical standpoints
were welcomed by many of his friends as legitimate and justifiable.
One of the natural consequences of such radicalism was of course
the impossibility of opening any dialogue with the representatives of
the “first culture”, to say nothing of the “representatives of power”.
On the other hand, it became apparent that there was a danger of
the underground community getting close to some religious sectar-
ians living in seclusion from the majority of society.
Jirous’ radical, almost extremist ideas were akin to the poet and
philosopher Egon Bondy, who next to Jirous is probably the  most
influential of all Czech underground writers. Moreover, he was
active in producing political and social theories and hypotheses.
Bondy’s case was unique and is relatively well-known today since
dozens of his books have already been published in Czech, some of
them also in translations into foreign languages9. Having published
all his poetry and most of his philosophy since the late 1940s only

9) In English, see e.g. The Merry Ghetto, op. cit.; “Cellar Work” [an excerpt from a no-
vella + selected poems], Yazzyk Magazine, no. 1 (1992); “Berta. Part Three. Section
XXII” [an excerpt from a novella], Yazzyk Magazine, no. 4 (1995); The Plastic People of
the Universe, Praha: Maťa, 1999; The Consolation of Ontology. On the Substantial and

( 71 )
in samizdat and having always declared himself a radical Marxist
of an anti-Soviet line, i.e. first as a Trotskyist, later on as a Maoist,
Bondy was an extremely rare bird in the  world of Czechoslovak
dissidence. His opposition to any kind of political establishment, his
utopian / dystopian interpretation of radical leftist trends brought
him to the  underground community as early as the  beginning of
the 1970s – and he soon became a kind of a “living legend” there.
His provocative “anti-poetic”, “totally realistic” poems were set
to music by The  Plastic People, and his dystopian novel Invalidní
sourozenci [The Disabled Siblings]10, written in 1974, became a sort
of a  “holy scripture” for the  Czech underground community of
the 1970s. In the novel, Bondy presents his vision of a distant future,
where there would be no more bonds and communication between
the majority society and the minority society of underground peo-
ple who would have managed to establish a community absolutely
independent of a future version of the “first culture” of consumers
and warmongers. In the situation of the country’s isolation during
the 1970s, Bondy’s fiction exerted a powerful influence on the under-
ground community with its prophetic, visionary aspects. No wonder
Bondy was one of those figures of the  underground community
who could not cope with the  “minimalist”, law-obeying principles
of Charter 77 and became one of its critics and even denounced
the alleged “shadow establishment” of Charter 77 in the later years
and instead was ready to offer his own, somewhat confused ideas of
what we could call “undergroundism” by which he tried to renounce
and denounce everything but the  underground culture itself.11

Nonsubstantial Models, Lanham  – Boulder  – New York  – Oxford: Lexington Books,

2001.
10) The novel was first published in Czech by the Toronto-based Czech publishing
house Sixty-Eight Publishers (1981), and later three times in Czechoslovakia / Czech
Republic (last time: Praha: Akropolis, 2012). It was translated into Italian as Fratelli
invalidi, Milano: Eleuthera, 1993; into German as Die Invaliden Geschwister, Heidel-
berg: Elfenbein, 1999; also into Slovenian as Invalidna sorojenca, Vnanje Gorice: Police
Dubove, 2017; parts of it were also translated into Polish and Hungarian.
11) Bondy did so in the 1980s in some articles that he published in the underground
samizdat magazine Vokno, and was especially explicit about it in his novel Bezejmen-
ná [Nameless], 1986; first published in samizdat in the same year, first published by
regular printing presses only in 2001, next in 2019 in a commented edition (Praha:

( 72 )
­ evertheless even with such ideas, rather than with his own version
N
of political radicalism of a Maoist orientation, Bondy did represent
a part of the Czech underground community in its political or social
ambitions, although it must be noted he became largely popular
not because of these, but because of his excellent poetry, his sense
of humour and self-irony otherwise so rare in thinkers of his kin.
On the  other hand, for a  part of the  more conservative figures of
Czechoslovak dissidence, Bondy represented the very incarnation
of the  dreaded underground community with which the  “decent
dissidents” should have nothing in common.
However, it would be one-sided if Bondy’s and Jirous’ views were
to be presented as only aimed at an apology of a kind of “splendid
isolation” of the  underground community, thus indeed echoing,
recalling some kind of millenarian sectarians. In a  number of his
poems, even essays and treatises, Bondy provocatively and directly
calls for an immediate overthrow of the totalitarian regime, of “Sovi-
et Fascism” – and not only in Czechoslovakia or in the Soviet block,
but everywhere in the world: he demands the immediate initiation
of what used to be called “world revolution” and the establishment
of real, “direct” democracy in the  name of the  salvation of all hu-
manity, renouncing all versions of “class society” and “exploitation
of human labour”.
For example, in his text titled Tzv. “Březnová báseň 1971”, čtená na
veřejném shromáždění [The So-Called “March Poem 1971” – Read at
a Public Gathering, 1971]12 he says among other things:

When I was twenty they executed Záviš Kalandra / who was then more
to me than my own father / A few years later they nearly executed me /
and now Petr Uhl and thirteen other comrades / have been convicted and

Akropolis): here his self-appointed defence or apology of “underground autonomy”

and his criticism were mostly addressed to the supposed “shadow establishment” of
Charter 77. On the other hand, his apology met with negative reactions from some
underground essayists and reviewers themselves  – e.g. Ivan Lamper or Alexandr
Vondra at that time writing mostly for the underground magazine Revolver Revue.
12) See the Czech original in Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho VII – Básnické sbírky z let
1971–1974, Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1992, pp. 40–43; also in Básnické spisy II – 1962–
1975, Praha: Argo, 2015, pp. 346–351; see the English translation by Anna Bryson +
Jana Klepetářová, Yazzyk Magazine, no. 1 (1992), pp. 20–23.

( 73 )
 are on their way to Jáchymov / again only because they are Marxists all
of them / my comrades who with me / unmask the state-capitalist sys-
tem – that creature of the Soviet Union – / and the colony that’s called our
own country / only because they are Marxists / and point the finger at
the base alliance of international state capitalists / and our total enslave-
ment […] True – it is clearly impossible to start fighting with your bare
hands and right out of nowhere / but whoever remains a human being /
must be ready from this day and this hour / because the state-capitalist
regime has to be destroyed / only don’t ever again allow yourselves to be
pushed around by professional apparatchiks – like in 1968 – / by those
Svobodas, Dubčeks and Černíks / who (why should they?) don’t really
want to change a regime which created them – a regime they live off /
You must always be aware that socialism / is no more and no less / than
society organized for self-government / and so all powers are in your
hands / if you will only use them / And take to heart at this moment /
the words of Mao Tse-Tung / that liberation cannot come from above /
people can only liberate themselves – and from below / while from above
they gain nothing but the yoke […] You sixty-year-olds – drag yourselves
straight to the  crematoria and take your place in the  line / you forty-
year-olds – may you watch your genitals rot away just like the genitals of
your wives and nauseating lovers / you twenty-year-olds – go and hang
yourselves right away / if you won’t start preparing yourselves this very
day and every day for war war war / war and war against the criminals /
who otherwise will screw you any way they choose […].

Looking back at such revolutionary proclamations we can hardly

decide if their author really meant them or if he wrote them as a kind
of a “reminder” of a “historic task of humankind” that would inevita-
bly have to be accomplished one day in the future. One way or an-
other, there is no doubt Bondy’s voice was “crying in the wilderness”
of Czechoslovak dissidence in the  1970s and 1980s  and met with
little understanding even from his underground fans and ­readers.
Together with his later ideas of “undergroundism”, as we have
called them for our purpose, they were considered to be ­interesting,
perhaps even inspiring  – though mostly in the  metaphoric sense
of the  word. Sometimes they were even mocked and parodied.
Nevertheless, even Ivan M. Jirous, although always remaining
Catholic by faith, exhibited some understanding for Bondy’s extrem-

( 74 )
ist political radicalism, thus contradicting somewhat his own postu-
lates of creating the “splendid isolation” of an independent “second
culture”. He used the  following quotation from Mao Tse-Tung as
the epigraph of his Report of 1975: “In the great cultural revolutions
there is only one way for the people – to free themselves by their
own efforts. Nothing must be used that would do it for them. Believe
in people, rely on them and respect their initiative. Cast away fear!
Don’t be afraid of commotion. Let people educate themselves in
the great revolutionary movement.”
Moreover, in the final passage of his Report, some parts of which
have already been quoted, Jirous writes: “Briefly put, the  under-
ground is the  activity of artists and intellectuals whose work is
unacceptable to the establishment and who, in this state of unaccep­
tability, do not remain passive, but attempt through their work and
attitudes to destroy the establishment.”
On the whole, we could probably agree with statements by Ivan
M. Jirous, Milan Hlavsa, Vratislav Brabenec and by several other
representatives of the Czech underground said on several occasions
after 198913  – they argued that the  Czech underground really had
no political platform and no political programme. They really only
wanted to do “their own thing” – play music for their limited audi-
ence, publish their texts in samizdat editions, and enjoy their own
way of life. Unfortunately, however, they were compelled to become
politically radicalised because of the  totalitarian regime’s  intol-
erance and brutal oppression. However, their radicalism did not
lead to a kind of a “world revolution” but rather to the activities of
the defenders of human rights in Charter 77.
Jirous’ and Bondy’s ideological and political radicalism also found
a necessary counterweight in Christian ideas (or perhaps their radi-
calism was channelled by them). They were rendered by other writ-
ers of the underground community, especially the protestant priest
Svatopluk Karásek and his ex classmate, the musician and composer
Vratislav Brabenec; Karásek used to address the underground com-
munity with his gospel songs, actually Biblical parables and similes
set to music, making their eternal messages comprehensible, easy to

13) See e.g. the documentary film The Plastic People of the Universe; dir. Jana Chytilová,
Czech Television (ČT) and Video 57, Praha 2001.

( 75 )
grasp, for everyone living his or her life in the underground “ghetto”.
It may be sufficient to quote only a few names of Karásek’s songs
to get some idea of their “ideological influence” Řekni ďáblovi ne
[Say no to the  Devil], 1974; Vy silní ve víře [You Who Are Strong
in the  Faith], 1970; Kázání o  zkáze Sodomy a  Gomory [Sermon on
the Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah], 1975; Podobenství o zrnu
a koukolu [The Parable of the Good Seed and the Tares], 1977. Some
verses of the last song mentioned are explicit enough:

[...] As in the field, so in your own soul / Both good and evil are fast en-
twined / So we are both good, and we’re immoral / Why, with both God
and the devil sowed in your heart. // And if some meddlers were to ap-
pear / And swear to rid the world of sin / I’d say, ‘You’re joking! You’ll be
sorry! / There’d be none of us left in that field.’ // Leave it to God to make
the choice / About who are the good seeds and who the tares / We’re
good for grading potatoes / But at harvest time let God sort us out […].14

These and similar words of the  Bible helped the  underground

audience, despite the fact that it mostly consisted of non-Christians
(i.e., “agnostics”), to identify their social position and to formulate
their relation towards the majority society and the political estab-
lishment. Moreover, they proved to be instrumental for their world-
view, and even helped them find their way to their own spiritual
values and understand the so-called transcendental notions.
It could be said that the Czech underground community, when
confronted with the brutal mechanisms of totalitarian oppression,
started to identify its position in society with the  early Christian
gatherings of “the prosecuted” – no matter if the individual persons
were official adherents of the  Catholic or Protestant churches or
not. Surprisingly enough, the Czech heirs of the rebels of the 1960s,

14) “[...] A jak v celém poli, tak i v duši tvé / je dobro se zlem fest prorostlé / tak sme
dobrý i potvory / vždyť Bůh i ďábel přece v srdci tvém sil // Kdyby tak přišli ňáký
nemehla / že náš svět zbaví od všeho zla / řek bych vy blázni, to sou fóry / kdo z nás
by pak v tom poli zbyl // Kdo je zrnem dobrým a kdo patří na hnůj / do toho Bohu
ty nefušuj / my můžem třídit brambory / a nás si po žních přebere Bůh [...]”. English
translations (by Paul Wilson) of the  texts of most of Karásek’s  songs are found in
a catalogue added to the record Svatopluk Karásek: Say No to the Devil, Upsala, 1979
(ed. Jaroslav Suk).

( 76 )
 who in their defiance of any social establishment were mostly of an
anti-religious orientation (it is enough to recall John Lennon’s words
about the  fading popularity of Jesus Christ, to say nothing about
the  standpoints of people such as Mick Jagger or Frank Zappa)
found their way not only to Christianity, but even to legal Christian
churches. Thanks to Svatopluk Karásek and Vratislav Brabenec,
the  author of a  very popular performance by The  Plastic People
­entitled Pašijové hry velikonoční [Easter Passion Play], performed
and recorded secretly in 197815 which once again rendered the most
famous story in the Western world very much topical; the denizens
of the underground were reminded not only of the centuries-long
tradition of the sui generis “underground existence” of Czech Prot-
estants  – the  so called Bohemian Brethren, whose church was
banned between the  17th  – 19th centuries, but also of genuine and
original Christian values and even found its way to the  Catholic
Church, which lost its dominant position in Czechoslovak society
as early as 1918, and was completely rid of its former power after
1948 and after centuries became oppressed again: this must have
roused the sympathy or even the feelings of self-identification from
the Czech underground community. Such a revival of Christianity in
the underground community also led the underground to the plat-
form of Charter 77 in which mutual tolerance was one of its leading
principles, and Christian ideas were largely accepted.
Before we discuss the relationship of the underground commu-
nity to the broader community of Charter 77, we should look at yet
one more attempt at formulating a scholarly “theory” of the under-
ground, in fact the  only one that followed after Jirous’ Report and
preceded Bondy’s self-appointed apologetics of the 1980s. We have
in mind Jiří Němec’s  essay Nové šance svobody [New Chances of
Freedom], 197916. Němec, himself a  philosopher, one of the  best
educated persons of his generation, could make use of his own

15) See the  English translation in The  Plastic People of the  Universe, Praha: Maťa,
1999, pp. 87–97; the original record of the music has been released as a CD several
times. See Discography in Views from the Inside, op. cit. See also Discography at the
end of this volume.
16) The  essay was published only in samizdat in Czechoslovakia (see Vokno, no.  2,
1979), and on the pages of Czech exile journals e.g. in Svědectví (Paris) 14, no. 62 (1980),
pp. ­221–229­, also in the anthology O svobodě a moci. Památce Jana Patočky, Köln – Roma:

( 77 )
experience: he was both one of the  leading figures of the  under-
ground movement from its beginnings, and one of the  “founders”
of Charter 77.
Moreover, he was one of the  few Czech intellectuals who
mana­ged to gain the  support of prominent Czech dissidents for
Ivan M. ­Jirous and the underground musicians in 1976 when they
were jailed and later sentenced to prison for allegedly “disturbing
the peace”. And it is also known, that the support of Václav Havel,
Ludvík Vaculík, Zdeněk Mlynář, Jan Patočka, Jaroslav Seifert and
a  number of other dissidents who only a  few months later estab-
lished Charter 77 brought many underground people into the Char-
ter community17. Feeling responsible for such an “incorporation”
of the underground community into the community of Charter 77,
Němec tried to uproot the prejudices of the supposed “intolerance”
of the Czech underground and also pointed out how different its atti-
tudes were from the “disengagement” of the hippies of the 1960s on
the one hand, and how surprisingly close they were to Christianity
on the other. Because, of course, it was obvious that not all Charter
77 intellectuals, especially ex-communists, jumped with joy having
realized they found themselves in one group with the underground
“filthy rockers” or even supposed drug-addicts.
As far as Charter 77 itself, there is no need to give a  detailed
description of its membership and leading principles. Numerous
books in both Czech and English have already supplied us with
such relevant information. Let me only remind you of the  works

Index – Listy, 1980, pp. 257–268; it was translated into Swedish and French; see also
“Bibliografie Jiřího Němce”, Kritický sborník 18, no. 4 (1999), pp. 63–94, esp. p. 70.
17) About the  development in the  relations between the  underground community
and Charter 77 movement see e.g. MACHOVEC, Martin, “Charta a underground”, in
DEVÁTÁ, Markéta – SUK, Jiří – TŮMA, Oldřich (eds.), Charta 77. Od obhajoby lidských
práv k demokratické revoluci 1977–1989. Sborník z konference k 30. výročí Charty 77,
Praha: ÚSD AV ČR, 2007. Its English translation is found in Chapter 3 of this volume.

( 78 )
by Harold Gordon Skilling18, Vilém Prečan19, Aviezer Tucker20 and
Barbara J. Falk21 since they helped western readers most of all to
understand the  principal ideas of Central and Eastern European
dissidence.
The platform that unified the rich variety of Charter 77 member-
ship as it was outlined in the beginning of this paper is well-known,
as well. Inspired by the  fact that representatives of the  Czecho-
slovak government had signed the  Helsinki Agreement of 1975,
the Charter signatories decided to urge the government merely to
adhere to the laws that already existed in Czechoslovak legislation.
We may term this approach a  legalistic one. It was the  guiding
principle of Charter 77 even though it was apparent from the very
beginning that its application was dubious: to ask a  government
that had established its power in violation of laws, some of whose
members could even be charged with high treason, should strike
one at the very least as imprudent. Yet one more contradiction is
easily to be discovered between what could be said and published
in Charter 77 documents (e.g., in petitions demanding a  dialogue
with representatives of power, in Havel’s programme of the so-called
“nonpolitical politics”) and the  real, actual, true aims of Charter
77. No doubt Charter 77’s  leaders knew they would be treated as
the political opposition in the country even though they would deny
and renounce such ambition. Indeed, they were thus treated, and in
the long run they indeed established a germ of real political opposi-

18) SKILLING, Gordon Harold, Charter 77 and Human Rights in Czechoslovakia, London:
Allen and Unwin. 1981; idem, Samizdat and an Independent Society in Central and
Eastern Europe, Columbus, OH: Macmillan, 1989.
19) PREČAN, Vilém (ed.), Human Rights in Czechoslovakia: A  Documentation, Paris:
International Committee for the  Support of Charter 77, 1983; idem, Independent
­Literature and Samizdat in Czechoslovakia in the 1970s and the 1980s, Praha: Památník
národního písemnictví, 1992; PREČAN, Vilém, “The Re-emergence of a civil society.
Independent currents in communist Czechoslovakia in the 1970s and 1980”, in De
tsjechische Republiek en de Europese cultuur. Brussels: Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie
van België voor Wetenschappen en Kunsten, 2000, pp. 57–66.
20) TUCKER, Aviezer, The Philosophy and Politics of Czech Dissidence from Patočka to
Havel, Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2000.
21) FALK, Barbara J., The  Dilemmas of Dissidence in East-Central Europe: Citizen
­Intellectuals and Philosopher Kings, New York – Budapest: Central European Univer-
sity Press, 2003.

( 79 )
tion without which they could hardly have attempted to overthrow
the totalitarian regime in 1989.
It is a lesser known fact, however, that there were many Charter
77 sympathizers or fellow-travellers who never signed the Charter,
and yet were in favour of it, and, moreover, worked for it, even when
the reasons for their not becoming Charter 77 signatories could be
different: some of these political “apostates” definitely wanted to
remain less conspicuous and not lose a  chance for efficient work
useful for the  entirety of the  dissidence (e.g., Jiřina Šiklová, Josef
Mundil or Milan Šimečka). Therefore it cannot be taken for granted
that signing Charter 77 meant that the  respective signatory was
absolutely in favour of what was being done in the name of Char-
ter 77 on the one hand, and, on the other, that non-signing implied
any principal objections to Charter 77 ideas.22 As far as the under-
ground community of the  mentioned rock musicians, poets and
artists is concerned, it has been estimated recently that as many as
40 percent of the overall count of all pre-1989 Charter signatories
came from the underground community and belonged, by the way,
primarily to the working class.23
Many members of the  underground, on the  other hand, never
signed Charter 77, and thus we can see the Charter 77 community
and the underground community as two, partially overlapping circles
in a complementary relation. Undoubtedly there were hundreds, if
not thousands of underground people who remained outside Charter
77. A brief look at the attitudes to Charter 77 of the most well-known
underground figures is illustrative: By the  end of the  1970s, there
were seven stable members in the most famous Czech underground
rock band – The Plastic People of the Universe. Out of them, three
signed Charter 77, whereas four others did not. Ivan M. Jirous did
sign the  Charter although its “legalistic” principles were in sharp
contrast with the ideas he expressed in his Report of 1975 and else-
where. Egon Bondy signed Charter 77 as well – and did so as early
as December 1976, but his signature was immediately nullified by
Jiří Němec, a  fact which subsequently caused much bitterness24.

22) See the details in the previous text (Chapter 3) in this volume: “Charter 77 and
the Underground”.
23) See ibidem.
24) See ibidem.

( 80 )
 The reasons why people from the underground joined the Char-
ter 77 movement might have been very different. Nevertheless,
most of them probably signed it (at least in the  first wave in De-
cember 1976 and during the following few months) to demonstrate
their gratitude to those dissidents who organized support for their
friends who were imprisoned in 1976  – and it probably mattered
little to them if they disapproved of its “legalistic” aims or not25.
After all, it is well-known that the  times they are a’changing, and
what might have seemed impossible and absurd as early as 1975
may have become possible some years later. The  “millenarian” or
chiliastic radicalism was mostly abandoned in the  late 1970s and
during the  1980s by the  underground. Nevertheless, those who
became Charter 77 signatories always formed the  most radical
fraction within the Charter movement. The apparent contradiction
between the original underground ideas as mentioned above, and
the  “minimalist”, “legalistic”, compromise-seeking programme of
Charter 77 proved not to be too drastic, and reconciliation between
them was possible. František Stárek, one of the best-known under-
ground journalists and editors, stated it clearly in an interview with
the historian Milan Otáhal in 200326:

I lived in the underground but perceived my signing of Charter 77 as an

attitude of a citizen. That was my attitude of a citizen, same as others
made their attitudes as citizens clear by entering the Communist Party
for instance. Some factory workers might have expressed their attitudes
as citizens by being Communist Party members, but I perceived my being
a Charter 77 signatory, or being close to the Charter, as my own attitude.

Yet in the 1980s, there were at least two more important events

in the  history of Czechoslovak dissidence and Charter 77 on
the ­occasion of which the underground community made its inde-
pendent political views clear once again:

25) See ibidem.

26) See VANĚK, Miroslav  – URBÁŠEK, Pavel (eds.), Vítězové? Poražení? Životopisná
interview I  – Disent v  období tzv. normalizace [Winners? Losers? Biographic Inter-
views  I  – Dissidence in the  Times of the  So-Called Normalization], Praha: Prostor,
2005, pp. 857–889, esp. p. 882.

( 81 )
 I) In 1987 the so-called Dopis 40 signatářů Charty 77 mluvčím [Let-
ter from 40 Charter 77 Signatories to Charter Spokepersons]27 was
issued and caused some indignation on the side of more “conserva­
tive” Charter signatories, especially ex-apparatchiks. The  Letter
was initiated by František Stárek, met with a  warm welcome by
Egon Bondy and was signed mostly by the Charter 77 signatories of
“underground origin”. It was a kind of a petition urging the Charter
leaders, especially its spokespersons, to lend their ears to the sup-
posed “passive majority” of the  signatories who did not want to
remain “passive” at all, to give younger Charter 77 signatories more
opportunities to shape the movement as a whole, to make the Char-
ter movement more pluralistic. The  forty signatories of the  Letter
also supported the idea of summoning the so-called Charter “Fora”,
i.e. assemblies of as many Charter signatories as possible at which
major issues would be discussed. Fortunately, Václav Havel and
other Charter leaders immediately demonstrated understanding for
such suggestions. In total, four Charter “Fora” were organized before
November 1989, and through them the whole of Charter 77 became
politically radicalised  – almost at the  last minute indeed! Charter
leaders began accepting invitations to public rallies and demonstra-
tions and began organizing them themselves. In this way, the under-
ground signatories of Charter 77 contributed to the political profile
of it and helped make it ready for the big political changes of 1989.28
II) In May 1988 Petr Placák, one of the representatives of a young-
er underground generation whose “press tribune” was mostly
the samizdat magazine called Revolver Revue, wrote and published
in samizdat his Manifest Českých dětí [Manifesto of Czech Children]29

27) See the  Czech edition of all Charter 77 documents: CÍSAŘOVSKÁ, Blanka –
PREČAN, Vilém (eds.), Charta 77: Dokumenty 1977–1989, I–III, Praha: ÚSD AV ČR, 2007;
Dopis 40 signatářů see in ibidem, III, pp. 287–290.
28) See the details in the previous text (Chapter 3) in this volume: “Charter 77 and
the Underground”.
29) Placák’s Manifesto was published several times in samizdat during 1988–9, for
the first time in Informace o Chartě (INFOCH), 1988, pp. 17–18, for the second time in
Placák’s own samizdat magazine called Koruna [Crown] (no. 2, 1989, pp. 2–3), here,
however, both in Czech original and in its Latin translation (!!) under the title “Bohe-
morum liberorum declaratio”. The text of the Manifesto was printed for the first time
in Paris based Czech exile journal Svědectví 22, no. 85 (1988), pp. 269–270.

( 82 )
which quickly became well-known in the world of Czech dissidence
and also roused indignation, even anxiety and misunderstanding.
Petr Placák himself never signed Charter 77, but both his father and
elder brother did. Furthermore, his father, prof. Bedřich Placák, was
among the Charter 77 spokespersons for some time. Even before he
published his Manifesto, Petr Placák gained a reputation in the un-
derground as an excellent poet and writer (his novel Medorek, 1985,
was awarded the  dissident Jiří Orten Prize in 1989). Placák soon
made friends with Egon Bondy and Ivan M. Jirous and for some time
even took part in secret rehearsals of The Plastic People as one of
the band’s musicians, and at last in 1988 he came out with a text
which actually called for the reestablishment of the old Kingdom of
Bohemia (i.e., proclaimed a kind of semi-utopian royalism, a monar-
chic regime as possibly the  best political system). Placák’s  poetic
vision, partially serious, partially ironic, met with keen interest from
the youngest underground generation. Even Ivan M. Jirous signed
the manifesto and in so doing “blessed it” on behalf of the entirety of
the underground. On the other hand, most Charter 77 leaders were
terrified: they were merely too serious and cautious to accept such
a  child of playfulness and imagination. But as Placák and his fol-
lowers started organizing various anti-regime demonstrations, even
the Charter 77 leaders willy-nilly had to accept such an ­unwelcome
ally. In our survey of the political thinking of the Czech underground
community, Placák’s concept of monarchy is the final and perhaps
the most original one. It enriched the struggle of Czech dissidents
with something they had lacked for a long time: a sense of humour,
irony, poetry, and very unconventional political (as well as ecological
and even egalitarian) ideas. Therefore, I am closing this paper with
a quotation from Placák’s Manifesto:

We Czech children declare that St. Wenceslas’ Crown, i.e. the Kingdom

of Bohemia, persists!
We are getting ready for the coming of a new King, which is our supreme
aim.
The King is Dei gratia, he is responsible to God for his country and for
his people!
The King is the aegis for the weak against the ill will of the powerful
and the rich!

( 83 )
 The King is a guarantee, he protects woods, wild game and the whole
nature against the ruling criminals who without any respect pillage and
destroy the treasures of the land and the Earth, without giving back to
the land what they had robbed from it!
The  King is the  Law before which people, trees, animals, the  land,
the woods are equal and any act or conduct of one person at the expense
of another is a crime! […]
The Kingdom is a sacred heritage and the sacred heritage is the highest
respect to everything – to every tree, brook, hill, to every single ant in
the woods, to people, to their work, to the dignity of every single person!
The Kingdom is not the rule of a minority at the expense of the majority,
or the rule of the majority at the expense of a minority!
The  Kingdom is not the  rule of a  few thousand hoarders and money-­
grubbers, self-appointed ne’er-do-wells and parasites of the  land and
the nation!
The Kingdom is sacred!

If some of the words found it Placák’s Manifesto were reminiscent

of the ideas expressed by Duchamp, Rygulla, Bondy or Jirous, quoted
above, it would probably not be coincidental but symptomatic, and
it could serve as indirect evidence of the  originality of ideas gen-
erated by underground communities that so far have been mostly
neglected and ignored.

P r a g u e   – B r e m e n   – B u d a p e s t   – A u s t i n   – Ro m e
J a n u a r y   – Fe b r u a r y 2 0 1 0 , A p r i l 2 0 1 1

( 84 )
5. THE THEME OF “APOCALYPSE” AS A KEY BUILDING
B L O C K O F U N D E R G R O U N D L I T E R AT U R E D U R I N G
T H E   P E R I O D O F “ N O R M A L I Z AT I O N ”

Firstly, some remarks regarding the two expressions in commas in

the title of this text.
1) The  Greek word apokalypsis, meaning “revelation” that we
know chiefly from the New Testament, is often used in a non-reli-
gious sense in present-day Czech as a synonym for doom, perceived
in a general or final sense, but in a partial sense too.
So the  modern Czech literary variant of the  Biblical or gnostic
apocalypse definitely has no connotations of wild visions of “a star
named Wormwood”1 or a  “a  beast with ten horns and seven
heads”2, or of kings assembled at “a  place called Harmagedon”3;
the sense of it is simply a premonition of the end, or extinction.
2) The expression “normalization”, which acquired a new, politi-
cal meaning in Czech after 1969, is a very good example of the prin-
ciples of Orwellian Newspeak, or what Bohumil Hrabal called
“semantic confusion”4, being introduced into everyday speech.
There are ­other examples of such political and journalistic jargon
from the early seventies, of “semantic shifts” due to pressure from
the regime and the political situation. The spontaneous process of
democratization in 1968 started to be described as “counter-revo-
lution”, which was intended to suggest, among other things, that
the  Stalinist putsch of 1948 was a  “revolution”; the  invasion of
Czechoslovakia by troops of foreign countries was suddenly desig-
nated “fraternal assistance”; and the usurper regime and what was
still at its core a totalitarian system was described as “democratic
socialism”.
The  clear aim of the  Czechoslovak puppet government, which
was once more entirely in the hands of pro-Kremlin apparatchiks
was not only to totally suppress the  remnants of the  efforts of

1) Revelation 8:11.
2) Revelation 13:1.
3) Revelation 16:16.
4) See Hrabal’s  text collage entitled Sémantický zmatek [Semantic confusion], in
Sebrané spisy Bohumila Hrabala, vol. 15  – Domácí úkoly, Praha: Pražská imaginace,
Praha 1995, p. 363.

( 85 )
democratization of 1968 and silence its representatives at all costs,
but also to deprive people of their means of expression, and hence
their scope for communication and mutual understanding.
Enforcing changes in the  meaning of many well-used expres-
sions, which were contingent on specific historical realities was
also an attempt to alter the way people actually thought, because
if something in Czechoslovak history in the period 1948–1989 was
worthy of the description “normalization” then it was precisely that
attempt at democratization in 1968, and not the  years following
the Soviet occupation. So perhaps it is not surprising that the po-
ets and writers who sought in the 1970s to reflect in an authentic,
unmanipulated and non-ideological manner on the time they were
living in – one truly characterized by a new “confusion” as at Babel,
if not of “tongues” then at least of one tongue – tended to update
the theme of doom, or “apocalypse” in the broadest sense of the word.

It is a well-known fact that in 1968, the literary authors and mu-

sicians of the Czech underground of the seventies and eighties were
definitely not among the foremost representatives of the democra-
tization process of “renewal”, either as politicians, columnists, or
journalists. Broadly speaking, the  latter were mostly members of
the Communist Party with varying degrees of attachment to genuine
democracy (i.e., people who were previously socially privileged, who
had now become aware of the possibility, or rather the necessity of
economic and political reforms). However, insofar as those literary
authors and musicians of the future underground were mostly quite
young, they took advantage of the much greater degree of freedom
of those days to express their views and engage in artistic activity
as much as possible. Nevertheless, the very fact that they did not
get involved in the thick of political activity meant that they were
subsequently capable of reflecting the  frustration of the  Husák
regime’s  emerging “normalization” much more objectively than
the  foremost Czechoslovak writers, political commentators and
journalists of the time – the future emigrés or so-called dissidents,
who were, by and large, totally absorbed by the  specific political
message of 1968/69. Another paradoxical advantage of the authors
and creators, who would subsequently become the main exponents
of underground culture, was the  fact that until the  beginning of

( 86 )
the  1970s they had either simply languished on the  fringes of
the Czech literary scene5 (sometimes deliberately and consciously
out of an aversion to anything that was fashionable, sometimes be-
cause of the subject-matter of the period was mostly alien to them,
while their own subject-matter did not attract sufficient interest
among the wider readership, but mostly because most of their texts
were not publishable at all before 1968, and the subsequent period
of relative democracy was too short), or they didn’t manage to even
enter Czech literary circles, or their first appearance in print was
limited to a few magazine issues in 1968–69.6

These minor observations of a  psychological and sociological

nature, rather than from a literary and historical viewpoint, should
be borne in mind if we are to adequately interpret the  literary
underground, particularly that of the  1970s. But another way of
looking at it would be to conclude that the  underground authors
of those days were much less traumatized by 1968 than the former
leading figures and future dissidents, who were suddenly – again in
a very Orwellian sense – not only prevented from being published,
but were actually “erased” from the history of Czech literature and
culture. And one other factor should probably also be taken into
account, namely that the  frequent visions of doom, destruction,
hopelessness, and sometimes self-destruction or at least disinte-
gration or decay, as articulated by underground authors were truly
much more universal than the reflections on personal frustrations
from the pens of the “sixty-eighters” (suffice it to mention the well-
known polemic between Milan Kundera and Václav Havel on
“Czech Destiny”7) and are also only in apparent contradiction with

5) Such as Egon Bondy, Milan Knížák, Ivan M. Jirous or Andrej Stankovič, as well
as the  marginalized folk singers such as Jaroslav Hutka or Vlastimil Třešňák, and
particularly the disdained rock musicians writing their own texts under the influence
of the American underground music and literary scene of the time.
6) Such as Vratislav Brabenec, Svatopluk Karásek, Pavel Zajíček, and František Pánek,
as well, of course, as the  entire “younger underground generation” who wouldn’t
appear on the (samizdat) literary scene until the 1980s.
7) See Havel’s essay “Český úděl?” [The Czech Deal?], in HAVEL, Václav, Spisy 3 – Eseje
a jiné texty z let 1953–1969, Praha: Torst, Praha 1999, p. 888 (the notes also include
the text of Milan Kundera’s essay, “Český úděl”, pp. 992–998).

( 87 )
the  markedly joyful creative atmosphere so typical of the  “merry
ghetto” of the underground in the first half of the 1970s. That mi-
cro-community, was also the natural source of the “micro-climate”
that allowed like-minded individuals and artists to survive better
and support each other, a source of self-affirmation, and sometimes
of “feedback”. (The fact that the Czech underground was also a very
heterogeneous community, even though its exponents were initially
above all rock musicians and fans of that “accursed music” and of
the specific value system and lifestyle associated with it, was more
the outcome of a happy coincidence; this fact is anyway very familiar
and need not be particularly emphasized.8)

Now a  few examples of “apocalyptic” themes in underground

poetry:
Milan Knížák’s experimental musical formation AKTUAL9 was in
many respects the forerunner of the Czech underground in the real
sense of the word. In addition to ephemeral Czech bands such as
the  the  Primitives Group or The  Hell’s  Devils, it was Aktual that
inspired The  Plastic People of the  Universe that came into being
somewhat later, in autumn 1968, and is now the most acclaimed leg-
end of the Czech underground, as well as the band DG 307, formed

8) See particularly: “Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození”, in JIROUS, Ivan M.,
Magorův zápisník, Praha: Torst, 1997, p.  171. Also: MACHOVEC, Martin, “Od avant-
gardy přes podzemí do undergroundu” [From the Avant-Garde via Unofficial Publish-
ing to Underground: The Midnight Editions Circle, 1949–1955, and the Underground
Circle of the Plastic People, 1969–1989], in Pohledy zevnitř, Praha: Pistorius & Olšan-
ská 2008 (part of it in English is Chapter 1 of this volume); also: JANOUŠEK, Pavel
(ed.), Dějiny české literatury 1945–1989, vol. IV, 1969–1989, Praha: Academia, 2008,
esp.  the  chapter “Společenství a  poetika undergroundu”, pp.  279–295; the  chapter
“Próza undergroundu, okruh Revolver Revue”, pp. 455–460.
9) The original recordings and some cover versions of Aktual songs were released on
2 CDs: AKTUAL – ATENTÁT NA KULTURU, Praha: Anne Records, 2003; AKTUAL – DĚTI
BOLŠEVIZMU, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2005.

( 88 )
in 1973,10 and several other underground bands including Umělá
hmota [Artificial Material].11
A number of Knížák’s texts12 mostly from 1968 were written in
an obviously ironic spirit of political provocation, or even blasphe-
my, such as: I  Love You and Lenin, The  Kids of Bolshevism, Messiah
The  Bolshevik, and Bolshevik Gods, others articulate a  vision of
a  “new world”, undoubtedly spawned by the  utopia of American
60s “counter-culture”, such as The Apostles, How Divine it Would Be,
Fuck and Don’t Make War, Emissaries from the Cosmos, City of Actu-
als, The March of the Actuals. The notions of fundamental “change”,
“transformation”, and “purification” they contain already have
something in common with “apocalyptic” moods. But Knížák’s best-
known texts of 1968 are probably Assault on Culture and Be a Pig.
The latter includes the words: “Throw out your brain / Throw out
your hearts / throw out all / that makes you human // Be a pig / Be
a pig / Be a pig / Be a pig // A pig lives well / eats drinks and fucks
/ its life away”.13 This reflection of disgust at pseudo-humanity in
the form of an appeal was without doubt already very radical.

Even before Egon Bondy became acquainted with The Plastic Peo-

ple and their community, he wrote many poetic and philosophical

10) The original recordings of DG 307 compositions were released on a number of CDs.

The most valuable are: DG 307 – HISTORIE HYSTERIE. Archiv dochovaných nahrávek
1973–75 [2 CDs], Louny: Guerilla Records, 2004; DG 307 – SVĚDEK SPÁLENÝHO ČASU
1979/1980 [5CDs], Louny: Guerilla Records, 2013.
11) The group Umělá hmota soon split up in two groups: Milan “Dino” Vopálka’s Umělá
hmota II and Josef “Vaťák” Vondruška’s  Umělá hmota III. The  original recordings
are found on 4 CDs: UMĚLÁ HMOTA II. VE SKLEPĚ – 1976/77 [2 CDs], Louny: Guerilla
Records, 2003. JOSEF VONDRUŠKA: THE DOM & UMĚLÁ HMOTA III – ROCK’N’ROLLOVÝ
MILÁČEK [2CDs], Louny: Guerilla Records, 2010.
12) A collection of Knížák’s texts for Aktual were published in the volume: KNÍŽÁK,
Milan, Písně kapely Aktual, Praha: Maťa, 2003. The English translations by Karolína
Dolanská of some of Knížák’s  lyrics are found in a  booklet added to the  CD Děti
bolševizmu (Footnote 9).
13) In Dolanská’s  translation. The  original Czech text: „Staňte se prasetem // za-
hoďte mozky / zahoďte srdce / zahoďte všechno / co vás dělá člověkem // STAŇTE
SE PRASETEM! / STAŇTE SE PRASETEM! / STAŇTE SE PRASETEM! / STAŇTE SE
PRASETEM! // prase si dobře žije / jen žere a pije / a taky mrdá // STAŇTE SE PRASE-
TEM! / STAŇTE SE PRASETEM! / STAŇTE SE PRASETEM! / STAŇTE SE PRASETEM!“

( 89 )
texts that could be interpreted as a modern parallel with apocalyptic
or prophetic/admonitory literature. The  evidence is also there to
show that “thirsting for an apocalypse” or rather for a “radical social
change”, which simply must come about, even if it involves huge
social upheavals or the  actual extinction of existing civilisations,
constituted an entire creative line of thought in Bondy’s  literary
oeuvre from the  1950s. There is no space here, however, to deal
with it in more detail, besides which this particular strand of his
work would seem to have less of an impact on the underground of
the 1970s.
Although Bondy’s Tzv. “Březnová báseň 1971”, čtená na veřejném
shromáždění [The So-Called “March Poem 1971” – Read at a Public
Gathering], from the collection Zápisky z počátku let sedmdesátých
[Notes from the  Beginning of the  1970s]14 was written before its
author was accepted by the underground community as an “under-
ground classic”, in places its style clearly anticipates the texts he
wrote in subsequent years, when the  underground became truly
entwined with his life and work. The text is actually one long litany:
a series of curses and warnings, in which – truly in the manner of
a Biblical prophet – the author indicts not only his neighbours, but
all people indiscriminately:15

14) This collection was published in vol. 7 of Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho, Praha:
Pražská imaginace, 1992, pp. 5–55 (the text cited is on pp. 40–42); the original sami­
zdat edition dates from 1972; more recently in Básnické spisy II – 1962–1975, Praha:
Argo, 2015, pp. 346–351.
15) Compare Gerald Turner’s translation with Bryson’s and Klepetářová’s translation
of the same part of the text as quoted in the previous text (chapter 4 of this volume).
The  original Czech text of this part of the  poem goes as follows: “Ne  – je jasné že
nelze začít bojovat holýma rukama a zničehonic / ale kdo ještě je člověkem / musí
se už od nynějška připravovat / protože režim státního kapitalismu musí být zničen /
jen nesmíte znovu dopustit abyste se opět jako v  osmašedesátém dali vláčet pro-
fesionálními aparátníky / Svobody Dubčeky a  Černíky / kteří pochopitelně nemají
zájem na tom aby se opravdu změnil režim jenž je vytvořil a z něhož žijí / Musíte si
stále být vědomi že socialismus / není nic víc a nic míň / než samosprávná organizace
společnosti / že tedy všechna síla je ve vašich rukou / jen když jich použijete / A po-
chopíte právě teď / co říká Mao Ce-tung / že nikdo nemůže osvobodit lidi shora / shora
je je možno jen ujařmit / Za vašimi zády se ve skutečnosti třese vykořisťovatelská
oligarchie / Sovětský svaz nepřežije osmdesátá léta / ale vy musíte být připraveni
/ I  kdyby pozavírali všechny marxisty / nemohou pozavírat všechny vás // Nepíšu

( 90 )
 […] No – obviously we can’t start to struggle with our bare hands and out
of nowhere / but whoever is still human must as of now prepare them-
selves / because the regime of state capitalism must be destroyed / but
you mustn’t let yourselves be dragged along by the professional aparat-
chiks as you did in sixty-eight / the Svobodas, Dubčeks and Černíks /
who understandably are not interested in a change of the regime they
created and which gives them their livelihood / You must always be
aware that socialism / is no more and no less / than the self-governing
organisation of society / and so all power is in your hands/ so long as you
use it / And at this moment you will understand Mao Zedong when he
says / that no one can liberate people from above/ from above they can
only be enslaved // In reality, behind your backs the exploitative oligar-
chy is shaking / the Soviet Union will not survive the nineteen-eighties /
but you must be prepared / Even if they jailed all the Marxists / they
can’t jail all of you // I don’t write poetry for you, and I’ve never wanted
to write poetry / if you want poetry shit on your faces and smear it all
over like skin cream / which precisely suits your souls / Because the bru-
tality in which individual people are deprived of their freedom and even
their lives is not the most terrible thing / the most terrible thing of all
is the bestiality with which they force us to watch it and even applaud
/ If you’re in your sixties go form a queue at the crematorium / if you’re
in your forties may your genitals and your wives’ and vile mistresses’
genitals rot away while you’re alive / if you’re in your twenties go off
straight away and hang yourselves / unless from today you prepare every
day for war war war / war and war on the criminals / who otherwise /
won’t waste time with you […]

As they listened to such appeals, the young underground new-

comers of the time tried to express their own feelings, which chimed

vám poesii a  nikdy jsem vám nechtěl psát poesii / chcete-li poesii naserte si do
ksichtu a pěkně si to rozmažte jako pleťový krém / který právě k vaší duši sluší / Nej­
strašnější není totiž brutalita s níž jednotliví lidé jsou zbavováni svobody ba života /
nejstrašnější je bestialita s níž nás všechny s klidem přinucují přihlížet ba tleskat /
Šedesátiletí – jděte se přímo postavit do fronty před krematorium / čtyřicetiletí – ať
vám uhnije zaživa vaše přirození i přirození vašich manželek a hnusných milenek /
dvacetiletí – jděte se rovnou oběsit / jestliže nebudete ode dneška připravovat den
co den válku válku válku / válku a válku zločincům / kteří jinak / s vámi nebudou
dělat žádné cavyky”.

( 91 )
in to a  great extent with the  thoughts quoted. A  number of texts
by Pavel Zajíček, written in the years 1973–75 for his experimental
band DG 307,16 express above all a yearning to destroy existing pseu-
do-values. The influence of Milan Knížák is quite evident in them,
such as Attack on History, Paper aPpsolute, Appearance, When, Dege­
neration, Sewer Called Fetishism. There is a truly apocalyptic mood in
the texts: Returns and Purification. Returns has the words “the return
of time / without limit / the  return of space / without possession
/ the return of the rock / to the cliff // everything as at the begin-
ning / of creation / everything to the primordial transformation //
the return of wild / nature / to obliterated cities / the return of iron
to the earth / the return of stars / fallen long ago […]”.17
We note a  similar mood at the  end of Purification: “[…] every
morning we should purify ourselves / every night we should make
love / and at every moment we should be / prepared for the end”.18
In Zajíček’s early works, however, we can also hear utopian tones,
paradoxically joyful visions of the world, in which it is possible to
live in spite of all the  horrors. These “post-apocalyptic” themes,
which will be referred to later, are probably the most original con-
tribution of the  Czech underground ghetto to Czech literature. In
Zajíček’s  poem New Warriors, which is actually a  not particularly
ironic paraphrase of Norbert Zoula’s “working-class anthem” Prison
Song, these aspects are particularly evident: “[…] new warriors are
arising / in hope rejoicing / new warriors are arising / no whores
demanding / new warriors are arising / enthused and understand-
ing”.19 In the text Explosion of Thought a positive attitude to life after

16) See the  volume Z[AJÍČEK], Pavel, DG 307 (Texty z  let 1973–1980), Praha: Vokno,
1990.
17) The Czech original: “Návraty // návraty času / bez omezení / návrat prostoru /
bez vlastnění / návrat kamene / do skály // vše jako na počátku / tvoření / vše se do
prvotního / promění // návrat divoký / přírody / do vyhlazenejch měst / návrat železa
do zemský hmoty / návrat dávno / spadlejch hvězd [...]”.
18) The  Czech original: “Očišťování // [...] každý ráno bychom se měli očišťovat /
každou noc bychom se měli milovat / každou vteřinu bychom měli bejt / připravený
na konec”.
19) The Czech original: “Nový bojovníci // [...] vstávaj nový bojovníci / v naději se
radující / vstávaj nový bojovníci / žádný kurvy žádající / vstávaj nový bojovníci /
nadšený a chápající”.

( 92 )
“destruction” is also apparent: “[…] the explosion of thought / heats
up the  air / explosions of sympathy /a  penetrating sound // how
beautiful is / this destruction / how beautiful is /a common spirit”.20

The fact that Knížák’s, Zajíček’s and above all Bondy’s postulates

expressed in poetic or quasi-poetic texts are more reminiscent of
proto-communist than early-Christian visions, and that they tend
to evoke slightly the refrain of Pottier’s once popular song, namely:
C’est la lutte finale, / groupons-nous, et demain / L’Internationale / Sera
le genre humain, is certainly not fortuitous, because the  Christian
apocalypse and eschatology were revived repeatedly in the course
of history, and sometimes what they inspired was used to surpris-
ing ends, but in the case of the Czech underground authors these
reminiscences are always offset by a  strong dose of irony and
self-deprecation, which, moreover, is one of the  other permanent
features of underground literature as a whole, which we shall also
mention later.

There are no ideological or theological references in the apoca-

lyptic themes of František Pánek, another outstanding underground
author, albeit one with a markedly psychopathic personality. Symp-
tomatic in that respect is the  opening text of Pánek’s  cycle from
the 1970s and 1980s21, the poem Monarch God:

In the  frame of the  graves through space / talons on the  wings of

the corpses / there appeared voices of predatory / riddles! // The cra-
dle of the birth through the asshole / the glowing miracle so unique /
the stroke of the end, the ideal / dung-beetle of mist, the ghost of nausea
/ the death’s head moth, the monarch God. 22

20) The  Czech original: “Exploze myšlení // [...] exploze přemejšlení / rozpaluje
vzduch / výbuchy soucítění /pronikavej zvuk // jak krásný je / todle ničení / jak
krásnej je / společnej duch”.
21) A complete collection of Pánek’s poems in their original versions was published
in PÁNEK, Fanda, Vita horribilis 1972–1985, Praha: Kalich, 2007 (Pánek’s  original
samizdat collections were either untitled or came out under the title U prdele [I don’t
give a shit].)
22) The Czech original: “Monarcha Bůh // V rámu hrobů prostoru / drápy na mrtvol
křídlách / zjevil se hádanek dravčích / hlasy! // Porodu prdelí kolíbka / zářící zázrak

( 93 )
 In the text entitled Ill Will the vision of extinction is powerfully
present:

Ill Will / To your life, dude, you’ve got the  will / It’s  a  dream / Like
the brontosaurus / you‘ll just / die out, / dude. // Icarus / He flew up high,
dude / Today same as yesterday / you fell / in the fucking shit, / you hog.
// Vermin / You know fuck-all about it, you worm, / that in the grave of
nature / you dig graves, / dude, / in your / fucking self.23

When Pánek’s text Eliášův oheň [Elijah’s Fire] or [St. Elmo’s Fire]

was set to music by The  Plastic People, a  poetic image in which
a fundamental reassessment of values was established not simply
by contrast but rather by creating a parallel or synonymity between
a  so-called lofty vision of “love begotten by God” and a  so-called
inferior vision symbolized here by “a bottle of rum already begun”.24

The  “primitive rocker”, drug addict, and highly idiosyncratic

naïve poet Josef Vondruška wrote lyrics that may probably be
considered in the  context of underground literature to be direct
variations on “apocalyptic themes”. The very titles of the poems or
songs, that were set to music by the band Umělá hmota,25 speak for
themselves, such as Strange Theatre, Living Corpses, Wild Angels, and
particularly End of the World – a text that was allegedly inspired by
Bondy’s prose work Disabled Siblings. Vondruška’s End of the World
includes the  words: “[...] Sirens started to wail / migraines are

unikum / konce šlak, ideál / hovnivál mlh mdloby duch / smrtihlav monarcha Bůh“.
23) The Czech original: “Zvůli // Zvůli / k životu máš vole vůli / je to sen, / jak bron-
tosaurus / vymřeš / vole / jen. // Ikar / vysoko si vole lítal, / jako včera dnes / do
hoven si / hlade / kles. // Hmyz / hovno červe víš, / jak v přírodě hrobě / hrobaříš /
vole / sám / v sobě”.
24) See The Plastic People of the Universe [texts of the songs, chronology, discography
etc.], Praha: Globus Music – Maťa, 1999, p. 65, translated by Marek Tomin.
25) A  selection of Vondruška’s  songs and poems from the  1970s was published in
the  volume: VONDRUŠKA, Josef, Rock’n’rollový sebevrah [Rock’n’roll Suicide], Brno
(Czech Republic): “Zvláštní vydání...”, 1993 (the  text cited is called Konec světa in
original and is on page 11; the cited part in Czech original: “[...] Začly houkat sirény /
šířejí se migrény / Celá zem se v peklo mění / je slyšet jen řev a klení / Lidé z toho
strachem šílí / nejsou jim nic platný prachy / Vědějí že pojdou strachy [...]”.

( 94 )
spreading / The whole land is changed into hell / only roaring and
cursing can be heard / It makes people go mad from fear / pills are
of no use to them / They know they’ll die of fear [...]”.

Two other authors from underground circles, Svatopluk Karásek

and Vratislav Brabenec, are only seemingly unconnected with such
apocalyptic themes. They both studied protestant theology and so
one might expect that their treatment of apocalyptic themes would
have an overtly Christian colouring. And this is undoubtedly the case
of Svaťa Karásek’s  songs,26 which include direct quotations from
the New Testament (including Revelations), but they are selected and
brought up to date in order to be most relevant to the burning issues
of the “normalization” era. This is evident, for instance, in the texts
There was a Struggle, Say No to the Devil, Visit to Hell, It’s Late, and
Sermon on the  Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, whose closing
several verses run as follows: “[…]When clutch of madmen embarks
on ruining the town entire / a few brave people can save it in evil
time. / God did not find those ten just men he sought: / With fire and
brimstone his destruction wrought // In our town too those needed
ten God seeks. / If he can’t find them, then we’re up shit creek.”27
Religiosity is perhaps not so immediate in the case of Vratislav
Brabenec28 but is sublimated into a kind of ecologically tinged “pan-
theism”; it is a vision of the world from which the Christian God has
already departed. Thus Letter from 1973, reads:

26) The texts of Karásek’s songs were published in two different editions: KARÁSEK,

Svatopluk, Protestor znamená vyznávám [Protestor Means: I Confess], Praha – Žďár
n. Sázavou: EKK – Kalich, 1993; KARÁSEK, Svatopluk, V nebi je trůn [There is a Throne
in Heaven], Praha: Maťa, 1999 (the latter has more reliable versions of the texts).
27) In Paul Wilson’s translation. The Czech original goes as follows: “Kázání o zkáze
Sodomy a Gomory // [...] Vždyť hrstka bláznů nakazí celý město, / pár statečných
spasí město v dobách zlých. // Nenašel Bůh těch potřebnejch deset, / města se vzdal –
život z něj odvolal. // I v našem městě hledá Bůh aspoň těch deset. / Nenajde-li – pak
je vše v prdeli.”
28) A collection of Brabenec’s samizdat poems was published in BRABENEC, Vrati-
slav: Sebedudy [Self-Bagpipes], Praha: Vokno, 1992 (the text of “Letter” is on p. 80–83).
Later the collection was published again in an augmented edition: BRABENEC, Vra-
tislav: Sebedudy a jiné texty z let 1966–1987, Praha: Kalich, 2010 (pp. 84–87).

( 95 )
 […] don’t ask and sleep it’s morning and we can’t see anything / you’re in
the sea and there is no sun in the grave / and no death, it left them / it is
now the life of a fly, flying and annoying / and revenging sins / I fly / I fly
/ the dead are coming and they wish me all the best / for the morning /
pleasure of the sea is dreadful / is joy dreadful / do you know the joke
about the fall / is hatred dreadful is love is murder the blaze / of a star
/ it’s  morning they have left they are carrying the  worm to execution
/ and the wings of the murderer and they are carrying the murderer /
each his own / it’s murder the lamp blazing on the water / it’s the star
the murder shines […].29

But Brabenec also had a  powerful impact on the  development

of underground literature by his choice and arrangement of texts
by other authors, or literary collages of a  kind, which was one of
the high points of Czech underground music. This relates not only
to the New Testament texts in the Easter Passion Play cycle (1978)
but also to the texts of Ladislav Klíma in the cycle entitled How It’ll
Be After Death (1979).30 We need hardly add that both cycles evoked
moments of extreme imperilment, and contained themes of confron-
tation with death and nothingness.31

29) The Czech original of the part cited: “Dopis [...] neptej se a spi je ráno a není vidět
/ jsi v moři a není slunce v hrobě / a není smrti odešla od nich / přišel muší život
létat a trápit / a pomstít hříchy / létám / létám / přicházejí mrtví a přejí mi všech-
no / nejlepší k ránu / je radost moře hrozná / je radost hrozná / znáš vtip o pádu /
je nenávist hrozná je láska je vražda záře / hvězdy / je ráno odešli nesou červa na
popravu / a křídla vraha a vraha si nesou / každý svého / je vražda záře lampa na
vodě / je hvězda vražda svítí [...]”.
30) See the CDs: THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE V. Pašijové hry velikonoční
(1978), (ed. Jaroslav RIEDEL), Praha: Globus Music, 1998; THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF
THE UNIVERSE VI. Jak bude po smrti (1979), (ed. Jaroslav RIEDEL), Praha: Globus
Music, 1998.
31) Brabenec’s arrangements of texts by other authors for musical performance by
the  Plastic People were published in the  collected edition of texts set to music by
the band; see The Plastic People of the Universe: Texty, Praha: Maťa, 2001 (2nd revised
and augmented edition); in English in The Plastic People of the Universe, Praha: Globus
Music – Maťa, 1999, pp. 87–107. The title of the Klímasque cycle Jak bude po smrti is
translated by Marek Tomin as “Afterlife” here.

( 96 )
 The crowning achievement of underground apocalyptic writing
was probably Bondy’s novel Disabled Siblings of 1974.32 In the context
of utopian, are rather “antiutopian”, dystopian literature, this work
is now fairly well known, and it has been written about not only
within the context of Czech literature, but also on the German, Ital-
ian and Polish and other literary scenes, thanks to translations.33 For
the present context it is interesting as a vision of a “post-apocalyp-
tic” world, in which the only possible option is to live to the full. It is
evidently also Bondy’s reflection on life in the “underground ghetto”,
and in fact also about its apotheosis. However the text of the work is
so full of visions that it perfectly constitutes apocalyptic literature,
with the opening theme of “the corpse of the world”, again treated
with a strong dose of irony, and also images of “celestial tele­vision”,
the threat of “rising waters”, or the frequently prominent theme of
“joyful self-destruction”.

Echoes of apocalyptic moods, in the  sense on reflection on

the “normalization” years, are also very much present in the texts
of the so-called “eighties” authors belonging to the younger under-
ground generation mentioned earlier. They are mostly connected
with the  samizdat magazine Revolver Revue that was founded in
1985, but a number of its regular authors made their debut in sam-
izdat in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

A  prominent author of that younger generation was the  poet

and prose writer Petr Placák. The  main figure of his prose work
Medorek (the first samizdat from 1985)34 is a sort of self-caricature

32) To this day there have been four Czech editions of Bondy’s Invalidní sourozenci:
1/ Toronto: Sixty-Eight Publishers, 1981; 2/ Bratislava: Archa, 1991; 3/ Brno (Czech
Republic): “Zvláštní vydání...”, 2002; 4/ Praha: Akropolis, 2012. The last edition con-
tains detailed comments.
33) See, for instance: BONDY, Egon, Fratelli invalidi, Eleuthera, Milano 1993; BONDY,
Egon, Die Invaliden Geschwister, Elfenbein, Heidelberg 1999; BONDY, Egon, Kuzyni
inwalidzi [an extract], in Czeski underground. Wybór tekstów z lat 1969–1989, Wrocław:
Oficyna Wydawnicza ATUT, 2008; BONDY, Egon, Invalidna sorojenca, Vnanje Gorice
(Slovenia): Police Dubove, 2017.
34) There were 4 samizdat editions of Placák’s Medorek (each a different version)
before 1989 and since then 3 printed (abridged) editions: PLACÁK, Petr, Medorek, Pra-

( 97 )
and irony, but also a  prototype of the  human monsters or freaks,
who are ­apparently made to populate a  dehumanised world. It
has been compared, for instance to the figure of Oskar in Günther
Grass’s novel Blechtrommel [The Tin Drum]. The other characters in
Medorek also display only a minimum of genuine human features.
Placák’s  vision of the  world is a  picture of a  satanic panopticum,
a labyrinth, in which maybe only “the mad” can survive. And here
again, in the spirit of the reappraisal of values under normalization,
“black” is often substituted for “white”. For instance the  chapter
entitled “In the  Tomb” is possibly the  most cheerful and optimis-
tic chapter of the whole book, even though it ends in a massacre.
Themes of extinction or coming to an end also figure frequently in
Placák’s poems,35 such as in the undated text The Raven:

[…] I rose into the air on my enormous black wings / and with the long
talons of my feathered legs I  / caught hold of the  highest branch of
the  highest tree / I  dug my claws deep into its soul / I  screamed in
anger and the sun went down swiftly / a pale moon rose and infamous
clouds sailed across the sky / crookbacked rats finally left their holes /
the red sky was burning itself out, foul-smelling funerary candles / I sat
on a gibbet lulled and reconciled / as far as the eye could see there was
a huge snow-covered graveyard.

J. H. Krchovský (a  pseudonym), who these days is probably

now the most renowned Czech underground poet, alongside Ivan

ha: Lidové noviny – Česká expedice, 1990; PLACÁK, Petr, Medorek + Starcovy zápisky,
Praha: Hynek, 1997; PLACÁK, Petr, Medorek (anonymní román), Praha: Plus, 2010.
35) A selection of Placák’s samizdat verse appeared in the publication, PLACÁK, Petr,
Obrovský zasněžený hřbitov [A Huge Snow-Covered Graveyard], Praha: Torst, 1995;
the  cited text appears on pp.  47–48; the  cited part of the  poem in Czech original
goes as follows: “Havran [...] vznesl jsem se na svých obrovských černých křídlech
/ a  dlouhými drápy svých opeřených nohou jsem se zachytil / na nejvyšší větvi
největšího stromu / zaryl jsem pařáty hluboko do jeho duše / zlostně jsem se ozval
a slunce rychle zapadlo / vyšel pobledlý měsíc a na oblohu vypluly zlopověstné mraky
/ přihrblé krysy konečně vylezly ze svých děr / červánky dohořívaly, smrduté zádušní
svíce / seděl jsem na šibenici, ukolébán a  usmířen / kam oko dohlédlo, obrovský
zasněžený hřbitov”.

( 98 )
 M. ­Jirous and Egon Bondy, created an oeuvre36 abounding in “mon-
strous” and “perverse” dreams of an “outcast”, an “alien being” on
this earth, scorning existing values, and articulating his longing
for the earliest possible release from this earthly existence. In his
verse Krchovský’s “ideological theme” is greatly enriched by a very
strong dose of self-deprecation and black humour, which actually
adds a  new spiritual dimension to his pessimistic agnosticism.
­Krchovský’s poems have been put into music by The Plastic People
and by other underground bands, also they have been translat-
ed by several translators; e.g., Justin Quinn, Marek Tomin, Craig
Cravens, and have been published in various anthologies and CD
booklets. The following example, in O. T. Chalkestone’s translation,
was originally a part of a samizdat volume Bestiální něha [Beastly
Tenderness], 1981–82, and is also found in the volume mentioned
in Footnote 36:

IF I WANT TO VANISH WITHOUT A TRACE / drowning in the river won’t

be my case / – I’ll lay my lazy bones / in a bath full of acid at home //
While I get the water running / I tame my anxiety mulling: / – how when
I’m all dissolved / will I unplug the tub hole? // I’ll employ mechanical
power! / – linking the plug to the door knob with a wire / and when they
open the door later / I shall need no undertaker // I am sure that all in
all / the bath tub will retain my soul... / through the hole as I flow down /
my soul asleep nirvana bound // A  piece of shit cannot be soaped… /
what there is not cannot be broke / only the pretty nothing that troubles
the brain / will never go down the drain.37

36) An extensive selection of Krchovský’s  samizdat poetry continues to appear in

reprints, but initially as: KRCHOVSKÝ, J. H., Básně [Poems], Brno (Czech Republic):
Host, 1998.
37) From KASJAS, Piotr (ed.), Anthology of Slavic Poetry, [London, UK]: Kasjas Publish-
ing, 2016, p. 121. The Czech original goes as follows: “CHCI-LI ZMIZET BEZE STOPY /
nebudu se v řece topit / – uložím svou kůži línou / na dno vany s kyselinou // Zatímco
si chystám lázeň / přemýšlím a krotím bázeň: / – jak, až budu rozežraný / vytáhnu
pak zátku z  vany? // Pomohu si mechanikou! / – spojím drátem zátku s  klikou /
a jak někdo chytne kliku / pohřbí mě i bez hrobníků // Jsem si jist, že každopádně /
zůstane má duše na dně... / já vyteču stokou z vany / duše usne do nirvány // Hovno
nelze umýt mejdlem... / to, co není, zničit nejde / jen to nic, co trápí hlavy / kanálem
se neodplaví...” (KRCHOVSKÝ, J. H., Básně, Brno, Czech Republic: Host, 1998, p. 31).

( 99 )
 The  poems of Jáchym Topol38 reflect the  thinking of a  “barbari-
an in the urban jungle”, a Huxleyesque “savage” rejecting a priori
the “laws” of the majority population, who no longer display the fea-
tures of real people.
Jan Pelc’s prose debut, which, with charming irony, he entitled
Děti ráje [Children of Paradise] (1983), even though “Hell’s  chil-
dren” would be a  more apt description (and which subsequently
formed part of a  trilogy with the  title …a  bude hůř […things’ll
get worse],39 teems with individuals who are simply socially-det-
rimental, semi-bestial “monsters”; whereas the  opposite is true,
when viewed in the  light of the  hypocrisy of “normalization”. In
Pelc’s prese­n­tation, the world of “normal people” is a totally alienate
place – empty and cheerless; only in the “hell” of the outcasts is it
possible to find authentic feelings, albeit at the  cost of following
a path to self-destruction.

Paradoxically Magorovy labutí písně [Magor’s  Swan Songs]40

the supreme verse collection of the “founding father” of the Czech
underground, Ivan Martin Jirous, belongs – with regards to the years
it was written  – in the  context of the  younger underground gene­
ration. Jirous wrote the poems in prison in the period 1981–85, and
it was in fact through them that – initially in connection with under-
ground literature and later, in the nineties – that he became known
as a poet par excellence in the context of Czech literature as a whole.
Much has been written about Jirous’s Swan Songs, and suffice it to
mention it here, but this part of his oeuvre is quoted here only be-

38) Topol’s selection of his samizdat poetry was published in TOPOL, Jáchym, Miluju
tě k zbláznění [I Love You Like Mad], Brno (Czechoslovakia): Atlantis, 1990, subse-
quently reprinted several times.
39) Pelc’s  prose text Děti ráje (Part 2 of the  trilogy ...a  bude hůř, but was probably
the  first part to be written) first appeared in print in the  Paris-based Czech exile
journal Svědectví (18, no. 72 (1984), pp. 673–724), and was subsequently reprinted in
the Czechoslovakia in various samizdat editions. The complete, unexpurgated trilogy
was eventually published years later: PELC, Jan, ...a bude hůř, Praha: Maťa, 2000.
40) See the  complete edition of Jirous’s  poetry: JIROUS, Ivan M., Magorova summa
[Magor’s Sum], Praha: Torst, 1998; 2nd, enlarged edition: Praha: Torst, 2007; 3rd, en-
larged, complete edition in 3 volumes: Praha: Torst, 2015 (all three editions include
commentaries, registers, indexes of names and bibliography).

( 100 )
cause of its supposed relevance to our reflection on the themes of de-
struction, extinction, and ruin. Of course such themes are present in
Swan Songs, but we would be hard-pressed to find actual apocalyptic
moods. Jirous’s poetry has too much Catholic “earthiness”, or rather
his Christianity is anything but a yearning for a sudden ontological
transformation after universal destruction. Nevertheless, the  very
fact that Jirous’s spiritual poetry was written when the author was
in Czechoslovakia’s harshest prison, one that had even something
in common with a death camp, is of itself quite revealing.
The occasional “apocalyptic” echoes in Magor’s Swan Songs are
neutralized by irony or hyperbole, and lack any vision of a  global
catastrophe as they tend to evoke concrete, sometimes drastic im-
ages of everydayness. Occasionally, they take the form of a “dialogue
with God”, virtually a prayer, by means of which the author begs for
the destruction not to come, but to be averted. Thus for example in
the four-verse poem: “All rednecks in Pelhřimov know / that because
of uranium they’ll destroy Křemešník in a single blow // God grant
me one wish / let them find uranium under Hradčany rather than
fish.”41 Or there is a  part of a  poem with the  incipit V  neštěstí se
vždycky hbitě [Whenever tragedy knocks on my door]:

[…] Oh Lord, is it yet noon / Or is dusk upon the  world so soon? / Is

a bomb just a big knife? / Is the wind tearing the very last leaves / From
the courtyard’s hawthorn trees / Or will they turn again green? Do tell
// Is there bark around heaven / As around earthly trees? / Or are you in
your glory surrounded / By nothing but angelic spheres? / Is there fire
in the heart of the void? / God, is that you in the void? […]42

41) The Czech original: “Ví v Pelhřimově kdejaký buran / Křemešník zbourají našli
tam uran // Vyslyšet přání ať Pán Bůh dá mi / aby ho našli pod Hradčanami”, in MS,
Praha: Torst, 1998, 2007, 2015, p. 494. The English translation in Up the Devil’s Back /
Po hřbetě ďábla. A Bilingual Anthology of 20th Century Czech Poetry (eds. and translators
Bronislava Volková & Clarice Cloutier), Bloomington, Indiana: Slavica Publishers,
Indiana University, 2008, pp. 308–313.
42) The Czech original: “[...] Bože je teprv poledne / nebo pad na svět soumrak už? /
Je bomba jenom velký nůž? / Poslední listí vítr rve / na dvoře z hlohů nebo se / zaze-
lenají poznovu? řekni mi // Je kolem nebes taky kůra / jako na stromech na zemi? /
Nebo jen kůry andělské / obklopují Tě v  slávě Tvé? / Je oheň v  srdci prázdnoty? /
Jsi v prázdnotě to Bože Ty? [...]”, in MS, Praha: Torst, 1998, 2007, 2015, pp. 329–330.

( 101 )
 In conclusion, I  would look to point to a  connection between
“underground apocalyptic writing” and the  literary oeuvre of an
author who definitely does not belong to this circle, although along
with Ladislav Klíma, Josef Váchal, and Jakub Deml he has been per-
ceived as a kind of magnus parens of Czech underground literature.
That oeuvre could indeed serve as proof that the  apocalypse was
not simply the  prerogative of some underground screwballs, as it
were, but was probably an appropriate reflection of the  years of
“normalization”. I am referring, of course, to Bohumil Hrabal’s prose
Příliš hlučná samota [Too Loud a Solitude], the first version of which
was penned in the years 1973–74;43 i.e., the same period as the most
representative texts of the first wave of underground literature, and
yet independently of them, as can be proven. I hasten to add that
it is by no means my intention to compare the artistic qualities of
Hrabal’s  text with the  various “primitivist” writings of the  under-
ground “barbaians”, let alone to establish any kind of chronological
precedence. But it is necessary to emphasize a number of congruent
themes:
They both comprise reflections on the  crisis and hopelessness
affecting Czech society in the  nineteen-fifties, and particularly in
the seventies and eighties, as well as an articulation of generalized
human hopelessness, as well as explicit cosmic hopelessness. They
both display a  paradoxical joyfulness, which is achieved even at
the cost of self-destruction, in both cases they reflect on the feelings
of social outcasts; and finally, they both include similar, truly almost
apocalyptic visions of some kind of “last judgement”, hinted at in
the words of Christ, Buddha, and Lao Tse. Another obvious similarity
is the considerable use of irony and self-deprecation, stylistic and
even noetic techniques that are favoured by Hrabal and most of
the underground authors.

The  English translation in JIROUS, Ivan M., My itinerary has been monotonous for
quite a while. Selected prison poems translated from Czech by Marek Tomin, London:
Divus, 2017 (pp. 32–33).
43) This (approximate) dating is given in an editorial comment by Milan Jankovič
(on p.  243) on the  9th volume of Hrabal’s  collected works: Sebrané spisy Bohumila
Hrabala – Hlučná samota (Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1994). The book was published
in the English translation: Too Loud a Solitude (translated by Michael Henry Heim)
San Diego – New York – London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Publishers, 1990.

( 102 )
 Nevertheless, in the context of Hrabal’s overall output Too Loud
a  Solitude is more of a  one-off, at least as far as the  themes men-
tioned are concerned. Absent from Hrabal’s  work is the  theme of
a “post-apocalyptic” life opportunity, which was used, and capital-
ized on to the maximum degree by his erstwhile friend and literary
fellow-traveller Egon Bondy in Disabled Siblings, a theme which was
probably an echo of life in the “underground ghetto”.
One can only speculate whether that literary dimension is absent
from Hrabal because by the 1970s he no longer had access to the un-
derground community, but the fact remains that from the mid-sev-
enties to the  end of the  eighties Hrabal’s  new texts were simply
intensely varied evocations of a  more or less idealised past, and
he turned his back on raw narrative like the prophetic apocalyptic
urgency of Too Loud a Solitude or certain texts of the underground
authors. The  fact they would never have published anything like
that of his in pre-1989 Czechoslovakia is another matter, and there
is no way we can deal with it here and now.

P r a g u e   – U d i n e   – Ro m e
April 2009 – January 2010
Translated by Gerald Turner

( 103 )
6. EXPLORING MODERN ART: CZECH UNDERGROUND
ROCK MUSICIANS

It was certainly rock music, in addition to literature and poetry,

which dominated the  Czechoslovak underground scene of the  so-
called normalization period (i.e., the  1970s and 1980s). By now
the Czech underground culture has already become a legend whose
reputation has been widely recognized. If not hundreds, then doz-
ens of underground samizdat books got into print after 1989, some
of them have also been translated into foreign languages, and
the ­underground music was released on dozens of CDs. Even though
underground art and literature has already been adequately evalu-
ated by art and literary historians, there are still gaps to be filled in.
The  history of the  artistic career of the  “psychedelic rock
band” called The  Plastic People of the  Universe, that epitomizes
the  whole of the  Czech underground scene, is well known (in
English see the texts of the songs, chronology, discography, etc. in
Jaroslav Riedel’s  book,1 in the  anthology Views from the  Inside,2
and English Wikipedia “The  Plastic People of the  Universe”).3

1) RIEDEL, Jaroslav (ed.), The  Plastic People of the  Universe, Praha: Globus Music
& Maťa, 1999.
2) MACHOVEC, Martin (ed.), Views from the Inside: Czech Underground Literature and
Culture (1948–1989), Praha: Ústav české literatury a literární vědy FF UK; 2nd edition:
Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018.
3) The  volume Views from the  Inside (MACHOVEC, Martin ed., 2006, 2018) also
includes the  most authoritative text as far as the  notions of Czech “underground
culture” or the “second subculture” of the 1970s are concerned, Ivan M. Jirous’ in-
terpretation, evaluation, and the  way he used the  above-mentioned notions forms
the basis and framework for most of the research into the Czech underground cul-
ture. It is his “underground manifesto” Zpráva o  třetím českém hudebním obrození
[Report on the  Third Czech Musical Revival] written in 1975 (in Magorův zápisník,
Praha: Torst, 1997, pp. 7–31), which was published many times in samizdat and se­
veral times by regular printing presses after 1989, and also translated into several
languages including English (first published in English in the catalogue The Merry
Ghetto, released with the LP Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club Banned, London – Paris:
Boží Mlýn & SCOPA Invisible Production, 1978). The importance of the Czech under-
ground movement in the civil rights struggle in Czechoslovakia, the impulse it gave
to the establishment of the Charter 77 movement, was probably first acknowledged
abroad by prof. Skilling (SKILLING, Gordon H., Charter 77 and Human Rights in

( 104 )
Some of the  less well-known aspects of the  music of The  Plastic
People and some other Czech underground bands, especially those
which make us consider Czech underground music a  serious art
phenomenon, are traced in this treatise. These bands undoubtedly
overcame the modest aesthetics of mere entertainment, of which
rock music and rock shows are generally considered to be typical
examples. In its best achievements, Czech underground music
managed to create innovative works worthy of interpretation in
terms of art, theatre performance, and literature. Its consciously
and deliberately subversive expression of an anti-totalitarian view
(though not necessarily directly a political view) only contributed
to such status, but this alone would have never sufficed for a high
artistic standard.
It is widely acknowledged that the  Plastic People, at least at
the beginning of their artistic career in 1969–1971, gained reputation
as a sort of a “vanguard” rock band whose shows were “­psychedelic”
indeed. But honestly stated, such up-to-date rock music hardly
makes the  Plastic People worthy of attention on the  part of art
historians. The 1960s saw a rich variety of rock shows in Western
Europe and the US ranging from the gigantic stadium performances
of show business superstars to underground music clubs with their
ephemeral rock bands playing gigs of different quality. These gigs
were quite comparable to the ones performed by the contempora-
neous Czech band called The Plastic People of the Universe in “a far-
away country of which we know little” (Sir Neville Chamberlain,
Munich, Germany, 1938, speaking of Czechoslovakia), moreover,
behind the barbed wires of the Iron Curtain.
Historians also recognize the  fact that only some years later,
in 1976, the  police terror provoked by the  independent activities
of the  Czechoslovak underground community gave the  last  – and
maybe the  most decisive  – impulse to issue the  initial Charter 77
petition and to establish the Czechoslovak dissident movement. In

Czechoslovakia, London: Allen and Unwin, 1981). Václav Havel in the book Disturbing
the Peace. A Conversation with Karel Hvížďala, New York: Knopf & Vintage Books, 1990
[Dálkový výslech in Czech original, first published in samizdat in 1986], in this respect
also stressed several times the important role of the Czech underground movement.
Wikipedia, see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Plastic_People_of_the_Universe,
Accessed in June 2019.

( 105 )
Plastic People in 1969. From the left: Josef Janíček – Pavel Zeman – Milan “Mejla”
Hlavsa – Jiří “Přemysl” Števich – Michal Jernek; photo: Jan Ságl

this respect, the Plastic People and the underground community can

be seen as one of the  best symbols, even as the  very incarnation
of Czechoslovak political and moral resistance that in cooperation
with other independent social forces finally managed to overthrow
totalitarianism in 1989 and reestablish democracy in the country.
This aspect, again, with all respect to it being undeniable, would not
make the role of the underground rock musicians more prominent
in the history of art at the beginning.
And yet, there indeed were moments in the career of the Plastic
People and some more Czech underground rock groups in which
the spontaneity, innocence, and naiveté of simple rock shows and
stage gigs was deliberately and consciously overcome. And it is this
fact which makes Czech underground music interesting and vivid
to this day.

( 106 )
 The Man with No Ears

In a ghastly white bathroom a horrid event took place

in a mirror that hanged on the wall
a head without a single strand of hair appeared
it was a man
his visage was most horrid
his bald skull bore two extremely warped ears

Two hours went by

the man looks into the mirror
takes out a box in which there is a syringe and some heroin
he shoots up his dose

Two more hours go by

the man looks into the mirror again
takes out a razor
and cuts off his extremely warped ears

The white bathroom like the morgue

is covered with blood
the box and the syringe lay on the floor
as well as the bottle with heroin,
two extremely warped ears and
the man with no ears4

(Michal Jernek, 1969)

4) In Josef Janda’s translation. The Czech original: “Muž bez uší // V mrtvolně bílé

koupelně se odehrál hrůzný výjev / v  zrcadle, které viselo na stěně / se objevila
úplně holá lidská hlava / byl to muž / jeho zjev byl hrůzyplný / na jeho holé lebce
byly přirostlé dvě příšerně zkroucené uši // Uplynuly dvě hodiny / muž se dívá do
zrcadla / vyndavá skříňku / vytahuje injekční stříkačku a lahvičku s heroinem / sám
si vpichuje svoji dávku // Uplynuly další dvě hodiny / muž se opět dívá do zrcadla /
vyndavá břitvu / a obě své příšerně zkroucené uši si odřezává // Bílá koupelna dělá
dojem márnice / je pokropena lidskou krví / na zemi tu leží skříňka, injekční stříkač-
ka, / lahvička s heroinem, / dvě lidské, příšerně zkroucené uši / a mrtvý muž bez uší”.
The English translation in The Plastic People of the Universe, p. 31 (see Footnote 1).

( 107 )
 To better understand why and how such a simple and, as a matter
of fact, quite traditionally conceived psychedelic rock sound and ly­
rics of The Plastic People changed into something more demanding
and sophisticated, we have to trace at least three encounters ex-
perienced by the Plastics that gave the band the impulses necessary
for the reevaluation of their primary artistic views.
First of all, they were impulses that came from their encounter
with Milan Knížák’s experimental music ensemble called AKTUAL.
Today, Milan Knížák is one of the best-known Czech personali-
ties and has always been recognized as one of the leading figures
in conquering new territories for modern art since the early 1960s,
though he is often considered controversial and too ambitious in
his experiments in fine arts, music, architectural design, literature,
poetry, and art museum management. It was as early as 1963 that
Knížák started organizing art happenings, events, and land art ac-
tions in Czechoslovakia. In 1967 Knížák also started experimenting
with his musical ensemble, a  sort of a  pseudo-rock band called
­AKTUAL. Knížák composed most of the  music and wrote most of
the lyrics for the ensemble, which consisted of amateur enthusiasts,
even non-musicians. Their music included experiments of all kinds.
Besides features of rock music they made use of déclassé brass band
evergreen songs and tunes, on the  one hand, and the  techniques
and practices of minimal and concrete music, on the other. Beside
traditional musical instruments they used sounds produced by
buzzers, horns, the roar of a running motorbike engine, the rattling
of broken glass splinters in a  bucket, or even the  sound of chop-
ping wood logs onstage. Knížák’s  lyrics, always witty and easy to
remember, thanks to their appropriate rhythm and rhymes, mostly
mocked the venerated idols, the “sacred cows” of both Communist
totalitarianism and of the Western consumerist “paradise”. It is no
wonder therefore that Knížák and his band AKTUAL managed to
organize only about 6–7 gigs between the  years 1967–1971. Most
of their live performances were violently stopped before they
reached the  planned finale, and moreover, their audience hardly
ever protested against such interventions. In 1970 and 1971 the en-
semble AKTUAL played two gigs together with The Plastic People.
­Legend has it that The Plastic People members where the only ones
among the audience, when AKTUAL was on stage, who really liked

( 108 )
Knížák’s music. Later on, they also recalled how much they had been
impressed by Knížák’s Czech texts which lacked the usual banality
and sentimentality of most contemporary Czech pop lyrics:

I Love You and Lenin

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

I love you for your hair

I love you for your smile
I love you for your tenderness
I love you for your dreams

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

I love Lenin for his goatee

I love Lenin for his bald head
I love Lenin for the revolution
I love Lenin for his up-sided world

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN
I LOVE YOU AND LENIN

(Milan Knížák, 1968)5

5) In Karolína Dolanská’s  translation. The  Czech original: “Miluju tebe a  Lenina

// Miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe
a Lenina // miluju tebe pro tvoje vlasy / miluju tebe pro tvůj smích / miluju tebe pro
tvý něžnosti / miluju tebe pro tvý sny // miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina /
miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina // miluju Lenina pro jeho vousy / miluju
Lenina pro jeho pleš / miluju Lenina pro revoluci / miluju Lenina pro jeho svět // milu-

( 109 )
AKTUAL in Mariánské Lázně, 1968. From the left: Milan Knížák – Josef Vereš – Jan
Maria Mach – Pavel Tichý – Ivan Čori

Assault on Culture

Wake father Koniash up

Let Jesuits arise from their graves
Thousands of books are to be burned
Wake father Koniash up

Tear down paintings, burn up your books

Destroy theatres with bulldozers

ju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina / miluju tebe a Lenina”.
See KNÍŽÁK, Milan, Písně kapely Aktual, eds. MACHOVEC, Martin – RIEDEL, Jaroslav,
Praha: Maťa, 2003, p. 47; the recording of a cover version of the song was released
on a CD AKTUAL. Děti bolševizmu, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2005.

( 110 )
 Destroy anything valuable
Make an assault on culture

Wake father Koniash up

Wake all the idiots up
The gifted ones must be killed
Wake father Koniash up

Tear down paintings, burn up your books

Destroy theatres with bulldozers
Destroy anything valuable
Make an assault on culture

(Milan Knížák, 1967)6

The  second important impulse was due to an encounter with

the art historian and poet Ivan Martin Jirous who, in the course of
the following years, became one of the best-known representatives
of Czech underground culture, and later also gained respect as
a Czechoslovak political prisoner. Through Jirous, The Plastic People
got into contact with a number of artists, mostly university and art
academy graduates, who in the mid-1960s established an unofficial
art group called Křižovnická škola [the Crusaders’ School].7

6) Translated by M.M. The Czech original: “Atentát na kulturu // probuďte pátera

Koniáše / ať vstanou z mrtvých jezuiti / tisíce knih je třeba spálit / probuďte pátera
Koniáše // Rozkopte obrazy spalte si knihy / divadla ať srovnaj buldozéry / zahoďte
všechno co má ňákou cenu / spáchejte atentát na kulturu // probuďte pátera Koniáše /
probuďte všechny idioty / inteligenci je třeba zabít / probuďte pátera Koniáše // Roz-
kopte obrazy spalte si knihy / divadla ať srovnaj buldozéry / zahoďte všechno co má
ňákou cenu / spáchejte atentát na kulturu”. See KNÍŽÁK, Milan, Písně kapely Aktual,
eds. MACHOVEC, Martin – RIEDEL, Jaroslav, Praha: Maťa, 2003, p. 39; the recording of
the original version of the song was released on a CD Atentát na kulturu, Brno (Czech
Republic): Anne Records, 2003. (Concerning páter Koniáš / father Koniash: Antonín
Koniáš, 1691–1760, was a Czech Jesuit, preacher, missionary and censor. He was very
active in re-catholicization project in Bohemia, wrote lists of “libri prohibiti”, i.e.
“banned books”, and organized confiscations and public burnings of such books. In
19th century he became a symbol of religious, ideologic intolerance in the country.)
7) See the art catalogue JIROUSOVÁ, Věra (ed.), Křižovnická škola čistého humoru bez
vtipu [The Crusaders’ School of Pure Humor without Jokes], Hradec Králové – Praha:

( 111 )
 Ivan Jirous and a  number of his artist friends were excited by
the  vigorous enthusiasm of The  Plastic People and their loyal
audience and started collaborating with them in different ways.
Jirous lectured them on Andy Warhol, pop art, and related sub-
jects; others were inventive in making extraordinary stage deco-
rations and crazy, fancy facepaintings for the musicians. The rock
musicians themselves were soon involved in various artistic ac-
tions, events, and conceptual performances where their music
was only a part of the whole libretto. It was especially the artists
Karel Nepraš, Zorka Ságlová, Olaf Hanel, and Eugen Brikcius
who showed a  deep understanding for the  musical ambitions
of The  Plastic People, and who, on the  other hand, were also
influenced by the  bands’ aesthetics and ideas that were rooted
in the  infamous mutiny of rock barbarians, in a  reevaluation of
values as coined by the  generation of “flower power”, of hippies.
Several examples of such cooperation follow:

1) The  Plastic People and their friends took an active part in

Ságlová’s happenings Throwing Balls (1969) and Homage to Fafejta
(1972). The first one was commented on by the author as follows:
“In April 1969, after the ice had melted, we threw 37 balls of three
different colours (blue, green, orange) into the  lake, producing
a floating sculpture taken by wind and waves. We left it on the sur-
face of the water”.8 The second one, which the Plastics accompanied

Galerie moderního umění Hradec Králové  – Středočeská galerie Praha, 1991; see
also the art catalogue SLAVÍKOVÁ, Duňa (ed.), Křižovnická škola čistého humoru bez
vtipu, Roudnice nad Labem (Czech Republic): Galerie moderního umění v Roudnici
nad Labem, 2015–2016; SÁGL, Jan, Tanec na dvojitém ledě / Dancing on the Double Ice,
Praha: KANT, 2013; MACHOVEC, Martin, Jan Ságl / Tanec na dvojitém ledě / Dancing
on the Double Ice / Popisky k fotografiím, Praha: KANT, 2017.
The name of the “school” is based on the Czech adjective “křižovnický”, which refers
to the Knights of the Cross with the Red Star or the Military Order of the Crusaders
of the  Red Star. The  artists chose the  name by pure coincidence only  – they used
to meet in a  pub called “U  křižovníků” nearby a  medieval Prague monastery (in
Křižovnická street) that belonged (and after 1989 was returned) to the mentioned
Roman-Catholic order.
8) See LAMAROVÁ, Milena (ed.), Zorka Ságlová 1965–1995, Praha: Galerie výtvarného
umění v Litoměřicích, 1995; see also BUČILOVÁ, Lenka, Zorka Ságlová. Úplný přehled

( 112 )
Zorka Ságlová’s happening “Throwing balls into the lake Bořín at
Průhonice” (1968 concept, 1969 realization); in which members of the
Plastic People and of the Primitives Group took part; photos: Jan Ságl

with their music, consisted of the participants inflating condoms

and the  subsequent throwing of the  inflated “balloons” out of
a window of a castle ruin. The point of the happening is found in
the name of “Fafejta”: Mr. Fafejta was a well-known condom man-
ufacturer in prewar Czechoslovakia. The  Plastics, in their early
years, played The Song of the Fafejta Bird about Two Unearthly Worlds
which pro­bably inspired Zorka Ságlová to organize the happening.9

díla, Praha: KANT, 2009; KNÍŽÁK, Milan  – POKORNÝ, Marek  – VALOCH, Jiří, Zorka
Ságlová, Praha: Národní galerie, 2006.
9) See more photos of the two events in SÁGL, Jan, Tanec na dvojitém ledě / Dancing
on the Double Ice, Praha: KANT, 2013 (Footnote 7).

( 113 )
 2) In 1974 Olaf Hanel organized two artistic events, Homage to
Bedřich Smetana and The  Waking Up of the  Blaník Knights, both of
them supported by an improvised, ephemeral band called Sen noci
svatojánské band [The Midsummer Night’s Dream Band] made up
of some members of the Plastic People, in which the sculptor Karel
Nepraš and the painter Miloslav Hájek played violin.
The first event made use of the famous main theme of one part
of Smetana’s symphonic poem Má vlast [My Country], i.e. “The Vlta-
va”. The Midsummer Night’s Dream Band played the theme several
times during one day starting nearby the  Vltava’s  source high in
the Šumava mountains and at last ending in Prague.
The  second event, deliberately containing a  politically subver-
sive moment, was based on an old Czech legend about the sleeping
knights inside Blaník Hill, some 50 kilometers southeast of Prague.
According to legend, the  knights will wake up and set off from
the  mountain, led by the  Czech patron saint Wenceslas, to help
the Czech people when their impoverishment and misery brought
about by the “oppressor’s wrong” reaches its climax. It is pointless
to add that the performance of The Plastic People and their friends
on top of Blaník Hill missed the  desired effect: the  noble knights
inside went on sleeping.
3) In 1979 Eugen Brikcius created an event, or rather a  “soap
musical” as he called it, Hello Fellow  – Ave Clave. Brikcius, one of
the best-known Czech happening organizers (he had already started
making them in late 1960s) and also an author of neo-Latin poetry,
organized the event in a private apartment. The Anglo-Latin libret-
to, written and recited by Brikcius, was accompanied by the music
of The  Plastic People and composed by Milan Hlavsa just for this
occasion. The event, however, ended abruptly because of a police
raid: all the present persons’ IDs were checked, and sixteen of them
were subsequently arrested.

On such and similar occasions, the wild spontaneous rock music

of The Plastic People was consciously channelled according to a pre-
vious scenario. As a matter of fact, such conceptual music only served
the  artistic aims set by others, but it undoubtedly helped broaden
the horizons of Czech underground musicians themselves. As early
as in 1973, The Plastic People themselves started introducing exper-

( 114 )
The happening “The Waking of the Blaník Knights”, 1974, with
members of the Plastic People and Sen noci svatojánské band;
photos: Olaf Hanel

iments into their live stage music. Perhaps we should add that from
1973 onwards they could only give gigs outside Prague and other
large Czechoslovak cities (i.e., in village pubs, pretending to meet
only on the occasion of a wedding celebration and the like). By that
time their audience consisted mostly of devoted fans who were ad-
mitted only after presenting an invitation written by one of the band
members. Such growing anxiety, if not a kind of paranoia, reflected
the insane atmosphere in Czech society infected by the so-called nor-
malization, actually a reestablishing of neo-Stalinism in the country.
The gig called Do lesíčka na čekanou… [Up to the Ranger’s Watch…]
took place in pub in the village of Veleň nearby Prague in Decem-
ber 1973. The very name of the gig, quite unfit for a rock concert,
offers a clue to the adequate interpretation of the artistic shift that

( 115 )
The cover of the booklet mentioned in Footnote 10 with the photo taken in
the 1973 Veleň gig; photo: Petr Prokeš

occurred in the music of the Plastics: it quotes an old and notorious

Czech folk song, a favourite of drunk pub cronies.
Its simple minded lyrics say something about “a young ranger set-
ting off to the woods to hunt only to be followed by his sweetheart –
the scene of their rendezvous in the woods being lit by moonlight”.
The beginning of the gig shocked even the experienced and har­
dened audience of the Plastics: Pavel Zajíček, friend of the band and
the founder of another important underground ensemble called DG
307, started out by shouting the  words “anti! anti!” and the  like at
the audience. Meanwhile, the other musicians were sitting passively
on the  stage, decorated with artificial trees as “woods”, and were
having a  snack. When the  indignation on the  side of the  audience

( 116 )
seemed to have reached its climax, the shouting was stopped by an
all-at-once, unison singing of the folk song Do lesíčka na čekanou…
which was presented in the out-of-tune manner of the late night pub
drunkards. Luckily, it was soon replaced by an improvised electronic,
cacophonic composition called Kohoutkova kometa [Kohoutek Comet].
As this composition came to an end, the usual rock gig started at last,
which, however, had some more surprises in store for the audience.10
This aforementioned surprise echoed the third important encoun-
ter of The  Plastic People on their way underground: in 1973, they
met with the texts of the legendary poet Egon Bondy whose name
was officially non-existent before 1989. His ironic, mocking, and pro-
phetic poetry of the 1950s and 1970s, which was only accessible in
samizdat publications, enchanted The Plastic People. The Veleň gig
also offered the first opportunity to present some of Bondy’s poems
set to music. The way in which the artistic career of the Plastics was
to develop further on was not evident in the electronic experiments
such as Kohoutek Comet, but rather the ritual-like, monotonous rock
sound contrasting sharply with the  prophetic message contained
in the poet’s verses of Podivuhodný mandarin [The Miraculous Man-
darin]  – replacing pop culture in favor of real literature and poet-
ry. The “psychedelic years” and the primitive rock shows and lyrics
of The Man with No Ears were now gone forever.

The Miraculous Mandarin

For your whole life you’ll be spreading your legs to let in

The one and only the Miraculous Mandarin

You’ll be stitching your outfit from uselessness and sin

You’ll keep searching for the Miraculous Mandarin

With a blood roar in your head and shadows in your grin

You’ll keep longing for the Miraculous Mandarin

Many times you’ll wish to gulp the gas like a gin

For again it wasn’t the Miraculous Mandarin

10) See photos of the gig in the booklet added to a 2-CD set of the Plastic People of
the Universe, Do lesíčka na čekanou 1. 12. 1973, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2006.

( 117 )
 When at the age of forty you’ll hang down your chin
You’ll know the Mills of God have sucked you in!

(Egon Bondy, 1972)11

The other authentic step beyond the traditional territory of rock

music was made in the same year of 1973 by the group DG 307, whose
founder and lyricist Pavel Zajíček was musically backed by Milan
Hlavsa, the  leading figure of The  Plastic People. The  influence of
Knížák’s band AKTUAL is undeniable, but there are also considerable
differences: the overall musical mood of DG 307 is gloomy and dark,
close to prophetic reproaches and Christian parables. Knížák’s iro-
nies and mockery are mostly absent. The first important performance
of DG 307 took place in a village pub of Postupice, September 1974, as
a part of the so-called “First Musical Festival of the Second Culture”.
Same as with the Do lesíčka na čekanou… gig, the audience was
largely disappointed if not shocked by the experiments of DG 307.
Obviously they were not aware of the  fact of having witnessed
the birth of one of the most famous musical legends of Czech un-
derground culture.

St.

St. Paul
hounded all his life
St. Stephen

11) Translated by Jiří Popel for the English subtitles of Jana Chytilová’s film The Plastic
People of the Universe, Czech Television (ČT) and Video 57, 2001. The Czech original:
“Podivuhodný mandarin // Po celý život budeš roztahovat klín / aby v  něj vešel
Podivuhodný mandarin // Budeš svůj šat šít z marností a z vin / hledat budeš kde je
Podivuhodný mandarin // A v hlavě hukot krve a v očích noční stín / toužit jen budeš
aby přišel Podivuhodný mandarin // Mnohokrát si budeš chtít pustit plyn /že zas to
nebyl Podivuhodný mandarin // Až vyčerpáš se v čtyřicítce a budeš celá hin / poznáš
že život je jen boží mlýn”; see The  Plastic People of the  Universe, Texty, 2nd  edition,
Praha: Maťa 2001, p. 60; see also BONDY, Egon, Básnické spisy II. 1962–1975, Praha:
Argo, 2015, p. 386. The song with the text was released on a number of CDs. See for
instance THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE III. Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club
Banned (1974–75), ed. Jaroslav Riedel, Praha: Globus Music, 2001.

( 118 )
stoned to death
John the Baptist
beheaded
Jesus
crucified

is someone
chopping at your head?
have you not got
enough to eat?
fears for your health?
are your bones
disintegrating?
are they
plotting against you?
is someone
beating your chin with a stone?

What are you

afraid of then?

You know!

You are a crippled

cowardly animal
the main thing is you live high
off the hog!

St. Paul
hounded all his life
St. Stephen
stoned to death
John the Baptist
beheaded
Jesus
crucified

(Pavel Zajíček, 1974)

( 119 )
The cover of a booklet released with a 2 CD set with authentic recordings
of DG 307 music: DG 307 – HISTORIE HYSTERIE. Archiv dochovaných nahrávek
1973–75, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2004

What Are We?

Are we children
who can’t grow old
or madmen
who don’t know when to give up?

Why do we so often
hate each other?
Why do we build
castles of shit
on foundations of vanity?

( 120 )
 Why don’t we get together?
What are we afraid of?
What’s so fancy about us?
What’s so interesting about us?
We’re carriers of fear and mistrust
We’re prophets of dust

What do we want?
Where are we going?
What if we discover we’re nowhere?
Will we shit ourselves over it?

Are we children
who can’t grow old
or madmen
who don’t know when to give up?

(Pavel Zajíček, 1974)12

When following the  artistic careers of the  Czech underground

musicians in their ambitions at reaching the  world of “real art”,
of “serious music”, rid of all remnants of “pop entertainment”, we
may find the two artistic climaxes: Pašijové hry velikonoční [Easter
Passion Play], performed by The Plastic People on stage in 1978, and

12) Both poems by Zajíček were translated by Paul Wilson and Ivan Hartel and pub-
lished in the catalogue The Merry Ghetto, 1978. The Czech originals: “Sv. // sv. pavel
/ celej život stíhán / sv. štěpán / ukamenován / jan křtitel / sťat / ježíš / ukřižován //
seká tobě / někdo do hlavy / seš snad hříčkou / popravy / máš nedostatek / potravy
/ vobavy vo svý / zdraví / bořej se ti / kostí základy / připravujou proti tobě / úklady /
mlátí ti někdo / šutrem do brady? // čeho se tedy bojíš? // však ty víš! // seš zakrnělej
/ zbabělej živočich / hlavně že seš / prasácky dobře veleživ! // sv. pavel / celej život
stíhán / sv. štěpán / ukamenován / jan křtitel / sťat / ježíš / ukřižován”.
“Co sme? // sme dětma / který nestačily zestárnout / nebo šílenci / který nemůžou
padnout? // proč se tak často nenávidíme? / proč na ješitnosti / pevnosti z hoven /
stavíme? / proč se nepropojíme? / čeho se bojíme? // co je na nás vokázalýho? / co
je na nás zajímavýho? / sme nosiči strachu / sme předzvěstí prachu // co chceme?
/ kam deme? / co až se vocitneme nikde / z čeho se tam posereme? // sme dětma /
který nestačily zestárnout / nebo šílenci / který nemůžou padnout?” See Z[AJÍČEK],
Pavel, DG 307 (Texty z let 1973–1980), Praha: Vokno, 1990.

( 121 )
Dar stínum [Gift to the  Shadows], performed by DG 307 in 1979.13
In the  post Charter 77 years, of which most of the  underground
artists, musicians, and poets were signatories, the  atmosphere of
Czech society was getting more and more depressive day by day.
Also as a result of the “big trial” of the Czech underground of 1976,
a number of underground activists, first of all Ivan M. Jirous, were
repeatedly prosecuted and imprisoned. Many others were forced
under police terror to leave the country and emigrate to the West
with no chance ever to return.
Such overwhelming gloominess was adequately reflected by
The  Plastic People in 1978 when they set to music the  words of
perhaps the  best-known story of the  Christian world. The  libret-
to is built on a  choice of passages taken mostly from the  New
Testament Gospels that bring forth moments both eternal and
topical. The Czech underground musicians thus not only followed
the  footsteps of innumerable medieval church “miracula,” or Ba-
roque oratories, Passio Christi compositions and performances,
but, in their own way, they successfully managed to be innova-
tive about it. We would even dare to compare their achievement
with the  innovations of the  best composers of religious music
of both the  past and the  present, and also with the  writers who
made the  words of the  Bible living and comprehensible again.
The  performance took place at Václav Havel’s  country house
Hrádeček in East Bohemia and only several dozen of the  most

13) By the beginning of the 1980s the underground gigs and performances already

roused the attention of Czech unofficial review writers, meaning those who did not
lack academic background. See reviews by JIROUS, Ivan M.: “Kundy rty ústa tváře
masky [Cunts lips mouths faces masks], 1980; “A hudebníky ve větvích nebylo vidět”
[And the musicians couldn’t be seen among the branches], 1981; “Jsou to divný kluci”
[They’re strange guys], 1981  – all of them in Magorův zápisník, Praha: Torst, 1997;
see also a review by JIROUSOVÁ, Věra: “Koncert Plastic People na počest Ladislava
Klímy” [Concert of the Plastic People in Honour of Ladislav Klíma], Svědectví 14, no. 62
(1980) (Paris); see also HAVEL, Václav, Disturbing the Peace. A Conversation with Karel
Hvížďala, New York: Knopf & Vintage Books, 1990. In the 1970s and 1980s very little
was written about Czech underground music from the point of view of musicology.
Jiří Černý’s  article “O  hudbě jakou hrají Plastic People of Universe a  DG 307” [On
the music played by Plastic People and DG 307], published first in samizdat editions
of “Hnědá kniha” o  procesech s  českým undergroundem (1976, 1980), and finally in
the printed, commented edition of the same title (Praha: ÚSTR, 2012), is an exemption.

( 122 )
The cover of the CD THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE V. Pašijové hry
velikonoční (1978), Praha: Globus Music, 1998

trusted friends could come and see it. Nevertheless, those ones who
expected a  show, a  real performance on stage, were disappointed
again, this time because of a  reason quite different from the  one
that caused their indignation at the Do lesíčka na čekanou… gig and
the like – there were just the musicians, playing and singing their
parts, emphasizing with their music the topical moments of the best-
known of all human tragedies. The Passion Play by The Plastic People
can thus be interpreted as the  absolute opposite, antithesis of all
attempts at making the New Testament message more accessible
to consumerist society, such as Webber’s and Rice’s musical Jesus
Christ Superstar for instance: no pleasing melodies, no shows, no
cheap effects, and/or drastic tricks – first of all, no show! The matter
proved to be too serious for the Czech underground of the late 1970s.

( 123 )
 What Need Have We of a King

What need have we of a king in the Roman empire?

Pilate, our governor is sufficient for us and peace
and tranquility in the land
What need have we of a poor king, riding on an ass?
The people are led astray by your words about love for one’s neighbour
What need have we of the healed?
Peace in the land, peace in the empire and Pilate is our governor
You blaspheme against the high priests
and call yourself a son in the house of David, king of Jews
and you stir up the people
you shall be put to death with thieves
and your deeds shall be forgotten and your words
as a thief is forgotten
for you blasphemed against the peace of the empire
we shall expose you to ridicule in robes of purple
and a crown of thorns
as a warning to future generations
Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews,
you blasphemed against the order of the world and the priests
and you presented yourself as a poor king on an ass,
as the lamb of God, as the promised Messiah and as Elijah
your deeds are numbered: what need have we of any further witnesses?
You have blasphemed against the order of the world in word and deed
What need have we of love or blind men who can see?
What need have we of the healed?
Peace and order in the Empire are more important to the priests
and the people
Crucify him!

(Biblical text, arranged by Vratislav Brabenec, 1978)14

14) Paul Wilson’s translation. See The Plastic People of the Universe. Prague: Globus

Music & Maťa, 1999. Czech original: “Nepotřebujeme krále // Nepotřebujeme krále
v  ustanovení římského impéria / dost je nám Pilát hejtmanem a  klid v  zemi klid
/ nepotřebujeme krále chudého na oslátku / lid oblouzněný tvým slovem o  lásce
k  bližnímu / nepotřebujeme uzdravených / klid v  zemi klid impéria a  Pilát je nám
hejtmanem / rouháš se nejvyšším kněžím / za syna z rodu Davidova za krále Židů se

( 124 )
 The  performance Dar stínum [Gift to the  Shadows] took place
in another country house, in the village of Nová Víska, northwest
Bohemia, 1979.
Not only had the  sound of the  band abandoned all prophetic
urgency, but in order to prevent interference of all intruding side
effects, the musicians made themselves “invisible” for this occasion.
The stage was hidden behind a curtain made of ragged bedsheets
and only now and then could the audience have a glimpse of a mu-
sician or his instrument, but mostly it was only their “shadows”
projected on the “curtain” which was never to rise. The “invisible”
performance adequately symbolized the social and political situa-
tion of the country and, moreover, it took one more step in the mu-
sical and artistic development of the Czech underground.

The Way across Czecholand

I’ll penetrate with my tongue

into your lotus flower
We’ll set fires on the faded plains
on the way across Czecholand

With our fingers we’ll open

rusty recesses
We’ll set free the rays
of our presence
We won’t drown
in the sea of light

stavíš / a bouříš lid / budeš popraven s lotry / a činy tvé zapomenuty budou i slova tvá
/ jako na zločin se zapomíná / neboť rouháš se ustanovením světským klidu impéria /
ku posměchu vystavíme tebe v purpuru s korunou trnovou / na výstrahu pokolením
příštím / Ježíši Nazaretský, králi židovský / rouhal ses pořádku světa a kněžím / za
chudého krále na oslátku / za beránka božího se vydával / za Mesiáše jenž přijíti má
za Eliáše / jsou sečteny skutky tvoje a není potřeba více svědků / rouhal ses pořádku
světa a slova tvá a činy tvé / nepotřebujeme lásku a slepých kteříž vidí / nepotřebu-
jeme uzdravených / je klid a pořádek impéria přednější kněžím i lidu / Ukřižovat!”

( 125 )
From the DG 307 “Gift to the Shadows” performance, 1979; photo: Jaroslav Kukal

With lime we’ll burn down

the living graves
lining our ways
witnesses
of our corpse-like strays
We’ll see a bright auspice

The iron circle of eternity

I’ll penetrate with my tongue

into your lotus flower
We’ll set fires
on the faded plains
on the way across Czecholand

(Pavel Zajíček, 1979)

( 126 )
 Neither

Neither the sea, nor the land

neither the light, nor the dark
neither a snake, nor a bird
neither the silence, nor the roar
neither a vision, nor a blindness
neither nothing, nor everything
neither the freeze, nor the move
neither a body, nor a shadow
neither the fall, nor the flight
neither the stink, nor the aroma

Neither neither neither

Neither the sea, nor the aroma

neither the light, nor the shadow
neither the freeze, nor a vision
neither the flight, nor the silence
neither the dark, nor the stink
neither the fall, nor a bird
neither a blindness, nor a snake
neither a body, nor a nothing
neither the move, nor the land
neither everything, nor the roar

(Pavel Zajíček, 1979)15

15) Both cited texts from Gift to the Shadows were translated by M.M. Their Czech
originals: “Cesta českem // proniknu jazykem / do tvýho lotosovýho květu / zapálíme
ohně / na vyhaslejch pláních / cesty českem // otevřeme prsty / rezatý skrýše / vy-
pustíme paprsky / naší přítomnosti / v moři světla / se neutopíme // spálíme vápnem
/ živoucí hroby / při cestách / svědky / mrtvolnýho bloudění / spatříme jasný znamení
// železnej kruh věčnosti // proniknu jazykem / do tvýho lotosovýho květu / zapálíme
ohně / na vyhaslejch pláních / cesty českem”.
“Ani // ani moře ani pevnina / ani světlo ani tma / ani had ani pták / ani mlčení ani
řev / ani vidění ani slepota / ani nic ani vše / ani zmrazení ani pohyb / ani tělo ani
stín / ani pád ani let / ani smrad ani vůně // ani ani ani // ani moře ani vůně / ani
světlo ani stín / ani zmrazení ani vidění / ani let ani mlčení / ani tma ani smrad /

( 127 )
From the DG 307 “Gift to the Shadows” performance, 1979; photo: Jaroslav Kukal

It is worth mentioning one more factor that contributed to

the  underground “Gesamtkunstwerk”: the  underground concerts
and gigs were quite unique and unrepeatable. We have in mind
particularly the  anxiety that was always present in the  souls of
all participants in underground actions  – both the  musicians and
the audience. Police raids could be expected any time and indeed
they often occurred. The  unwelcome guests then played roles of

ani pád ani pták / ani slepota ani had / ani tělo ani nic / ani pohyb ani pevnina /
ani vše ani řev”. See Z[AJÍČEK], Pavel, DG 307 (Texty z let 1973–1980), Praha: Vokno,
1990. The original recordings were released on DG 307 – SVĚDEK SPÁLENÝHO ČASU
1979/1980 [5CDs], Louny: Guerilla Records, 2013.

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their own, according to their own “librettos” and “scenarios”, per-
haps not those of a deus ex machina but rather those of a diabolus
ex machina. The fear roused by such expectable interference con-
sequently contributed to changes and modifications of the under-
ground artists’ attitudes and ambitions, and in cases when such
expectations proved to be unjustified only made all the participants
enjoy the underground actions much better than any “normal situ-
ation” could ever offer.
The  Czech (or Czechoslovak) underground movement has so
far been mostly recognized as an important and integral part of
the Czechoslovak civil rights struggle of the 1970s and 1980s. More-
over, it has been appreciated for its specific social position and for
the sociopolitical role it played before the collapse of the totalitarian
regime.

In his text Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození [Report on

the  Third Czech Musical Revival], written in 1975, Ivan M. Jirous
characterized not only the  principal ideas and the  social position
of the Czech underground movement, but also the role of artists in
the society (perhaps not only) of those years.16
The  fact that the  heritage of Czech underground music is still
alive, and has still something to say, is indirectly confirmed by
a high number of musical releases of records.17 Czech underground
literature, on the other hand, has already gained wide recognition
at home and abroad as well.18 With a few quoted examples we tried
to point out the fact that the Czech underground musicians occa-
sionally managed to generate music of a value that went far beyond
the  aesthetics of “pop entertainment”. They joined their musical
efforts with visual artists and introduced serious topics into their
music, with texts by remarkable writers and poets (Egon Bondy,
Ladislav Klíma, Vratislav Brabenec, Pavel Zajíček, biblical texts, etc.).
Thus they performed “art rock” not only relevant to the history of

16) See the  English translation in the  2nd edition of Views from the  Inside, Praha:
Karolinum Press, 2018.
17) See chosen discography at the end of this volume, also in the 2nd edition of Views
from the Inside, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018.
18) See JANOUŠEK, Pavel (ed.), Dějiny české literatury 1945–1989 [The History of Czech
Literature, 1945–1989]. 4 vols. Praha: Academia, 2007–2008.

( 129 )
political resistance behind the  Iron Curtain or the  history of rock
music of the twentieth century, but also for the history of contem-
porary visual and performative arts.

Prague – Budapest – Leiden

January 2009–2011

( 130 )
7. T H E   T Y P E S A N D F U N C T I O N S O F S A M I Z D AT
P U B L I C AT I O N S I N C Z E C H O S L O VA K I A , 1 9 4 8 – 1 9 8 9

Both in Czech literary history and, as far as we know, in the literary

histories of other ex-Soviet satellites as well there is a tendency to
claim what is more or less obvious: that samizdat1 books, periodi-
cals, leaflets, and recordings of music and the spoken word (magni-
tizdat) were necessary and vital in Soviet bloc countries. The Soviet
elimination of unrestricted, uncensored publishing inevitably led
to samizdat as an attempt to retain the  continuity of pluralistic,
democratic values under conditions essentially hostile to them.
The  need for communication and exchange of opinions results in
the circulation of printed-like material, mostly typewritten copies,
which reach only a limited number of readers.
When freedom and democracy are established, the  value of
samizdat is at last liberated from its nonliterary, extraliterary func-
tion, and it is up to editors and publishers to issue the  samizdat
materials or not, and literary historians and bibliographers can
choose to describe them in their own terms. Literary texts may be
interpreted and evaluated an sich, and the printed texts may then
find their proper places on library shelves, mostly left to find their
way to general oblivion. At the same time, bibliographers can de-
scribe these texts according to their own criteria with the help of

1) As far as the origin of the term samizdat is concerned, in 1953, Nikolai Glazkov

(1919–79) actually used the term samsebyaizdat (e.g., for the title Полное собрание
стихотворений. Книга первая. МОСКВА–1953–САМСЕБЯИЗДАТ [Collected Poems.
Volume 1. MOSCOW–1953–SAMSESBYAIZDAT]; see the  reprint of the  typewritten
title page in EICHWEDE, Wolfgang (ed.), Samizdat. Alternative Kultur in Zentral- und
Osteuropa: Die 60er bis 80er Jahre. Dokumentationen zur Kultur und Gesellschaft im
östlichen Europa, Edition Temmen, vol. 8, Bremen: Forschungsstelle Osteuropa an
der Universität Bremen, 2000, p. 276.
The word SAMSESBYAIZDAT was later shortened to the now well-known form. See
also HAMERSKY, Heidrun (ed.), Samizdat: Alternative Culture in Central and Eastern
Europe from the  1960s to the  1980s, Bremen: Research Centre for East European
Studies at the University of Bremen, 2002; EICHWEDE, Wolfgang, “The Conception
of the Exhibition”, in HAMERSKY 2002, pp. 15–19, esp. p. 16; DANIEL, Aleksandr, “Wie
freie Menschen”, in EICHWEDE 2000, pp. 38–50, esp. p. 41; BOCK, Ivo – HÄNSGEN,
Sabine  – SCHLOTT, Wolfgang, “Kultur jenseits der Zensur”, in EICHWEDE 2000,
pp. 64–77, esp. p. 65.

( 131 )
the newly coined word samizdat. Perhaps the most challenging of
all the jobs concerning samizdat is that of archivists and librarians:
what to keep and what not to keep in the archives? How does one
distinguish a  true samizdat from a  (typewritten) manuscript and
from a fake?
Yet another difficulty seems to arise in the  consideration of
samizdat: which are “totalitarian regimes”? Are they only to be
identified with the various Communist, mostly Stalinist, systems in
their rich variety? Probably not. And if not, could we find samizdat
predecessors in, say, Nazi Germany, Fascist Japan, and Italy? Or faced
with the alarming lack (if not the total absence) of civil liberties in
a large number of other countries during the past century, shouldn’t
we look for samizdat there as well? What about the authoritarian,
paternalistic regimes and military dictatorships in today’s  Latin
America, Africa, and Asia? What about the Muslim theocracies and
semitheocracies? Is there no need in all of these for a certain kind
of “samizdat”? And – last but not least – what about the almost in-
numerable “independent”, “alternative”, “underground” publishing
activities in our contemporary democratic world, which respond to
the so-called information explosion in their own ways? Isn’t there
at least some continuity with the former samizdat? But we will not
pose further questions of this kind. Suffice it to say that the rough,
approximate definition of samizdat can no longer suit our purposes.
It is worth noting, however, that the research carried out so far
in the field of Czech, Slovak, and other Central and Eastern Euro-
pean samizdat, no matter how valuable, has been based on a vague
and limited literal interpretation of the term and consequently has
been mostly confined to the description of major editions of sam-
izdat series (e.g., Edice Petlice [Padlock Editions], Edice Expedice
[Dispatch Editions], and a few more samizdat editions in the case of
Czechoslovakia) and their role in spreading “banned literature”.2

2) On the history of Central and Eastern European samizdat, see especially ­SKILLING,

Gordon H., Samizdat and an Independent Society in Central and Eastern Europe, Co-
lumbus, OH: Macmillan, 1989, esp. the chapter “Samizdat in the USSR, China, and
Central Europe”, pp. 3–40; see also KONRÁD, Győrgy, “Looking Back at Samizdat”, in
HAMERSKY 2002 (Footnote 1), pp. 7–10; EICHWEDE, Wolfgang, “Archipel Samizdat”
[Archipelago Samizdat], in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp 8–19; BOCK, Ivo  –
HÄNSGEN, Sabine – SCHLOTT, Wolfgang, “Kultur jenseits der Zensur” [The Culture

( 132 )
One of the first steps in this rather vague research into Czech sam-
izdat was made by the late professor Gordon H. Skilling, and most
Czech students of samizdat seem to follow in his footsteps. We have
in mind essays and studies by Vilém Prečan, Jiří Holý, Tomáš Vrba,
Jiří Gruntorád, Jan Pauer, and a few enthusiastic bibliographers (e.g.,
Prečan, Gruntorád, Johanna Posset, Jitka Hanáková), whose merits
are undeniable.3 Nevertheless, at least the  rough delimitation of

beyond Censorship], in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1); HAMERSKY, Heidrun (ed.),

Samizdat: Alternative Culture in Central and Eastern Europe from the 1960s to the 1980s,
Bremen: Research Centre for East European Studies at the  University of Bremen,
2002; ALAN, Josef (ed.), Alternativní kultura. Příběh české společnosti 1945–1989
[Alternative Culture: The Story of Czech Society, 1945–1989], Praha: Nakladatelství
Lidové noviny, 2001; ŠRÁMKOVÁ, Vítězslava (ed.), Tabuizovaná literatura posledních
dvaceti let [The Taboo Literature of the Last Twenty Years], Praha: Ústav pro kulturně
výchovnou činnost, 1990.
3) Concerning the  basic research into Czech samizdat in English, see especially
PREČAN, Vilém, “Bibliography of the Czechoslovak Samizdat: Samizdat Periodicals
1977–1988”, ACTA 2, no. 5–8 (1988), pp. 64–82; PREČAN, Vilém, Independent Literature
and Samizdat in Czechoslovakia, Praha: Památník národního písemnictví – Ústav pro
soudobé dějiny ČSAV, 1992; PREČAN, Vilém, “The World of Czech and Slovak Samiz-
dat”, in HAMERSKY 2002 (Footnote 1), pp. 11–13; SKILLING, Gordon H., Charter 77 and
Human Rights in Czechoslovakia, London: Allen and Unwin, 1981; SKILLING, Gordon
H., Samizdat and an Independent Society in Central and Eastern Europe, Columbus, OH:
Macmillan, 1989; MACHOVEC, Martin, A Brief Report on Present Knowledge of Czech
Samizdat Phenomena 1948–1989, Praha: Libri Prohibiti, 2004, libpro.cts.cuni.cz/clanky.
htm.; MACHOVEC, Martin, “Czech Underground Literature, 1969–1989: A Challenge to
Textual Studies”, in Voice, Text, Hypertext: Emerging Practices in Textual Studies, edited
by Raimonda MODIANO, Leroy F. SEARLE, and Peter SCHILLINGSBURG, pp. 345–357,
Seattle: University of Washington Press and Walter Chapin Simpson, 2004. In Czech,
see especially GRUNTORÁD, Jiří, “Samizdatová literatura v  Československu sedm-
desátých a  osmdesátých let” [Samizdat Literature in Czechoslovakia of the  1970s
and 1980s], in ALAN 2001 (Footnote 2), pp. 493–507; HANÁKOVÁ, Jitka, Edice českého
samizdatu 1972–1991 [The  Editions of Czech Samizdat 1972–1991], Praha: Národní
knihovna České republiky, 1997; POSSET, Johanna, Česká samizdatová periodika
1968–1989 [Czech Samizdat Periodicals 1968–1989], Brno (Czechoslovakia): Továrna
na sítotisk a společnost R&T, 1991; VRBA, Tomáš, “Nezávislé písemnictví a svobod-
né myšlení v  letech 1970–1989” [The  Independent Literature and Free Thinking
1970–1989], in ALAN 2001 (Footnote 2), pp. 265–305; MACHOVEC, Martin, “Šestnáct
autorů českého literárního podzemí”, Literární archiv PNP, 25, 1991, pp.  41–77. In
German, see especially PAUER, Jan, “Charta 77. Moralische Opposition unter den

( 133 )
the subject matter has been made, the samizdat makers themselves
have given their evidence in a  number of documentary writings,
memoirs, and films,4 and now seems to be the  best time to test
some new criteria.
We will attempt to classify samizdat publications, keeping in
mind not only the ambiguity of the notion of a totalitarian regime5
but also the fact that we are trying to interpret phenomena whose
legal status was always quite doubtful, never certain.
As far as the totalitarian systems themselves are concerned, his-
torians and other researchers should not view them as one indivisi-
ble, unchanging monolith. Regarding Czechoslovakia, it is common
to distinguish between (1) the establishment of the Stalinist regime
after 1948 and its peak in the  early 1950s; (2) the  weakening of
harsh Stalinism in the 1960s; (3) the almost complete breakdown of
the monopolistic position of the government of the Communist Party

Bedingungen der Diktatur”, in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp. 52–63; POSSET, Jo-
hanna, Tschechische Samizdat-Periodika 1968–1988, Master’s thesis, Wien: University
of Vienna, 1990; ZAND, Gertraude, Totaler Realismus und Peinliche Poesie. Tschechische
Untergrund-Literatur 1948–1953, Wien: Peter Lang, 1998.
4) Samizdat: A Fifteen-Part TV Documentary, directed by Andrej Krob, Česká televize,
Praha (2003).
5) For the purpose of this article, I will resist the temptation to cite at length from
Hannah Arendt (The Origins of Totalitarianism, New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
1973) and other theoreticians of totalitarianism (Raymond Aron, Democracy and
Totalitarianism, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1990; Carl J. Friedrich and
Zbigniew Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy, Cambridge, MA: Har-
vard University Press, 1965) and instead will offer my own attempt to reach a better
understanding of the notion, no matter how commonplace this offering may sound.
I would suggest that the criterion may be less political and more economic, at least
as far as Stalinist or neo-Stalinist totalitarianism is concerned (and probably the fas-
cist variety as well). A political system may be considered totalitarian if its economy
(and, of course, its political structure) consists of a complete, “total”, control of pro-
ductivity, in which any individual or free enterprise would be a disturbing element.
The economic basis is the essence of totalitarianism and is derived from a philosophy
or ideology – in this particular case, Marxism in one of its dogmatic interpretations.
A system so structured simply cannot admit a single exception, a single attempt to
put its guidelines into doubt, for if it did, its ideology would lose its absolute purity
and power – and consequently the whole economic and political system would col-
lapse; witness 1989 in Central and Eastern Europe.

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in 1968–69, during which we need not expect, then, to find inten-
sive, massive samizdat publishing; (4) the so-called “normalization”
period of the 1970s and early 1980s, that is, the reestablishment of
totalitarianism, sometimes referred to as “post-totalitarianism”;6
and (5) the years of “perestroika” and “glasnost” – the gradual degen-
eration of (post-)totalitarianism. As is generally known, how­ever,
in other Soviet bloc countries the  chronology of change did not
always coincide with that of Czechoslovakia.7 What, however, uni-
fied the political systems in all those countries was the pragmatic
definition of citizenship and the fact that notions of law, legislature,
and legality changed semantic identities.8 The  frontiers between
what counts as “legal”, “illegal”, and/or “punishable” are deliberately
blurred – as the very notion of the law loses its original meaning and
purpose. It seems therefore a little out of place to ask what is “legal”,
“official”, lege artis, “semilegal”, or “illegal” in totalitarian systems.

There is no doubt, however, that even the most liberal, most democratic states have
to restrict basic liberties (e.g., freedom of speech) in a definite but undoubtedly legal
way. We simply know what is and what is not “legal”, what is “illegal”, and what
is “punishable”. In totalitarian regimes as defined above, the  basic civil liberties,
especially the  freedoms of movement, of speech, and of enterprise, are restricted
in a much more radical way than in any democratic state (all ideas competing with
or contradicting the  ruling ideology, philosophy, pseudophilosophy, religion, and
pseudoreligion must be banned).
6) See HAVEL, Václav, “The  Power of the  Powerless”, in Václav Havel, or, Living in
Truth. Twenty-two Essays Published on the Occasion of the Award of the Erasmus Prize
to Václav Havel, ed. Jan Vladislav, pp. 36–122, London: Faber and Faber, 1986; HAVEL,
Václav, “Moc bezmocných” [The Power of the Powerless], in Eseje a jiné texty z let 1970–
1989 / Dálkový výslech. Spisy 4 [Essays and Other Texts 1970–1989 / A Long-Distance
Interrogation. Works, vol. 4], pp. 224–330, Praha: Torst, 1999.
7) See KENNEY, Padraic, A  Carnival of Revolution: Central Europe 1989, Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003); FALK, Barbara, The  Dilemmas of Dissidence
in East-Central Europe: Citizen Intellectuals and Philosopher Kings, Budapest: Central
European University Press, 2003; EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), esp. p. 12.
8) See PŘIBÁŇ, Jiří, Disidenti práva. O revolucích roku 1989, fikcích legality a soudobé
verzi společenské smlouvy [Dissidents of Law: On the 1989 Velvet Revolutions, Fictions
of Legality, and Contemporary Version of the Social Contract], Praha: Sociologické
nakladatelství, 2001; PŘIBÁŇ, Jiří, Dissidents of Law: On the 1989 Velvet Revolutions,
Legitimations, Fictions of Legality, and Contemporary Version of the  Social Contract,
Aldershot, U.K.: Ashgate, 2002.

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It is always the will (or occasional goodwill and mercy) of leaders
in these systems that determines what is and what is not allowed.
Samizdat publishers (and, of course, dissident activists) who tended
to ignore the absurd legislation in totalitarian regimes (occasionally
going so far as manifesting openly their activities and identities)
behaved in a way appropriate for democracies, whose laws most of
them would probably be inclined to observe.
Given the  ambiguity of the  law in totalitarian systems, any at-
tempt to classify various samizdat activities fails if it approaches
them as merely textual material, as literary products, or – most of
all – as works of art. It is necessary to take into account various ex-
traliterary, extralingual, extraaesthetic functions of these samizdat
activities as well as their social, political, and psychological dimen-
sions. To reiterate one of the  most elementary notions of textual
studies, it is the texts that we deal with, texts in their various forms
and sometimes with very specific functions. Traditionally, texts writ-
ten by hand are called “manuscripts”. However, at a certain stage in
the development of writing skills and technology, typewritten texts
may also be considered manuscripts. On the other hand, typewrit-
ten texts are, in their own way, close to printed material, and it is
precisely the  ambiguity of the  typewritten texts that also makes
samizdat materials interesting for textual studies.
In the  Czechoslovak context in 1948–89, samizdat mostly con-
sists of typewritten materials. More advanced technology, such
as manifolding, hectography, ormig, stencil copying, seriography,
photography, Xerox copiers, or even offset printing and the use of
real printing machines, to say nothing of computer printing (which
only began to be used in 1989), was quite rare.9 This limitation
was due primarily to the fear that frequent use of these machines
might arouse the  undesired interest of the  secret police.10 There
were typewritten copies that were the only versions of a text, so, as

9) The use of printing machines in clandestine printing offices was quite frequent

only with the Czechoslovak branch of Jehovah’s Witnesses (the Bible and religious
texts’ printing); see ADAMY, Herbert, Byl jsem manažerem ilegální továrny [I  Was
a Manager of an Illegal Factory], Praha: Ostrov, 1999. Some Slovak Catholic samizdat
publishers also made full use of the offset printing machines; see Footnote 43.
10) See VRBA, Tomáš, “Nezávislé písemnictví a svobodné myšlení v letech ­1970–1989”,
in ALAN 2001 (Footnote 2), pp. 265–305.

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a matter of fact, they might count as manuscripts. Yet there were
also – though quite rare – handwritten and hand-rewritten copies
of an original text which were made for circulation among samizdat
readers. And there was printed material, usually costly, rare biblio-
phile editions of literary texts and reprints of graphic sheets made
with the help of slightly more advanced technology (block printing
machines enabling casework) which produced prints indistinguish-
able from printed books. Ultimately, there were additional copies of
all three of the above-mentioned samizdat types made with the help
of manifold writers and jellygraphs.
Thus we can try to offer the first, tentative definition of samizdat
materials: in Czechoslovakia samizdat usually consisted of type­
written copies of texts, not necessarily multiplied or duplicated
but mostly in about six to twelve copies, produced by their au­
thors or by editors or typists with the aim (be it conscious or
unconscious, deliberate or indeliberate) of dissemination and
circulation among readers, regardless of how few they might
have been – family members, close friends, acquaintances, or
any other persons – without prior imprimatur from the author­
ities of the totalitarian state.
This definition would probably apply to the  USSR as well, but
if Poland were included, the first criterion of our definition would
probably have to be changed as follows: they are typewritten or
printed copies of texts… mostly in several hundreds or thousands
of copies, and so forth. However, although the word samizdat was
never used in Poland11 (and it was quite unknown in Czechoslovakia
in the 1950s and scarce and exotic in the following decade),12 Polish
samizdat publishing was probably the most massive of all of the So-
viet bloc countries, and relatively advanced printing technology was

11) See SKILLING, Gordon H., Samizdat and an Independent Society in Central and East-
ern Europe, Columbus, OH: Macmillan 1989; BRUKWICKI, Jerzy, “‘Neuer Himmel, neue
Erde.’ Die Symbolik der Solidarność 1980 bis 1989”, in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1),
pp. 124–128; SZARUGA, Leszek, “Untergrundpresse in Polen. Ein Beschreibungsver-
such”, in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp. 130–134.
12) See SKILLING, Gordon H., Samizdat and an Independent Society in Central and
Eastern Europe, Columbus, OH: Macmillan 1989; BOCK, Ivo, “Der literarische Samizdat
nach 1968”, in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp. 86–93; PREČAN, Vilém, “The World
of Czech and Slovak Samizdat”, in HAMERSKY 2002 (Footnote 1), pp. 11–13.

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much more available there than elsewhere. (The  same change in
our definition would probably be necessary if we were to trace any
contemporary samizdat activities.)13

So far almost no attention has been given to the  textual or

semantic content of samizdat (both literary and nonliterary) pub-
lications.
According to the  above definition, even utter graphomaniac
prattling, babbling rubbish must be granted the status of a samizdat
publication, provided it meets all the given criteria; and in theory
it would be punishable as a result. However, the more copies made
and the  more “political” the  contents of the  disseminated texts,
the greater the risk of prosecution for their originators. Typewrit-
ten periodicals or casual typescripts produced by high school stu-
dents, though quite frequent in Czechoslovakia in 1948–89, were
the ­exception that proved the rule, and their originators were rarely
prosecuted if ever.
Despite the  fact that the  Czechoslovak copyright law of 1965
­stated that an author could use his or her manuscript as he or she
chose, one was liable to be prosecuted and jailed without ever taking
part in any samizdat publishing but merely for having written a text,
manuscript, or letter14 perceived as “antistate”, “antigovernment”,

13) VRBA 2001 (Footnote 2, 3, 10) offers a  much narrower classification of Czech
samizdat. He distinguishes between “samizdats” and “editions”, i.e., unofficial pub-
lications bearing most of the signs of a regular book or periodical edition – such as
format; bookbinding; high-quality paper; title page, half-title page, etc.; the occasional
occurrence of a frontispiece; the frequent use of masthead, printer’s mark, imprint;
relatively high-quality typewritten copies; standard, uniform graphic design; pagina-
tion; etc. Altogether, what I would call a series of editions of established samizdat is
not samizdat for Vrba but only those publications that I call “wild samizdat”.
14) Such were the cases of innumerable petitions and open letters sent by Czechoslo-
vak citizens to the president of the country or to the representatives of the ­executive
and legislature in which they only demanded that the country’s own laws be respect-
ed and kept: for which they were often interrogated by the police, even prosecuted.
Actually, the  Charter 77 movement started with such a  letter in December 1976;
the Výbor na obranu nespravedlivě stíhaných (VONS; Committee for the Defense of
the Unjustly Persecuted) petitions are another good example. See SKILLING, Gordon
H., Charter 77 and Human Rights in Czechoslovakia, London: Allen and Unwin 1981;
CÍSAŘOVSKÁ, Blanka – PREČAN, Vilém (eds.), Charta 77. Dokumenty 1977–1989 [Char-

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“antisocialist”, “anti-Communist”, and so forth.15 One could even be
prosecuted without having written anything, much less disseminat-
ed it, but simply for one’s  thoughts, beliefs, or convictions, when
expressed orally in public places, or – more likely – for one’s social
class affiliation. But after the  harshest years of early Stalinism in
Czechoslovakia in the early 1950s, such danger was relatively small.

SA M I Z DAT C L AS S I F I C AT I O N S
As we seem to have defined samizdat – especially with regard to its
role in totalitarian Czechoslovakia – as a historical phenomenon in
terms of politics, history, law, and social science, we can now try to
make further progress in its classification.

I. According to the motivations for publishing and distributing

samizdat
(a) A sort of “inner need” for the truth, for opposing the totalitar-
ian political system by creating “little islands of truth in a sea
of lies”.16
In establishing, so to speak, a “miniature plurality of opinion”,
mostly deliberately inconspicuous “cells of freedom”, samizdat
producers and distributors shared “the solidarity of the shat-
tered”, responded to their conscience as “men of the spirit”.17

ter 77: Documentary 1977–1989], 3 vols., Praha: Ústav pro soudobé dějiny AV  ČR,
2007; BLAŽEK, Petr – SCHOVÁNEK, Radek (eds)., VONS.cz, Webové stránky o dějinách
Výboru na obranu nespravedlivě stíhaných (1978–1989) [VONS.cz, website on the His-
tory of the Committee for the Defense of the Unjustly Persecuted (1978–1989)], www
.vons.cz, esp. www.vons.cz/ informace-o-charte-77, 2007; BLAŽEK, Petr – PAŽOUT, Jaro-
slav (eds.), Nejcitlivější místo režimu. Výbor na obranu nespravedlivě stíhaných očima
svých členů. Diskusní setkání 19. října 2007 [The  Most Irritable Spot of the  Regime:
Committee for the Defense of the Unjustly Persecuted as Seen through the Eyes of
Its Members. A Discussion Meeting of October 19, 2007], Praha: Pulchra, 2008.
15) For this reason, the  editors of Edice Petlice and Česká Expedice (Bohemian
­Expedition) inserted into their editions the  warning “Výslovný zákaz dalšího
opisování rukopisu”, abbreviated as “VZDOR” [“DEFIANCE”] – i.e., “Any recopying of
this manuscript is expressly forbidden.”
16) A paraphrase of Václav Havel’s terms “living in truth” and “living in a lie,” which
later became popular journalistic clichés; see HAVEL 1986, 1999 (Footnote 6).
17) Concerning the  system of values, especially the  basic moral notions of Czech
dissidence of the  1970s, see PATOČKA, Jan, Heretical Essays on the  Philosophy of

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 This need to maintain truth coincided with the authors’ need
to continue their writing and to maintain their role of writer,
denied them after 1948 and for a second time after 1968. To
be sure, for most of the theoreticians of samizdat, only such
authors are identified as those worthy of being labelled with
the honorary title of a “samizdat writer”.18
(b) Solidarity with friends and colleagues.
Some authors19 did not seem to be keen on playing the role of
a “living conscience of humanity” (or of a nation);20 they simply
chose to write in their own way, pursuing their own aesthetic

History, Chicago: Open Court, 1996; SKILLING 1989 (Footnote 2), esp. pp.  128–131;
PAUER, Jan, “Charta 77. Moralische Opposition unter den Bedingungen der Diktatur”,
in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp.  52–63; TUCKER, Aviezer, The  Philosophy and
Politics of Czech Dissidence from Patočka to Havel, Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh
Press, 2000; SEDLACKOVA GIBBS, Helena, Moral Politics and Its Others: The Charter 77
­Dissident Movement in Czechoslovakia (1977–1989), UMI Microform 3089390, New York:
Department of Comparative Literature, New York University, 2003, esp. pp.  ­70–115,
chap. 2, “Patočka’s Legacy: The Dissident as ‘the Man of the Spirit’”; SUK, Jiří, “Podrob-
ná zpráva o paralelní polis. Nad korespondencí Václava Havla a Františka Janoucha”
[The Detailed Report on the Parallel Polis: The Correspondence between Václav Havel
and František Janouch], in HAVEL, Václav – JANOUCH, František, Korespondence
1978–2001, Praha: Akropolis, 2007, pp. 9–29 ; HAVEL 1986, 1999 (Footnote 6).
18) See especially SKILLING 1981 (Footnote 3); SKILLING 1989 (Footnote 2); PREČAN
1992 (Footnote 3), PREČAN, Vilém, Nezávislá literatura a samizdat v Československu
70. a 80. let [Independent Literature and Samizdat in Czechoslovakia of the  1970s
and 1980s], Praha: Ústav pro soudobé dějiny ČSAV, 1992; PREČAN, Vilém, “Independ-
ent Literature and Samizdat in Czechoslovakia”, in Literature and Politics in Central
­Europe: Studies in Honour of Markéta Goetz-Stankiewicz, edited by Leslie MILLER,
Klaus PETERSEN, Peter STENBERG, and Karl ZAENKEL, Columbia, SC: Camden
House, 1993, pp. 91–107; PREČAN, Vilém, “The World of Czech and Slovak Samizdat”,
in HAMERSKY 2002 (Footnote 1); PAUER, Jan, “Charta 77. Moralische Opposition unter
den Bedingungen der Diktatur”, in EICHWEDE 2000 (Footnote 1), pp. 52–63; GRUN-
TORÁD, Jiří, “Samizdatová literatura v Československu sedmdesátých a osmdesátých
let”, in ALAN 2001 (Footnote 2), pp. 493–507.
19) Such solidarity may have been typical of some of the authors of the underground
circle of the rock band The Plastic People of the Universe, e.g., Věra Jirousová, Jiří
Daníček, Eugen Brikcius.
20) “The  living conscience of humanity” became a  popular journalistic cliché and
was probably derived from the notion of the “moral politics”, as characterized, e.g.,
by SEDLACKOVA GIBBS 2003 (Footnote 17).

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 ends, which may not have been unacceptable to totalitarian
censorship and ideological surveillance. Their samizdat edi-
tions or circulating manuscripts may have been motivated by
human solidarity with such happier writers’ colleagues whose
books could no longer be published for different reasons. It
was mostly because these colleagues were known in public as
“dissidents”, that is, opponents of the Communist totalitarian
regime, and their works as bearers of politically critical, ex-
plicitly formulated standpoints incompatible with government
guidelines. (However, the  reasons for banning books from
libraries and denying their authors any further publishing
possibilities were sometimes quite incomprehensible, being
merely the result of the “revenge logic” of the representatives
of oppressive systems; the truly political, ideological reasons –
to say nothing of the aesthetic ones – rarely if ever operated.)
The “solidarity authors” could probably publish at least some
of their works in state-controlled publishing houses, pretend-
ing to comply with government guidelines. Nevertheless, they
voluntarily shared the fate of their proscribed colleagues by
publishing their works only in samizdat.
In a way, such authors were close to the “grey zone” writers,
that is, the ones publishing (or, when artists or actors, exhib-
iting or performing) officially but covertly sympathizing with
the samizdat authors and sometimes proving it by supporting
them in a financial or other material way.21

21) The  term “grey zone” was probably first used by Josef Škvorecký in one of his
English-language essays (ŠKVORECKÝ, Josef, “Prague Winter”, American Spectator
9, 1983, pp. 19–23). He used it as a metaphor for a considerably large part of Czech
and Slovak people, who, though remaining “silent”, i.e., not joining the “dissidents”
in their protests, disagreed with the Communist Party guidelines and thus represent-
ed a hidden threat to the totalitarian regime: “On the outside, these ‘conformists’,
the ‘grey zone’ of real-socialist society, have become ‘normalized,’ as the Party lingo
has it; that is, they have conformed to the post-1968 political climate. They express
their thoughts and feelings only in intimate circles of the most trusted friends, oth-
erwise they follow the nauseating rituals of ‘socialist progressivity’” (ibidem, p. 23).
Indeed, the  “grey zone” artists, writers, journalists, students, etc., largely helped
overthrow the  Czechoslovak Communist dictatorship in November 1989 (see also
SUK 2007, Footnote 17). Perhaps the best-known representative of the “grey zone”

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 (c) Taking part in samizdat publishing as a result of moral, per-
sonal influence.
Some samizdat writers, young in the  1970s and 1980s
and hence unable to write and publish during the  1960s  –
the preceding years of relative freedom – deliberately followed
the example of their older friends, colleagues, and sometimes
parents. Such was the  case of most Czech underground po-
ets, especially those of the “third underground generation”:22
Jáchym Topol, Petr Placák, J. H. Krchovský, and some others
who were inspired by the  example of the  “second under-
ground generation” (Ivan Martin Jirous, the  whole circle of
musicians, poets, and artists that gathered around the rock
band The Plastic People of the Universe in the 1970s) or even
by the  best-known representative of the  “first underground
generation”, Egon Bondy, who started publishing exclusively
in samizdat as early as 1949.
(d) Taking part in samizdat publishing for its own sake to get
a  chance, so to speak, “to enter the  territory of an adven-
ture”, of “the punishable”, of running the risk of being pro­

writers of the 1970s and 1980s (though not the most typical one) was Bohumil Hra-
bal, one of the most popular and most published Czech post–World War II writers.
However, his case was quite extraordinary. He started publishing in samizdat with
Egon Bondy and others in the early 1950s, became very popular after 1963, when he
started publishing some of his books in state-controlled publishing houses, was listed
among the “banned authors” after 1969, and was at last pardoned in 1974: prior to
1989 nevertheless, his best books, Obsluhoval jsem anglického krále [I Served the King
of England] (1971), Něžný barbar [Tender Barbarian] (1973), and Příliš hlučná samota
[Too Loud a Solitude] (1976), in their unexpurgated forms, could only be published
in samizdat. Concerning Hrabal, see ROTH, Susanna, Laute Einsamkeit und bitteres
Glück. Zur poetischen Welt von Bohumil Hrabals Prosa, Bern: Peter Lang, 1986; PYTLÍK,
Radko, The Sad King of Czech Literature: Bohumil Hrabal – His Life and Work, Praha:
Emporius, 2000.
22) On the  three underground generations, see MACHOVEC, Martin, “Šestnáct
autorů českého literárního podzemí”, Literární archiv PNP, 25, 1991, pp.  41–77;
KOŽMÍN, Zdeněk  – TRÁVNÍČEK, Jiří, Na tvrdém loži z  psího vína. Česká poezie od
40. let do současnosti [The Hard Bed of Wild Wine: Czech Poetry from the 1940s to
the Present Time], Brno (Czech Republic): Books, 1998 (here esp. TRÁVNÍČEK, Jiří,
“Tři generace českého undergroundu” [Three Generations of Czech Underground],
pp. 236–244).

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 secuted, even jailed; a kind of “adrenaline sport”. Likewise
with the  drive to find a  way out, to escape “totalitarian
boredom”.
(e) A  wish to become a  prominent socialite, a  VIP of a  certain
kind; to gain weight or importance from the fact that one is
taken for “an enemy of the  state” by a  totalitarian regime.
(Such motivation was probably not so frequent in Czechoslo-
vakia, but we learn that it was quite common in the  Soviet
Union,23 especially when such writers24 published their sam-
izdat – or even nonsamizdat – writings in one of the Russian
publishing houses abroad as “tamizdat”.)
(f) Graphomania of all kinds, subdividable in turn:
(f1) Traditional, simple graphomania as manifested by the pro-
duction of worthless texts which otherwise would not be
published. It thus finds the  most natural outlet in sam-
izdat editions, which have the advantage of giving their
originators the  chance to emphasize their own impor-
tance. On the other hand, taking part in regular a literary
competition under so-called normal conditions would

23) As far as a general survey of the history of samizdat in the USSR is concerned,

see KISSEL, Wolfgang S., “Samizdat als kulturelles Gedächtnis. Terror und GULag
in der russischen Erinnerungsliteratur der sechziger Jahre”, in EICHWEDE 2000
(Footnote 1), pp. 94–104.
Concerning samizdat VIPs in the  USSR, see PUTNA, Martin C.  – ZADRAŽILOVÁ,
Miluše, Rusko mimo Rusko. Dějiny a kultura ruské emigrace 1917–1991 [Russia outside
Russia: History and Culture of the Russian Exile 1917–1991], vol. 2, Brno (Czech Re-
public): Petrov, 1994, p. 130: “Russia has always been a country of bizarre paradoxes.
Therefore it cannot be much surprising that, in the  Brezhnev years, tamizdat edi-
tions were considered to be much more prestigious than publishing in one’s home
country. Even utterly conformist writers, publishing abundantly at home [in Soviet
state-controlled publishing houses], did not despise publishing in foreign forums [in
Russian publishing houses] as such a way of publication gained them reputation and
temporary glory” (the author’s own translation).
24) On the author’s demand, Miluše Zadražilová (see Footnote 23) mentioned, e.g.,
Bella Achmadulina, Fazil Iskander, or Vasily Aksjonov as authors officially publishing
in the  USSR yet trying to publish abroad (i.e., in tamizdat) for reasons of prestige
(PUTNA and ZADRAŽILOVÁ 1994, Footnote 23). Among Russian samizdat authors
with the same ambitions, Zadražilová mentioned Igor Cholin and other representa-
tives of the “Lianozovo circle”.

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 leave such authors no choice except “self-publishing” at
their own expense.
(f2) A more refined kind of graphomania, not necessarily pro-
ducing mere rubbish, is rather a response to totalitarian
restrictions, to the impossibility to publish, according to
the  slogan “The  more you deny our existence, the  loud-
er we shall cry”. One might also consider the  generally
insane conditions and social climate under totalitarian
systems in order to adequately interpret the  manic-de-
pressive states of mind of writers and artists provoked by
the established insanity. This motivation is also related to
the  well-known counterproductive effects of repressive
manipulation and surveillance.
(g) An effort to fill in gaps in official, government-supported pub-
lishing.
Because some out-of-print books were unlikely to be reprint-
ed, many were photocopied in public copy-making offices,
though there were not too many of these in the  1970s and
1980s (about a  dozen in Prague). Retyping of already pub-
lished texts was rare, but it did occur. Well-known examples
are Jirous’s retyping all available Czech translations of Franz
Kafka’s  works in the  mid-1960s and Bedřich Fučík’s  and
Vladimír Binar’s editions of the collected works of Jakub Deml,
Jan Zahradníček, and Jan Čep in the 1970s and 1980s.
Photocopying of typewritten texts was more frequent in
the  case of books which were to be published in state-con-
trolled publishing houses but whose releases were delayed
for one reason or another, sometimes for years, even though
the text was more or less “innocent”. Such was the case with
J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings in Czech translation by
Stanislava Pošustová: it was completed as early as the begin-
ning of the 1980s but was published by regular printing press-
es only ten years later. In the meantime, possibly hundreds of
copies of its typewritten text circulated.
Other well-known examples of filling in the gaps were innu-
merable editions of Ladislav Klíma’s philosophical works; Petr
Holman’s six-volume Frekvenční slovník básnického díla Otoka-
ra Březiny [Word Count Dictionary of Otokar Březina’s Poetical

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 Works] (1986); and Bondy’s  thirteen-volume Poznámky k  dě-
jinám filosofie [Remarks on the History of Philosophy], written
and published in samizdat in 1977–87.
h) Unconscious participation in samizdat publishing.
There could have been “samizdat publishers” who were
quite unaware of the possible penalization of their activities.
The  arbitrariness and willfulness of the  representatives of
the totalitarian state in interpreting articles of the penal code
could have led many people mistakenly to believe that their
typewriting and distributing of various texts were legal.25

II. According to the originator

(a) The author of the text in person.
In such cases, it is sometimes rather difficult to distin-
guish the  “original manuscript”, possibly with its various
subsequent versions, from those that were deliberately re-
typed with the aim of their distribution for circulation. (Only
the relative absence of corrections can make us believe that
the typewritten copy is a final one and is intended to circulate
as samizdat.) The “author’s samizdat” can further be divided
into three groups:
(a1) Copies bearing the  author’s  real name, sometimes even
in the form of a signature. Such was the case of Jaroslav
Seifert’s or Jaromír Hořec’s samizdat editions of their own
work. (Hořec sometimes signed his works with his own
name, sometimes with one of his pseudonyms.) In such
cases, the author is identical to the samizdat publisher.

25) A  good example of such samizdat production is the  copying of Miloslav Švan-
drlík’s 1969 best seller, the antimilitarist, anti-Stalinist parody Černí baroni aneb Válči-
li jsme za Čepičky [The Black Barons, or As We Soldiered under Comrade Čepička]:
though never actually one of the “banned books” in the 1970s and 1980s, it never-
theless disappeared from public libraries in the early 1970s and was never published
again before 1989. Moreover, its sequel, or “second part”, existed only in typewritten
copies before 1989: both being photocopied and even retyped by thousands of Czech
readers, this was probably the most popular book with the Czech general reading
public during the  two decades (see ŠVANDRLÍK, Miloslav, Černí baroni aneb Válčili
jsme za Čepičky, Praha: Mladá fronta, 1990).

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 (a2) Copies published under a  pseudonym. The  best-known
example of such an approach in Czech literature is prob-
ably the  case of the  underground poet and philosopher
Bondy, whose real name, Zbyněk Fišer, is unknown to
most readers.26 The reasons for the use of a pseudonym,
as far as samizdat editions are concerned, were certainly
not only artistic or aesthetic but mainly political. Let
us recall here other uses of pseudonyms that became
legendary in the history of Czech literature (though not
necessarily because of their bearers having been as polit-
ically unacceptable to the totalitarian regime as Bondy).
Examples would be Ivan Wernisch’s  Václav Rozehnal,27

26) Zbyněk Fišer chose the pseudonym “Egon Bondy” as early as 1949 (see Footnote
30) and wrote under it not only until 1989 but until his death in 2007. The case of
his pseudonym was extraordinary in the history of Czech literature for several rea-
sons. First, during four decades (1949–1989) he published under it only in samizdat,
so that officially he was a  non-existent writer, an Orwellian “no-person” indeed.
(He actually published a text elsewhere under his pseudonym – the novel Invalidní
sourozenci [The Disabled Siblings] – as early as 1981, nevertheless it was published by
the Czech Sixty-Eight Publishers, based in Toronto, Canada.) Besides, Bondy’s close
friend Hrabal modelled one of his literary figures – a poet named “Egon Bondy” – on
the real person Egon Bondy (see Hrabal’s officially published short stories Taneční
hodiny pro starší a pokročilé [Dancing Lessons for the Advanced in Age], first pub-
lished in 1964, and Legenda o Egonu Bondym a Vladimírkovi [A Legend about Egon
Bondy and Vladimírek], first published in the  volume Morytáty a  legendy [Murder
Stories and Legends], in 1968). Thus “Egon Bondy” became a literary “myth” twenty
years before he actually made his official debut in Czechoslovakia. See JANOUŠEK,
Pavel (ed.), Slovník českých spisovatelů od roku 1945 [Dictionary of Czech Writers since
1945], vol. 1, A–L , Praha: Brána, 1999, p. 56; see also Slovník české literatury po roce
1945 [Dictionary of Czech Literature since 1945], “Egon Bondy”, http://slovnikceske-
literatury.cz/showContent.jsp?docId=915&hl=egon+bondy+ (accessed in June 2019);
see also the bibliography of Bondy’s works in MACHOVEC, Martin, Bibliografie Egona
Bondyho (se soupisem rukopisné pozůstalosti a  archivované korespondence) [Biblio­
graphy of Egon Bondy (With the Catalogue of the Manuscript Estate and Archived
Correspondence)], Praha: Libri Prohibiti, 2006–2018, http://www.libpro.cz/docs/
bibliografie-egona-bondyho-2018_1530980541.pdf (accessed in June 2019).
27) “Václav Rozehnal” was one of the pseudonyms of the renowned Czech poet Wer-
nisch, who could publish only in samizdat in the 1970s and 1980s. Rozehnal’s samiz-
dat publications, such as the collection of poems Z letošního konce světa [Concerning
This Year’s End of the World], misled even the editors of the first samizdat dictionary

( 146 )
 Jiří Hásek’s  J. H. Krchovský,28 Václav Jamek’s  Eberhardt
Hauptbahnhof,29 and last but not least, perhaps the first
Czechoslovak samizdat edition after 1948, Bondy and Jana
Krejcarová’s 1949 anthology of surrealist poetry, Židovská
jména [Jewish Names].30 There the very Jewish-sounding

of Czech writers: the entry “ROZEHNAL, Václav” is found in it, presenting the “writ-

er” as a  real living being (see BRABEC, Jiří, GRUŠA, Jiří, HÁJEK, Igor, KABEŠ, Petr,
LOPATKA, Jan, Slovník českých spisovatelů [Dictionary of Czech Writers], Toronto:
Sixty-Eight, 1982. Concerning Wernisch, see JANOUŠEK, Pavel (ed.), Slovník českých
spisovatelů od roku 1945, vol. 2, M–Ž , Praha: Brána, 1998, p. 682.
28) Hásek started publishing his poems under the  pseudonym “J. H. Krchovský” in
the late 1970s. As he became one of the best-known and most popular representatives
of “the  third underground generation”, his ironic pseudonym also became famous
(“­Krchovský”, derived from a Czech-German slang word “krchov”, i. e. German “Kirch-
hof”, means approximately “Mr. Churchyard” or “Mr. Boneyard”, thus mocking the mor-
bidity and necrophilia of the totalitarian regime). Later, Krchovský’s elaborate, refined,
ironic, neodecadent poetry gained him not only recognition from critics, reviewers,
and literary historians but also large popularity with the Czech reading public: he is
probably the bestselling contemporary Czech poet. See KRCHOVSKÝ, J. H., Básně, Brno
(Czech Republic): Host, 1998; JANOUŠEK 1999 (Footnote 26), p. 446; TOPOL, Jáchym,
“The Story of Revolver Revue. Contribution to a Closer Understanding of the Last Sam-
izdat Generation” in MACHOVEC, Martin (ed.), Views from the Inside. Czech Underground
Literature and Culture (1948–1989), 2nd edition, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018, pp. 79–91.
29) Jamek’s German-sounding pseudonym “Eberhardt Hauptbahnof” (i.e., “Eberhardt
Main Station”) is of a kind similar to “J. H. Krchovský”: the author attacks with his
funnysounding pseudonym the hypocrisy of Czech pseudopatriotism in its Communist
or anti-Communist versions. Moreover, his collections of poems published in samiz-
dat in Edice Petlice (1988, 1989) belong to the best achievements of Czech samizdat,
dissident poetry; see JANOUŠEK 1999 (Footnote 26), p. 319.
30) Židovská jména was produced by its two editors and its coauthors at the begin-
ning of 1949. Most of its copies were soon confiscated by the police, but one copy
survived, was retyped in the 1960s, and was the source of the first official publication
of the anthology in 1995. Though the participants chose their Jewish-sounding pseu-
donyms deliberately to express their protest against a new wave of anti-Semitism in
the post–World War II Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia, only Fišer’s pseudonym –
Egon Bondy – survived and entered the history of Czech literature. See MACHOVEC,
Martin (ed.), Židovská jména 1949 (with contributions by Egon Bondy, Sarah Silber-
stein [Jana Krejcarová], Isaak Kuhnert [Jaroslav Růžička], Nathan Illinger [Karel
Hynek], Gala Mallarmé [Jana Krejcarová], Benjamin Haas [Jan Zuska], Dina Š. [Libuše
Strouhalová], Edmond Š. [Vladimír Šmerda], Herbert Taussig [Zdeněk Wagner], Pavel
Ungar [Vratislav Effenberger], Arnold Stern [Oldřich Wenzl], Szatmar Neméthyová

( 147 )
 pseudonyms of the collaborating authors – by which they
wanted to protest against a  new wave of anti-Semitism
in the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia – were asking for
prosecution, as it were.
(a3) Anonymous “author’s  samizdat”, hardly identifiable as
self-initiated editions of the author’s own text.
(b) The publisher of samizdat books and periodicals (often iden-
tical to the editor and sometimes even to the typist).
This subgroup of so-called established samizdat is sometimes
considered to encompass all samizdat publishing (see works
by Skilling, Prečan, Pauer, and others) because of the  effort
made by the  editors to imitate “real books” or periodicals
with the  limited means and resources of typewriting: every
single volume is numbered, bears the  name of the  edition,
often even bears the real name of its editor, contains the im-
print information, and so forth. In some cases, this sub-group
can be identified with the  preceding subgroup, the  author
of the  text in person (IIa), in which the  author doubles as
the  publisher. But in most cases such samizdat publishers
(in Czechoslovakia the  best-known representatives were
probably Ludvík Vaculík, founder of Edice Petlice, and Václav
Havel, founder of Edice Expedice) edited and disseminated
texts by other authors. By including their names, often even
with their own handwritten signatures in most of the copies
of the well-known series of editions,31 the publishers took full
responsibility for their samizdat activities.

[Anna Marie Effenbergerová]), Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 1995. On Židovská

jména see MACHOVEC, Martin, “Židovská jména rediviva. Významný objev pro dě-
jiny samizdatu”, A2 3, no. 51–52 (2007); DRUBEK, Natascha, “Sich (k)einen Namen
machen: Die Židovská jména der Honza K.”, Slovo a smysl / Word & Sense 14, no. 28
(2017); DVORSKÝ, Stanislav, “Židovská jména – bájení a skutečnost”, Souvislosti 28,
no. 3 (2017).
31) Besides Edice Petlice and Edice Expedice, GRUNTORÁD 2001 (Footnote 2, 3) men-
tions, e.g., Edice Půlnoc [Midnight Edition], Kvart [Quarto Editions], Česká Expedice
[Bohemian Expedition], Krameriova Expedice [Kramerius’s Expedition], Kde domov
můj [Where Is My Homeland Editions], Prameny [Sources Editions], Hermetická
Edice [Hermetic Editions], Vokno [Window Editions], Proti všem [Despite Everything
Editions], Prostor [Space Editions], Pražská imaginace [Prague Imagination Editions],

( 148 )
 Three more divisions are identifiable here, according to
the publisher/author relations.
(b1) The publisher was allowed to publish the book (or the pe-
riodical contribution) by the author of the text.
(b2) The  publisher was not allowed to publish the  book (or
the periodical contribution) by the author of the text, but
the text was published anyway, against the author’s will,
with readers sometimes informed about it, sometimes not.
Such was the  case of the  magnitizdat editions that Petr
Cibulka often put into circulation in spite of the authors’
explicit objections.32 Diametrically opposed was the case
of Milan Jelínek’s attempt to publish Milan Kundera’s book
L’art du roman [The Art of the Novel] in Czech translation.
This having been explicitly forbidden by its author in
a phone call, Jelínek respected Kundera’s veto and did not
publish the translated book in samizdat.33

Popelnice [Garbage Can Editions], Duch a život [Spirit and Life Editions], Theologia
[Theology Editions], Přátelé [Friends Editions], and others.
32) See VANICEK, Anna Naninka, Passion Play: Underground Rock Music in Czech-
oslovakia, 1968–1989. Master’s  thesis, North York: York University, 1997; MÜLLER,
Miloš – CIBULKA, Petr, “‘Přál bych si, aby tady moc byla pro občana.’ Rozhovor s Pe-
trem Cibulkou” [‘I Would Like the Power to Be Granted to Citizens of This Country’:
An Interview with Petr Cibulka], Sklepník 1, 1994, pp. 47–52. VANICEK, 1997, p. 131,
argues in the chapter “Controversy over Distribution Practices”: “Cibulka distributed
the vast majority of music without the knowledge or consent of the musicians who
had recorded it. He decided on this approach after speaking with many musicians who
were adamantly opposed to their recordings being circulated in such a way: ‘I found
that the majority are cowards and are paranoid about having their music distributed
unofficially. After conducting many excruciating interviews, I realized that if I left it to
the artist, I wouldn’t be able to issue almost anything [...] Those who were indifferent
or pleased were definitely a minority.’ This approach obviously presents large ethical
problems, a point that did not go unnoticed at the time; it reveals the differences of
opinion with regard to oppositional work. One of Cibulka’s main goals was to circulate
materials at all costs. He was willing to suffer the consequences of such activity, and
did indeed suffer throughout the  years. What he also did was impose his vision of
reality on everyone who became a part of his activity, however inadvertently.”
33) Prof. Milan Jelínek, one of the Brno-based samizdat editors, recalls in the televi-
sion documentary on samizdat that, in a phone call from Paris, his old friend Milan
Kundera strictly forbade him to “publish” in samizdat his book L’art du roman in

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 (b3) The publisher was allowed to publish yet only in secret,
sub rosa, under the condition that he or she would pretend
to have been forbidden by the author (i.e., the preceding
situation [b2]), so as to keep the  latter safe from penal
prosecution. Such was the case of Bohumil Hrabal’s books,
published by Vaculík in his Padlock Editions.
(c) The  anonymous publisher, often the  person who only typed
the handwritten manuscript and so mostly indistinguishable
from a typist.
These cases are found in the  realm of so-called “wild sam-
izdat”, which was, of course, the  safest, the  most frequent,
and  – from the  point of view of textual studies and textual
criticism  – the  “worst of all”, as the  role of publisher was
often identifiable with that of self-appointed editor. Almost
innumerable copies of “wild samizdat” are now found on
the bookshelves of the Prague samizdat library and archives,
Libri Prohibiti, and are a  nightmare for today’s  editors and
readers: some of the self-appointed publishers/editors of “wild
samizdat” did not hesitate to exercise their own creativity
and imagination when retyping texts by other authors, thus
generating not only copies of copies of copies but also textual
versions of versions of versions and so forth.
(d) The typist.
This subgroup sometimes overlaps with the  subgroup of
the anonymous publisher (IIc), so that we are again dealing
with “wild samizdat” publishing, but for several reasons we
have to establish it as a distinct subgroup. For cases existed
where carefully retyped samizdat copies belonged to the sub-
groups in which copies bore the  author’s  real name (IIa1),
where copies were published under a  pseudonym (IIa2), or
under the  name of the  publisher of samizdat books and pe-

Czech translation; Kundera might have been worried about that, nevertheless Jelínek
indicates he was more likely to have forgotten about how difficult the  publishing
situation back in Czechoslovakia was. Moreover, the case provides early evidence
that Kundera has always been rather reluctant to publish his French-written books
in his old home country (in 2008 the Czech reading public still has no access to Kun-
dera’s complete works). See part 8 (on Moravian samizdat) of the Czech television
documentary series Samizdat, mentioned in Footnote 4.

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 riodicals (IIb); such retyped copies were made simply with
the  aim of giving more readers a  chance to read the  same
material that the originator had produced by mere retyping
(at the same time such typists could avoid the danger incurred
by resorting to public copy-making offices). Here, unlike
the  subgroup the  anonymous publisher (IIc), the  originator
consciously renounces any ambition of editing the  retyped
text and engages in “mere retyping”.
(e) The products of the activities of the Czechoslovak state secu-
rity service (StB) aimed at spreading disinformation, that is,
the samizdat fakes.
In certain cases, suspicion arose that samizdat readers were
chosen as a target of secret police provocation. Police agents
provocateurs distributed real or fake samizdat in order to
learn what their victims would do with them, especially
whether they would further distribute them. Although little
research has been done in this area so far, it can almost be
taken for granted that such cases were rather rare, and so far
there is no direct evidence of the Czechoslovak state security
service producing its own fake samizdat for the sake of prov-
ocation or disinformation.34

III. According to traditionally recognized types of printed

material
This part of our classification does not seem to pose any difficulty
and is a natural part of the work of archivists and librarians of sam-
izdat literature. Here, the following may be distinguished:
(a) Books of fiction, nonfiction books, reference books, books
with reproductions.
(b) Anthologies of texts (fiction, poetry, essays, articles, nonfic-
tion, etc.).
(c) Collections of poems by an individual author.
(d) Periodical volumes.
(e) Leaflets, separate sheets, loosely joined sheets.

34) See, e.g., the samizdat periodical Informace o Chartě 77 [Information about Char-
ter 77], 14 (1987): a fake letter (probably a product of the Czech secret police) by Čest-
mír Císař, published in the samizdat magazine Diskuse [Discussion], is mentioned there.
I thank Jiří Gruntorád for the information concerning the hypothetical “samizdat fakes”.

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 (f) Magnitizdat issues (tape recordings, cassette recordings),
sometimes accompanied by various additional printed matter.

IV. According to the date of production and of issuance, if diffe­

rent
Here again the situation seems to be quite simple:
(a) Issues of texts dated according to when they were written
and/or when they were first published in samizdat.
(b) Undated samizdat publications (frequent in “wild samizdat”).
(c) Antedated samizdat publications, rarely occurring, usually
for reasons of safety. A legendary case is one of the very first
Czech samizdat examples, from the  “presamizdat” period,
namely, the typewritten surrealist anthology Roztrhané panen-
ky [The Lacerated Dolls], dated 1937 but actually published in
1942.35 More frequent were cases of “wild samizdat”, where
the dating of individual samizdat issues was often mistaken
for – or deliberately replaced by – the author’s own dating of
the  text itself: the  year when the  text was written replaces
the dating of the samizdat edition (i.e., the year when the text
was only rewritten or reedited by an editor or a typist).
(d) Postdated texts, frequently “wild samizdat” issues for which
the  dating of the  text itself was replaced by the  dating of
the samizdat issue.

V. According to the textual content of samizdat publications,

that is, their internal features (linguistic and generic)
Here again the situation is simple:
(a) Texts written in the language of the country where the sam-
izdat publishing took place.
(b) Translated texts.
Both subgroups can be further divided by genre.
(1) Fiction (prose, poetry, drama, essays, entertainment, etc).
(2) Nonfiction.

35) Concerning the anthology of surrealist poetry Roztrhané panenky, see KUNDERA,

Ludvík, Spisy L. K., sv. XVII /A/; Spisy L. K, sv. XVII /B/ – Různá řečiště /a/; Různá řečiště
/b/ [L. K.’s Collected Works, vol. XVII /A/; L. K.’s Collected Works, vol. XVII /B/ – Vari-
ous Riverbeds /A/; Various Riverbeds /B/], 2 vols., Brno (Czech Republic): Host, 2005.
(/A/, pp. 172–174, /B/, pp. 93–100); see also part 8 of the television documentary series
Samizdat, mentioned in Footnote 4.

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 (2a) Political, informative, juridical texts.
(2b) Documentary texts.
(2c) Philosophical, religious, psychological texts.
(2d) Specialized, scientific texts, including literary criticism,
literary history, for example, Slovník českých spisovatelů
[Dictionary of Czech Writers] (Brabec et al. 1982, see
Footnote 27); art history, for example, a  number of Petr
Rezek’s editions; lexicographic, linguistic texts, for exam-
ple, Holman’s Frekvenční slovník básnického díla Otokara
Březiny mentioned above.
Until recently, it was assumed by Czech bibliographers that,
in the Czechoslovakia of 1948–89, political texts and books
of fiction and philosophy were the most frequent samizdat
materials.36 However, according to a  recently published
testimony,37 these were outnumbered by printed religious
texts, including the Bible in a new Czech translation:38 they
were produced in secret, clandestine printing offices run
since the mid-1970s by the outlawed religious organization
Jehovah’s Witnesses, whose samizdat activity was report-
edly financed by the voluntary gifts of the sect’s Czech and
Slovak members. The  Czechoslovak Jehovah’s  Witnesses
reportedly published millions of samizdat copies in four-
teen secret, literally underground printing offices, using
cyclostyle and even offset technology. Theirs was a unique
samizdat production, developing in perfect isolation and in
no communication with other samizdat activities.

36) See especially HANÁKOVÁ 1997 (Footnote 3); PREČAN 1988 (Footnote 3); P ­ OSSET
1991 (Footnote 3).
37) See Footnote 9. Unfortunately, there is no other reliable source of information
that would verify the data found in Herbert Adamy’s book. The secretive, clandestine
character of the sect’s inner life only aggravates the unreliability of the given data.
38) The translation of the Bible for the use of the members of the Jehovah’s Witness-
es sect is anonymous. However, the  preface of its 1991 edition (of course, already
a  printed, bound book) says it was translated from English, not from the  original
languages; its imprint assigns the copyright to “Watch Tower Bible and Tract Soci-
ety of Pennsylvania” and describes its translation as the “New World Translation of
the Holy Scriptures / Czech (bi 12–B)”.

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VI. According to the chronological order of samizdat
publishing in Czechoslovakia (with regard to the main
political changes)
(a) Presamizdat period, 1939–45, the years of the Nazi occupation
of the Czech territory (very rare publications).
(b) Protosamizdat period, 1948–56, the period of Stalinism (rare
publications).
(c) The gradual decay of protosamizdat, 1956–67 (the more space
for uncensored publishing in legally printed books and peri-
odicals, the smaller the need for samizdat publi­shing).
(d) Nonsamizdat period, roughly between spring 1968 and
­autumn 1969. Typewritten publications of the  time did not
have the character of samizdat, as state censorship was ei-
ther not applied or was completely inoperative. Typewritten
copies from 1968–69 were either “manuscripts” or products
of “free”, “independent” publishing and could be accorded
the status of a samizdat publication only post-factum, that is,
at the beginning of the following “normalization” period.
(e) Early samizdat period, 1970–85. Samizdat production then
reached für sich status, and the term samizdat started to be
used; well-known series of samizdat editions were founded.
(f) Late samizdat period, 1986–89, the Mikhail Gorbachev years.
Here samizdat publishing in Czechoslovakia reached its peak,
more and more series of editions and samizdat periodicals
were founded, and larger and larger numbers of “grey zone”
readers had access to samizdat publications.39
(g) Postsamizdat period, 1989 to this day. Characterized by
occasional nostalgic revivals of samizdat publishing. Some
authors and editors, now equipped with personal computer
printers, occasionally “publish” texts in a very limited number
of copies to be used by themselves and a handful of friends
but nevertheless give them the shape of a regular publication.
Such “samizdat”, however, is to be understood as a product
of bibliophilism.

39) See Footnote 21.

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VII. According to the type of technology used in samizdat pro­
duction
The  variety of technologies has already been outlined above. Let
me just stress here again that, for most Czech and Slovak samizdat
editors and distributors of 1948–89, a simple typewriter was the only
working tool. Vrba 2001 (Footnote 3, 2, 10) in his useful essay sug-
gests the same disproportion.

VIII. According to a variety of other criteria

Vrba (2001) also tried to categorize samizdat materials according
to various ways of financing their production and distribution and
according to whether they were sold or distributed for free. He also
suggested sorting them according to the number of copies and print
runs (from one copy to several hundred, rarely more than three to
four hundred copies) and according to the type of typewriter used.
Moreover, apart from Vrba’s  suggestions, it would be possible to
classify them according to the type of readers, for example, the Char-
ter 77 circle,40 the circle of the underground community (the circle
of the  Plastic People of the  Universe, the  Vokno [Window] circle,
the  Revolver Revue circle, etc.),41 the  Jazzová sekce ( Jazz Section)

40) Concerning Charter 77 samizdats, they were especially the so-called INFOCHs,

i.e., Informace o Chartě 77; see its bibliography in GRUNTORÁD, Jiří (ed.), Informace
o Chartě 77 1978–1990. Článková bibliografie, Brno (Czech Republic): Doplněk, 1998.
The two most prominent Czech samizdat series of editions – Vaculík’s Edice Petlice
and Havel’s Edice Expedice – were mostly distributed among the Charter 77 signato-
ries; see their bibliographies in PREČAN, Vilém, “Edice Petlice 1973–1987” [Padlock
Editions 1973–1987], ACTA 1, no. 3–4 (1987), pp.  35–91; GRUNTORÁD, Jiří, “Edice
Expedice. Část 1. – ‘Černá řada’” [Dispatch Editions. Part 1 – ‘Black Series’], Kritický
sborník 14, no. 3 (1994), pp. 66–78; GRUNTORÁD, Jiří, “Edice Expedice. Část 2. – ‘Světlá
řada’” [Dispatch Editions. Part 2 – ‘Light Series’], in Kritický sborník 14, no. 4 (1994),
pp. 71–80; see also ROMANOVÁ, Gabriela, Příběh Edice Expedice [The Story of the Dis-
patch Editions], Praha: Knihovna Václava Havla, 2014.
41) Concerning “underground samizdats”, i.e., those produced by the  members  of
the  community of rock fans, poets, and artists who gathered at the  beginning
of the 1970s around the band The Plastic People of the Universe, it was mostly vari-
ous samizdat anthologies – sborníks – of poetry (see the bibliography in ­MACHOVEC,
Martin (ed.), Pohledy zevnitř. Česká undergroundová kultura ve svědectvích, doku-
mentech a  interpretacích [Views from the  Inside: Czech Underground Culture in
Testimonies, Documents, and Interpretations], Praha: Pistorius and Olšanská, 2008,

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community,42 the various religious communities,43 and the various
regional circles.44 One could even try to trace the degree of isolation
as against openness of the various circles, but such a subgrouping
would probably be too tentative and vague.

pp. 167–168; see also a more detailed bibliography on the website of ÚSTR: MACHO-

VEC, Martin, Nejvýznamnější samizdatové sborníky undergroundové literatury (1975–
1989), Ústav pro studium totalitních režimů, http://www.ustrcr.cz/data/pdf/projekty
/underground/underground-samizdat-sborniky.pdf (accessed in June 2019). Then,
starting in 1979 and 1985, respectively, there were two major underground samizdat
journals, Vokno and Revolver Revue; see their bibliographies in RŮŽKOVÁ, Jana  –
GRUNTORÁD, Jiří, “Samizdatový časopis Vokno” [The  Samizdat Magazine Vokno],
Kritický sborník 19 (1999–2000), pp. 193–231; JEŽEK, Vlastimil, “Bibliografie Revolver
Revue (Jednou nohou) 1–13” [Bibliography of Revolver Revue (One Foot In) 1–13],
Kritický sborník 11, no. 3 (1991) pp. 63–79 + JEŽEK, Vlastimil, “Bibliografie Revolver
Revue (Jednou nohou) 1–13”, Kritický sborník 11, no. 4. (1991), pp. 67–75.
42) Concerning Jazzová sekce’s samizdats (or semilegal prints), see KOUŘIL, Vladimír,
Jazzová sekce v čase a nečase 1971–1987 [The Jazz Section in the Course of Good and
Bad Times 1971–1987], Praha: Torst, 1999.
43) Besides the religious community of Jehovah’s Witnesses (see Footnotes 9 and 38),
it was especially in Slovakia that religious (in this case, Catholic) samizdat flourished.
Part 12 of the Czech television documentary series Samizdat, mentioned in Footnote
4, was devoted to Slovak religious samizdat. From it we learn about the influence of
the “secret Catholic Church” in Slovakia and about various Catholic periodicals, most-
ly produced with the help of offset printing machines kept in cellars; starting in 1973
and reaching print runs of as many as fifteen hundred copies in the 1980s, various
periodicals came out in samizdat, e.g., František Mikloško’s Náboženstvo a súčasnosť
[Religion and Today], Vladimír Jukl’s Katolický mesačník (Catholic Monthly), Vladimír
Durkovič’s Rodinné spoločenstvo [Family Communion], and Ivan Polanský’s Historický
zápisník [History Notebook], whose only two issues (1986, 1987) dealt with the two
prominent figures of Slovak clerical fascism, Jozef Tiso and Andrej Hlinka.
44) Concerning “regional samizdats”, see POSSET, Johanna, Česká samizdatová peri-
odika 1968–1989, Brno (Czechoslovakia): Továrna na sítotisk a společnost R&T, 1991;
PETR, Pavel, “Moravský samizdat” [Moravian Samizdat], Box, no. 6 (1996), pp. 44–71;
PETROVÁ, Jana, Zapomenutá generace osmdesátých let 20. století. Nezávislé aktivity
a samizdat na Plzeňsku Plzeňsku [The Forgotten Generation of the 1980s. Independent
Activities and Samizdat in the Plzeň Region], Plzeň (Czech Republic): Jana Petrová,
2009; MACHOVEC 2008 (Footnote 41), pp.  134–135; PŘIBÁŇ, Michal (ed.), Český
­literární samizdat 1949–1989. Edice – časopisy – sborníky, Praha: Academia – Ústav pro
českou literaturu AV ČR, 2018; see also Footnote 43.

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 The  definition of samizdat publishing as proposed above both
widens and narrows the  notion of it. On the  one hand, samizdat
publishing can exist only in totalitarian political systems or regimes
and should not be confused with other “free”, “independent”, “al-
ternative”, “underground” publishing anywhere or at any time; on
the other hand, what may be considered samizdat material exceeds
by far the typewritten documents of a nation’s conscience, the texts
by prominent representatives of dissidence.

E G O N B O N DY A N D T H E   SA M I Z DAT P U B L I C AT I O N
OF HIS WORKS
To test the applicability of the typology of samizdat outlined above,
we will consider the samizdat publication of one of the best-known
contemporary Czech writers, now a  rather ill-famed ex-guru of
Czech underground culture, the  poet, prose writer, and philoso-
pher Egon Bondy (born in Prague, Czechoslovakia, in 1930; died in
Bratislava, Slovakia, in 2007).45 Bondy’s critics and opponents can
hardly deny at least one thing: his incessant, continuous samizdat
production, which extended over four decades, from 1948 until 1989.
The three purely philosophical works published in Czechoslovakia
in state-controlled publishing houses in the late 1960s under the au-
thor’s  real name (Zbyněk Fišer) represent an exception proving
the rule: the creative writing was left to the author’s alter ego, Egon
Bondy, and found its place only on the  thousands of typewritten
pages of samizdat publications. Bondy’s  bibliography, published
on the  website of Libri Prohibiti,46 includes for the  years 1948–89
approximately sixty samizdat collections of poems (classified for
our purpose as “first samizdat editions”); nearly thirty-two samizdat
titles of prose (novels, novellas, short stories); ten samizdat philo-
sophical essays and treatises; thirteen separate issues of the thir-

45) For work in English on and by Bondy, see PAGE, Benjamin B., “Translator’s  In-
troduction (2000)”, in BONDY, Egon, The Consolation of Ontology: On the Substantial
and Nonsubstantial Models, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2001; MACHOVEC, Martin
(ed.), Views from the  Inside: Czech Underground Literature and Culture (1948–1989),
Praha: Department of Czech Literature and Literary Criticism, Faculty of Philosophy
and Arts, Charles University, 2006; 2nd, augmented edition: Praha: Karolinum Press,
2018; RIEDEL, Jaroslav (ed.), The Plastic People of the Universe, Praha: Maťa, 1999.
46) Bibliografie Egona Bondyho: See Footnote 26.

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teen–volume Poznámky k dějinám filosofie [Remarks on the History
of Philosophy], published in samizdat between the years 1977 and
1987; three separate issues of political, Marxist analyses of the So-
viet, the Central and Eastern European, and the Chinese models of
Communism, published in samizdat in 1950, 1969, and 1985; thirteen
separate issues of theater sketches (from the years 1968–70); and
finally, three samizdat issues of Bondy’s translations into Czech of
texts by various foreign authors. While altogether approximately
135 separate issues of the  author’s  own first samizdats came out
during the four decades of totalitarianism in Czechoslovakia, sam-
izdat reissues of his work would probably make the number three
or four times higher.
Bondy’s samizdat exists mostly in typewritten editions and cop-
ies. At the beginning of the 1950s Bondy, together with his friend,
the  poet Ivo Vodsed’álek, founded one of the  first Czech samiz-
dat series of editions, called Edice Půlnoc [Midnight Editions].47
Each of this series’s  issues bore the  pseudonyms or initials of
the  authors (in the  case of their own texts, these were identical
with the  pseudonyms or initials of the  editors of the  issues) and
included most of the features in Vrba’s characterization of “estab-
lished samizdat” editions (mostly format A5, the title page bearing
the name of the edition, pagination, imprint, sometimes even a list
of “books in print” or “coming out soon”, the  author’s  autograph,
etc). From 1951 to 1955 almost fifty typewritten issues of works by
Bondy, Vodsed’álek, Krejcarová, Pavel Svoboda, Hrabal, and several
others came out in the  Midnight Editions. One rare exception to
his typewritten samizdat is a  marginal collection of poems (Bon-
dy’s Krajina a nemravnost [Landscape and Immorality]), dated 1953,
which appeared only in one calligraphic copy. After the mid-1950s

47) See MACHOVEC, Martin, “Několik poznámek k  podzemní ediční řadě Půlnoc”,
Kritický sborník 13, no. 3 (1993), pp. 71–78; ZAND, Gertraude, Totaler Realismus und
Peinliche Poesie. Tschechische Untergrund-Literatur 1948–1953, Wien: Peter Lang, 1998;
ibidem, Totální realismus a trapná poezie. Česká neoficiální literatura 1948–1953, Brno
(Czech Republic): Host, 2002; MACHOVEC, Martin, “Od avantgardy přes podzemí do
undergroundu. Skupina edice Půlnoc 1949–1955 a  undergroundový okruh Plastic
People 1969–1989”, in ALAN 2001 (Footnote 2), pp. 154–199, also in Pohledy zevnitř
(Footnote 41), pp. 97–149; PŘIBÁŇ, Michal (ed.), 2018 – see Footnote 44; KUŽEL, Petr
(ed.), Myšlení a tvorba Egona Bondyho, Praha: Filosofia, 2018.

( 158 )
Bondy’s  samizdat publications show almost no attempt to keep
to the  standard of “established samizdat”, and they become more
modest, simple typewritten copies, hardly distinguishable from
the author’s typewritten manuscripts. And in the late 1980s some of
Bondy’s works were published immediately upon completion in as
many as three hundred copies in cyclostyle by the author’s samizdat
colleagues – mostly the editors of the underground magazine Vokno.
As far as motivation is concerned, Bondy’s  works reflect his
“­inner need” (Ia), but in the  1970s and 1980s they occasionally
became a product of a “refined kind of graphomania” as defined in
(If2): they suffer at parts from the author’s overproduction and haste,
which can be understood as a defense reaction to police intimida-
tion and the impossibility of regular, legal publishing.48
Bondy’s  original texts prevail in his samizdat publishing (IIa,
IIb), both those of fiction and of nonfiction (political, philosophical
texts, occasional literary and art criticism, and review writing). His
creativity and fertility are breathtaking. If Bondy’s samizdat issues
were to be classified according to the  types of printed material
(III), they would range over all subgroups from (a) to (f). As far as
the ­anthologies and periodical volumes are concerned, Bondy’s role
was usually that of a contributor or a coeditor.
Bondy always carefully dated not only each of his samizdat issues
but often also individual poems or texts in prose (IVa). Some of his
samizdat is hardly distinguishable from diary entries, spatial-tem-
poral segments, reflections of the  author’s  own life and work. In
numerous cases, “wild samizdat” reissues of his works antedated
them (IVc). Thus, for example, a collection of poems written in 1951
(and accurately dated by its author with the same year) but retyped,
say, in 1972 or 1985 still bore the date 1951.

48) Bondy’s overproduction of literary texts, especially poetry, was criticized for in-
stance by Jiří Kolář (KOLÁŘ, Jiří, Dílo Jiřího Koláře VIII [Works of Jiří Kolář VIII], Praha:
Paseka, 2000, pp.  88–89) and Milan Knížák (KNÍŽÁK, Milan, Bez důvodu [Without
Reason], Praha: Litera, 1996, p.  122. However, his poetry as a  whole has not been
adequately analysed yet, perhaps because of its enormous bulk; see BONDY, Egon,
Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho I–IX [The Collected Poems of Egon Bondy I–IX], 9 vols.,
Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1990–1993; BONDY, Egon, Básnické spisy I–III [Collected
Poetic Works I–III], 3 vols., Praha: Argo, 2014–2016.

( 159 )
 This classification of Czech/Czechoslovak samizdat publishing in
general and its application to Bondy’s works is intended to elucidate
samizdat for historiographers and to place samizdat writing in its
social, political, and psychological contexts. It can hardly serve or
replace literary interpretation, and so literary historians who claim
that it is best to forget about all samizdat frameworks and instead
concentrate on the interpretation of the works as literature may not
be completely wrong.

Prague – Philadelphia – Durham, NC

2006, 2009

( 160 )
8 . T H R E E E X A M P L E S O F A   V A R I E T Y O F R E L A T I O N S
B E T W E E N C Z E C H SA M I Z DAT A N D “ TA M I Z DAT ”
BOOK PRODUCTION OF THE 1970S AND 1980S1

Quoting a bit of a worn-out Latin motto, “Habent sua fata libelli”, at

the beginning of this survey may be excused. Certainly even books
have their ups and downs, their moments of glory and moments
of decay when they fall into oblivion – perhaps with some chance
to have something to say again one day again. The  reasons for
which can sometimes be quite irrational and unpredictable as they
definitely are not directly dependent on the literary value of each
individual book alone.
If this is true for book production anywhere, anytime, it is
probably even more conspicuous in the case of samizdat book pro-
duction because of one reason: the very essence of samizdat book
production lies more in an extra-literary sphere than in a  purely
literary one. In other words, what samizdat books contained was
less important than the very fact of their existence which in itself
was evidence of cultural and political resistance in times of total-
itarian regimes.
The  whole of this introduction is to say that we have to be
­extremely cautious when trying to measure the  success  – to say
nothing about the quality – of a particular samizdat book according
to its relatively high print runs or according to to how many times it
had been published in samizdat. By the way, it is a well-known fact,
that the highest print-runs of Czechoslovak samizdat in the 1970s
and 1980s were achieved by the Jehovah Witnesses, though their
output mostly consisted of poor translations of religious texts into
Czech.
The following schema brings forth some of the typical, usual fac-
tors that might have made some samizdat editions more attractive
than others  – which can further elucidate the  variety of relations
between samizdat publishers on the one hand and the book pro-

1) This text was written for a  panel discussion on samizdat held in Czech Center,
New York City, November 2011; slightly altered, under the title “On Czech Samizdat
and Tamizdat: Banned Books of 1970s and 1980s”, it was published on the website
of Fair Observer, 2014, https://www.fairobserver.com/region/europe/czech-samizdat
-tamizdat-banned-books-1970s-1980s/.

( 161 )
duction of exiled Czechoslovak publishers or foreign publishing
houses on the other hand. It may be worth noting that the literary
quality of books is only one of these factors – and perhaps not always
the most decisive one.

The book:
type of literature: factual books vs. fiction, imaginative literature;
theme of the book: topical, current Czechoslovak themes vs. peren-
nial, timeless themes;
language of the book: Czech / Slovak originals vs. translated books.

The author:
his / her reputation at home: a well-known author before 1968/69
vs. an unknown one who started publishing only in samizdat;
his / her reputation abroad: ditto.

The target group of readers:

in Czechoslovakia: a particular group of readers at a certain period of
time vs. dissident readership vs. general reading public in the coun-
try / in the whole world;
abroad: a  particular group of readers in a  particular country
vs. a general reading public in the whole world.

The function / purpose of the book: entertainment vs. education

vs. current (political) information.

The literary quality of the book: always disputable.

The origin of the book: original Czech / Slovak samizdats vs. sam-

izdat editions of a  banned book that had already been published
before by regular printing presses vs. samizdat editions of a book
written and published before in Czechoslovak exile abroad.

Only if we take into account all the above-mentioned factors in

their mutual relations, and perhaps some more criteria of a more
or less extra-literary character, could we try to estimate why and
where and when a particular samizdat edition may or may not have
been successful. Nevertheless, at least one fact can be taken for

( 162 )
granted right away: i.e., the success of a samizdat edition alone
could not guarantee any other success of a  respective book
anywhere else, any time later – and vice versa – the failure of an
original samizdat book abroad did not have to explain its failure or
success at home.
The  three following examples are based on three successful
samizdat editions which, with one exemption, roused little or no
attention on the side of Czech exiled publishers, and, with another
exemption, little or no attention on the  side of foreign, especially
Anglo-American publishers.

I.
Egon Bondy’s  novel Invalidní sourozenci [The  Disabled Siblings]
was written in 1974 by a little known author who never published
any of his poetry and fiction before 1968 and in the  “normaliza-
tion” decades was utterly dependent on samizdat book production.
The  novel was inspired by the  author’s  life in the Czech under-
ground community of rock musicians, poets and artists and in it
the  author addressed the  same community. The  book worked as
a sort of an apology or even an apotheosis of the “merry ghetto” of
this community.
Now there are, incredibly, 14 different type-written editions of
the book found in Prague-based Libri prohibiti library which, togeth-
er with 3 more different editions found in the author’s personal
archives, probably represent the  absolute top record in Czech
samizdat book production – 17 different type-written editions
of the discussed book.
The  keen interest in the  book, especially on the  side of
the  above-mentioned Czech underground community, has always
been in sharp discrepancy with little or no interest on the side of
prominent Czech dissidents and dissident samizdat publishers, so
had it not been for one edition in Václav Havel’s  Edice Expedice
publishers – of Pavel Tigrid’s interest that resulted in his publishing
an extract of the book in Paris-based Czech exiled journal Svědec­
tví (1980)  – and later of Josef Škvorecký’s  interest that generated
the  first printed publication of the  book in 68 Publishers (1981),
the  book would probably be only known and successful within
a limited and somewhat isolated circle of readers at home.

( 163 )
Different samizdat editions of Bondy’s Invalidní sourozenci

Nevertheless, the tremendous success of the book among a sec-

tion of Czech samizdat readers provoked one more edition abroad:
I have in mind Josef “Baghýra” Jelínek’s (1927–2015) miniature piracy
reprints. Mr. Jelínek used to make the miniature reprints of Czech
books published in exile in his office in Erlangen, Germany, pursuing
only one aim: to make smuggling back to Czechoslovakia easier.
Bondy’s book Invalidní sourozenci was published in Erlangen in
1983 and, according to the data given by Jiří Gruntorád, head of Libri

( 164 )
Invalidní sourozenci, Sixty-Eight Publishers, Toronto 1981
(the front cover brings a reprint of a picture by Rudolf Plaček, the back cover
brings a photo of the author)

prohibiti library, some time later Josef Jelínek even made one more
reprint of the book: maybe several hundred of the miniature copies
of Invalidní sourozenci were successfully smuggled into Czechoslo-
vakia in those years: so insatiable was the Czech readers’ thirst for
this book that the demand probably lasted until the late 1980s!
Of course, the book was published by regular printing presses in
Czechoslovakia soon after 1989 – first in 1991, next in 2001, and in
2012 for the third time. It was even published in three translations,
in Italian, German, and Slovenian (some parts of the  book also in
Polish and Hungarian)2 but everywhere and every time met with
only little success: its time is probably gone now. The target group

2) Egon Bondy’s Invalidní sourozenci in translations: in Italian as Fratelli invalidi, Mi-

lano: Eleuthera, 1993; in German as Die Invaliden Geschwister, Heidelberg: Elfenbein,
1999; in Slovenian as Invalidna sorojenca, Vnanje Gorice: Police Dubove, 2017.

( 165 )
A miniature reprint of Toronto edition of Invalidní sourozenci, Erlangen, 1983

of its devoted readers has begun dying out, and the role of the book
has been fulfilled.

II.
This following one is an example of a very different samizdat pub-
lication. Milan Machovec’s  (1925–2003) monograph on Jesus was
originally written in 1969 to fit the demands of Prague based Orbis /
Svoboda publishers’ series of books called PORTRÉTY that consisted
of brief, concise monographs always titled only with the  name of
a respective historic figure.
Since the  author was a  well-known person both at home and
abroad, being one of the  founders of Christian-Marxist dialogue3
that took place both in the East and the West in the 1960s, it was

3) On Christian-Marxist dialogues of 1960s and on M.M.’s  role in them see for in-
stance: STÖHR, Martin (ed.), Disputation zwischen Christen und Marxisten, München:
Kaiser Verlag, 1966; KELLNER, Erich (ed.), Schöpfertum und Freiheit in einer humanen
Gesellschaft. Marienbader Protokolle, Wien – Frankfurt – Zürich: Europa Verlag, 1969;
OESTEREICHER, Paul (ed.), The Christian Marxist Dialogue. An International Symposi-
um, London: The Macmillan Comp., 1969; MOJZES, Paul, Christian-Marxist Dialogue
in Eastern Europe, Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1981; JINDROVÁ, Kami-
la – TACHECÍ, Pavel – ŽĎÁRSKÝ, Pavel (eds.), Mistr dialogu Milan Machovec. Sborník
k nedožitým osmdesátinám českého filosofa, Praha: Akropolis, 2006; LANDA, Ivan  –
MERVART, Jan (eds.), Proměny marxisticko-křesťanského dialogu v  Československu,
Praha: Filosofia, 2017.

( 166 )
One of the samizdat editions of Ježíš pro ateisty, anonymous, but probably
­belonging to Vaculík’s Edice Petlice circle

not difficult to rouse the interest of foreign publishers in Western

Europe and even in more remote parts of the world.
The 9 samizdat editions of the book Ježíš pro ateisty [Jesus for
Atheists; in English translation published under the title A Marxist
Looks at Jesus]4 found in the Libri prohibiti library (including exem-
plars from Vaculík’s Edice petlice and Havel’s Edice Expedice) are, as
we are told, the average number, nevertheless the print runs of such
typewritten editions were usually limited: it was a  factual book,
a serious treatise that could hardly compete with more attractive
books of fiction, a fact, which makes the incredibly keen interest in
the book on the side of foreign publishers in the 1970s and 1980s
even more unbelievable: the  book was published 6 times only in
Germany [under the title Jesus für Atheisten] and later on in 10 more
languages in 11 more countries – including Japan and South Korea.

4) The  English translation: MACHOVEC, Milan, A  Marxist Looks at Jesus, London:

Darton, Longmann & Todd, 1976 / Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1976.

( 167 )
A German, English, Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Dutch, Slovenian,
Corean, Swedish, and French edition of Ježíš pro ateisty

On the  other hand the  book had never been published in its
Czech original by any exiled Czech publishing house. Here we are,
of course, faced with a different kind of an appeal: as it is hard to
believe that there would not be enough interesting books on Jesus
Christ published in the West, it was probably the author himself
who made the book attractive. Or, better said, what the author was
supposed to be: a banned Marxist in a reportedly socialist country
who wanted to make Christianity interesting even in the  eyes of
the so-called atheists. Such a hypothesis could also explain the lack
of interest in the book on the side of Czech exiled publishers. They
were mostly forced into exile because they could not cope with
atheistic Marxists and Communists ruling their home country: why
should they publish a book written by one of them, though one who
later got in trouble with party bosses?
Back in Czechoslovakia at the beginning of 1990s, the book also
met with little interest. It was published as early as 1990 under
a  less provocative title of Ježíš pro moderního člověka [Jesus for
a Present-Day Man] and in a large print run that could not sell and
had few if any reviews. The  second edition of 20035 got to print
only some months after the  author’s  death. It was a  small print

5) MACHOVEC, Milan, Ježíš pro moderního člověka, 2nd edition, Praha: Akropolis, 2003.

( 168 )
run that hardly paid. Nowadays, the book is on its way to oblivion,
having fulfilled its temporary role both at home and abroad rela-
tively well.

III.
The third example is the so-called “Hnědá kniha” o procesech s českým
undergroundem [“Brown Book” on the  Trials of the  Czech Under-
ground], published for the  first time in samizdat in 1976 (edited
by Jaroslav Kořán and Václav Vendelín Komeda), again in 1977 or
1978 (unknown editors), and then again, enlarged, in 1980 (edit-
ed by Jaroslav Suk). It is a  publication whose way to readers was
extraordinarily unusual. As an anthology of the  most different
texts  – documents, testimonies, literary texts, essays, song lyrics,
etc.  – it was completed as a  source of true, factual information,
that was to face the  massive official propaganda launched by
the  the  totalitarian regime during the  trial of the  members of
the underground rock band, The Plastic People of the Universe. As
we know from the recent history of Czecho­slovakia, this trial was
one of the most important factors that led to the establishment of
Charter 77 by the end of the same year – and the so-called “Brown
Book” undoubtedly served as one of the eye-openers of the day. By
the  way: the  name of the  volume is purely incidental: its first edi-
tion had no name and was bound in a  brown-coloured cardboard
folder  – because this was reportedly the  only cardboard colour
available at the  time. The  second edition already had the  name of
the  so-called “Brown Book”, the  title found in quotes, of course.6
Since the extra-literary function and the topical, up to date pur-
pose of a such publication is more than obvious it should not sur-
prise us to find out that the“Brown Book” had never been published
abroad or again in samizdat after 1980 – and it was only 35 years
after the  day of the  nameless samizdat started circulating, that
a  critical, annotated edition came out.7 Such books can probably
only function as a  “mediator” of information, some of which may
only be of ephemeral value. Some of the texts found in the “Brown

6) See detailed comments in the  printed book: MACHOVEC, M.  – NAVRÁTIL, P.  –
STÁREK, F. Č. (eds.), “Hnědá kniha” o procesech s českým undergroundem, Praha: ÚSTR,
2012, esp. pp. 446–454.
7) See the previous Footnote.

( 169 )
The cover of the commented printed edition of “Brown
Book” (2012) respected the colour of the cover of
the original nameless samizdat although its choice was
quite incidental, random

Book” were published prior to it, some others later, some were trans-
lated into foreign languages but as a whole the “Brown Book” was
of no interest on the side of Czech exiled publishers. And there was
no need to be sorry too much because the anthology had fulfilled
its extra-literary function almost immediately.
And yet there was a  response to the  “Brown Book” among
the Czechoslovak exiles, though bearing an absolutely different title.
We have in mind the first LP of The Plastic People of the Universe,
called Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club Banned, released in the UK

( 170 )
The original sleeve of the first LP of the Plastic People of the Universe (1978)

and France in 1978 together with a voluminous catalogue either in

English (The Merry Ghetto) or in French (Le ghetto joyeux)8 which in-
corporated a number of texts found only in the “Brown Book” before.
The editors of the 1978 LP and of both the catalogues – the Ca-
nadian Paul Wilson, the London-based Czech exile Ivan Hartel, and
the Frenchman Jacques Pasquier – never even mentioned the “Brown
Book” as an invaluable source of information, but again, we do not
have to blame them for it: instead they managed to create their own

8) The Plastic People… Prague. Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club Banned, London – Paris:
Boží Mlýn & SCOPA Invisible Production; see detailed comments on this release with
catalogues mentioned in “Hnědá kniha”, 2012 (Footnote 6), esp. pp.  395–408, 450,
493–495; see also RIEDEL, Jaroslav, Plastic People a český underground, Praha: Galén,
2016, pp. 240–258.

( 171 )
The LP released in Britain was accompanied by the English catalogue and the one
released in France had a French catalogue (the print run of French mutations were
probably very limited and thus they soon became a collector’s item)

version of the original samizdat which functioned as the proverbial

first snowball that set an avalanche into movement.
The  Plastic People of the  Universe were not to be forgotten,
more and more records with their music were released in the West
before 1989, and all their music was published on a number of CDs
after that year in their home country – and they themselves became
a ­living legend whereas the “Brown Book” having served its extra-
lite­rary purpose became a collection of documents highly appreci-
ated by archivists and historians up to these days.

There is no doubt we could find many more examples of the once

successful Czech samizdat books that either “made it” abroad or met
there with little on no interest because of the  suggested or other
reasons. All of these examples, however, could be taken as a proof
of a very specific, unparalleled function of the phenomenon called
samizdat.

P r a g u e   – N e w Yo r k
N o v e m b e r 2 0 1 1 [ Fa i r O b s e r v e r 2 0 1 4 ]

( 172 )
9. MY ITINERARY HAS BEEN MONOTONOUS FOR
Q U I T E A   W H I L E : 1 M A G O R ’ S   S WA N S O N G S

To this day, Ivan Martin Jirous (23rd September 1944 – 9th November
2011), a.k.a. Magor – a nickname he took up as his literary pseud-
onym (loosely translated as “The Loony”) – is known in Czech society
primarily for being a dissident, political prisoner (he was in prison
five times for a total of nine years during the 1970s and 1980s), an
extravagant freak and a troublemaker. In the eyes of some so-called
upstanding and decent members of Czech consumer society, he
actually largely deserved his repeated imprisonment prior to 1989.
This judgement does not come as a surprise when we consider that
Jirous literally dedicated his entire life to independent, autonomous
culture, non commercial art and the  free, liberal arts in general,
something that often goes hand in hand with an unconventional
lifestyle. All of this runs counter to the pseudo-values of mainstream
consumer culture which as we can see a quarter of a century after
the fall of the totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia – are not much
different to those espoused by the socialist masses before 1989.

1) The  title of this text and also of the  book of selected poems by Jirous to which
the text was originally an epilogue (London: Divus, 2017) is a quotation of an incipit
of one of poems in Magor’s Swan Songs: “Monotónní můj itinerář posledních let. / Jako
bych už jen s eskortami / měl Čechy uvidět. / V Klášterci nad Ohří na římse / spatřil
jsem Pannu v  elipse / paprsků zářivých. / Nepomodlit se byl by hřích. / Z  chomu-
tovského jel jsem soudu. / Poslední léta rodnou hroudu / vidím jen na eskortách. /
Ach. / Však kdybych přistál třeba v Orly, / ta záře světla od mandorly / navždycky by
mě minula. / A úsměv taky neviděl bych, / který na duši Jirka Tichý / hodil mi jako
horké cíchy. / Nepomodlit se byl by hřích.” In Marek Tomin’s translation (the book
cited, p. 19): “My itinerary has been monotonous for quite a while / As if it was my lot
to regard / Bohemia in the company of an armed guard. / On the way from Chomutov
after a trial / In an aureole of radiant light / The Holy Virgin I chanced to see / On
a ledge, in Klášterec nad Ohří. / Not to have said a prayer would have been a sin. /
Of late I only glimpse my native lands / In an armed officer’s hands. / Woe is me. /
Maybe if I landed in some place like Orly / The mandorla’s radiant light / Would never
have passed my sight, / Nor would I have seen the comforting grin / That Jirka Tichý
threw my way / As if to wrap my soul in a warm duvet. / To have not said a prayer
would have been a sin.” See the Czech original as a part of the collection Magorovy
labutí písně in Magorova summa, 3rd edition, vol. I, Praha: Torst 2015, p. 319.

( 173 )
 In spite of this, a minority exists in contemporary Czech society
that appreciates the work of Jirous and positively values his civic
courage under totalitarianism, his uncompromising attitude toward
the political establishment during the so-called “normalization”, as
well as his broad intellectual scope and the breadth of subjects that
he has written about. However, only few recognize him as a theore-
tician of the Czech underground, an independent cultural movement
that was, de facto, forced into illegality. In terms of the mainstream,
fewer still value Jirous as a poet. But then again, poetry has always
only been read by a negligible percentage of the people, a fact not
likely to change in the  future. In this respect, it is not only Jirous
who is currently neglected in the Czech Republic, but also poets of
far greater renown.
Jirous’ life and work are, in fact, an excellent reflection of
the  social and political developments in Czechoslovakia during
the four decades of the totalitarian regime – from the initial hard,
­Soviet-style Stalinism of the first half of the 1950s, through the peri-
od of the thaw after 1956, all the way to the difficult and progressive
battle for greater intellectual and creative freedom in the  1960s.
The early 1960s were Jirous’ adolescent and university years, while
during the second half of the decade he was already working as an
art historian, journalist and zealous promoter of some of the most
groundbreaking trends in art, such as pop art, new figuration, action
painting, conceptual art and happenings.
In order to adequately understand Jirous’ role in Czech culture
during the 1970s and 1980s, we need to recall that by the late 1960s
the Stalinist totalitarian regime had practically collapsed in Czecho­
slovakia and for a  short period  – in 1968  – the  country emerged
as an island of freedom within the  Soviet bloc where tolerance,
plurality and information flow were practically unrestricted. It is
one of the paradoxes of 20th century European history, now being
forgotten, that although highly significant, these rare attempts to
wrench free of the grip of Big Brother in the Kremlin also had severe
and long-lasting consequences for small Central European nations.
The  Czechoslovak Prague Spring certainly did not materialise
out of thin air; instead its groundwork had been laid throughout
the 1960s, as freedom of speech grew incrementally, year on year.
Previously banned books were starting to get published; it was

( 174 )
­ asier to travel across the border to the West; 1950s political prison-
e
ers were being rehabilitated; the dogmatic version of Marxism grad-
ually stopped being the only accepted and permitted ideology – all
of that formally still under the so-called working-class government,
or its vanguard, the  Communist party (with its would-be Marxist
ideology). In addition, various Christian denominations suddenly
found increasing space for their activities, and some Marxists were
even willing to have discussions with their representatives, thus
admitting the  fallibility of their own ideology. In the  midst of this
increasingly dynamic social and cultural milieu, Jirous was study-
ing art history at Charles University in Prague (he completed his
master’s thesis on visual poetry, specifically the works of Jiří Kolář
and Henri Michaux, in 1970, at the  last possible minute, just as
the pro-Soviet regime imposed after the occupation of Czechoslova-
kia by the Warsaw Pact military forces in August 1968 had started
to strengthen its grip on the country). He started to have his work
published in 1965 in various art journals, which, while still margin-
al, were now legal to publish, such as the magazine Výtvarná práce
[Creative Work], From the mid-1960s, Jirous also started to actively
participate in Czech cultural life, primarily in various art events. He
became a member of the unofficial association of artists known as
Křižovnická škola čistého humoru bez vtipu [the  Crusaders’ School
of Pure Humour Without Jokes, or: the Order of Crusaders for Pure
Humour Without Banter], which included Karel Nepraš, Naďa Plíš­
ková, Olaf Hanel, Eugen Brikcius, Otakar Slavík and Zbyšek Sion,
all of whom are seen today as key figures of Czech art in the second
half of the 20th century, fully utilising the relative freedom of those
years, as well as making his own personal contribution to cultural
freedom. Jirous was not only engaged in the visual arts, but also in
literature (he was always a passionate reader and his later literary
work illustrates his high level of erudition) and contemporary music,
including rock, which would eventually have fateful consequences.
Today it is difficult even for people in the Czech Republic to ima­
gine the  shock people felt as the  renewal of pluralist democracy
in Czechoslovakia was crushed by the Soviet-led military invasion,
the  only upside being that it led to the  definitive unmasking of
the Soviet Union, allegedly its ally and guarantor of peaceful coexis­
tence in the  Eastern Bloc, as a  totalitarian, albeit post-Stalinist,

( 175 )
state. It is not necessary to mention here the  countless personal
dramas comprising the tragedy of an entire nation: everything has
already been well documented, depicted and published. Within
roughly a year after the invasion, the Soviet occupiers were able to
start re-establishing an oppressive one-party state, this time uncom-
promisingly pro-Soviet, with a de facto puppet and collaborationist
government. Tens of thousands of Czechoslovaks fled to the West
to live in exile; those who stayed and disagreed with the political
overthrow lost their jobs; all liberal, independent information media
were banned from the beginning of the 1970s; books by opponents
of the regime were withdrawn from sale and taken out of public li-
braries; and political trials commenced once again in 1970. Although
these trials did not result in death sentences like in  the  1950s,
the pro-Kremlin Communist Party once again held power tightly in
its hands.
And as could have been expected, the art journals to which Jirous
had contributed in the 1960s were shut down, and Jirous himself –
together with thousands of others considered “unadaptable” – was
deprived of the possibility to publish, and his artist friends were no
longer allowed to exhibit or perform music in public.
And so began his “journey into the underground”, the unofficial
sphere, the final retreat for those unwilling to give up their artistic
ambitions, and who refused to compromise not only their artistic,
but also their civic honour by conforming to the new circumstances.
Jirous’ activities during that time are well known. He described
them himself in his Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození [Re-
port on the  Third Czech Musical Revival], 1975,2 a  programmatic

2) In the English translation by Paul Wilson, this text was published under the title
Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival in the catalogue The Merry Ghetto, which
was a supplement to the LP Plastic People... Egon Bandy’s Happy Hearts Club Banned
(London – Paris 1978); this translation was published a second time in the antholo-
gy Views from the Inside. Czech Underground Literature and Culture (1948–1989), ed.
MACHOVEC, Martin, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018; an abridged version of Zpráva,
but under the same English title (translation: Eric Dluhosch) was also published in
the  anthology HOPTMAN, Laura – POSPISZYL, Tomáš (eds.), Primary Documents.
A Sourcebook for Eastern and Central European Art since the 1950s, New York: The Mu-
seum of Modern Art, 2002. Reprint of the catalogue The Merry Ghetto was published
on DVD by Martin Machovec: The Merry Ghetto / Le ghetto joyeux, Praha: 2012.

( 176 )
manifesto published several times in samizdat and already trans-
lated into a  number of different languages by the  1970s. Jirous
played an indisputable role in the  fact that The  Plastic People of
the Universe, one of many 1960s Czech rock groups, later became
one of the most significant symbols of Czech cultural resistance. It
is a well-known and historically recognised fact that the decimation
of the  underground community around the  Plastics in 1976 and
the  subsequent political trials and imprisonment of its represent-
atives, Jirous foremost among them, inspired leading Czech dissi-
dents – intellectuals and artists known abroad – to found the civic
initiative Charter 77 a year later.
This is how in a matter of a few years Jirous had gone from an
art historian, critic and journalist, to being the  main organiser of
unofficial art events, theoretician of the  Czech underground and
soon after a dissident and political prisoner. Needless to say, Jirous
never had any intention to build such a “career”. After 1989, he re-
called more than once that at the end of the 1960s he and his friends
were solely concerned with defending the minimal space of freedom,
which the totalitarian regime was soon to take away from them any-
way. It was never their intention to create a specific counter-culture,
let alone one that would manifest itself in an ostentatious manner.
They were driven to it by the intolerance of the totalitarian regime.
No more needs to be said about the socio-political context Jirous
was embroiled in as the 1960s came to an end, and the 1970s began,
which led him to act in ways he had not foreseen, or intended. At
that time, however, he was still practically unknown as a poet. But
before we outline his role in Czech poetry, let’s  take a  brief look
at his theoretical writings and other texts in which he addressed
the  cultural underground, as these are also important for under-
standing his work as a  poet. Probably the  most valuable literary
text of this kind is Pravdivý příběh Plastic People [The True Story of
The Plastic People], 1983–1987,3 Jirous’ account of the key historical

3) This work was published in Czech at the  beginning of 1990 in instalments in

the periodical Studentské listy. The most important book edition is still the extensive
anthology of Jirous’ essays and journalism Magorův zápisník [Magor’s  Notebook],
Michael Špirit (ed.), Praha: Torst, 1997, that included both The True Story, as well as
The Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival. Both texts were published again later
in Czech in various publications.

( 177 )
events leading to his “descent into the  underground” and his life
and work in the unofficial sphere, an existence which was soon to
become illegal (i.e., punishable by law). It is an unparalleled story
due to the specifics of its time and place, exquisitely delivered by
one of its most competent witnesses.
However, it was another of Jirous’ texts on a  similar topic that
captured the  imagination of critics. The  Report on the Third Czech
Musical Revival was written not only as a factual account, but also
as a sort of apologetics for a certain lifestyle, a kind of manifesto in
which Jirous elucidated the need to form a “second culture” a sphere
that would become as independent as possible of the  state-regi-
mented and controlled official culture, which in Jirous’ interpreta-
tion was a pseudo-culture. While this idea is certainly contentious,
a  less well-known fact is that Jirous drew on various postulates
proposed by theoreticians of 1960s Western counter-culture (in
the  text he quoted Jeff Nuttall and Ralf-Rainer Rygulla,4 for ex-
ample, as well as mentioning Timothy Leary, and later on, ex post
facto, he also noted that he had already known about Jerry Rubin
and Theodore Roszak at the end of the 1960s). However, more than
through theories, Jirous was influenced by the liberal-mindedness
of artists themselves – whether it was the Beat Generation poets,
or pop art’s ironic relationship with consumerism, as embodied by
his beloved Andy Warhol, as well as by the highly charged and sub-
versive non commercial culture of the original 1960s underground
rock scene (The Velvet Underground, The Fugs, Captain Beefheart,
David Peel, The  Grateful Dead, as well as those who were later
exploited by show business – Morrison’s Doors, Zappa’s Mothers of
Invention, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and some others). In this sense,
Jirous’ Report can be read as just one of many belated responses to
the unofficial Western culture of the 1960s, albeit a very interesting
and specific one, originating where no one would expect it, but still
no more than a response. Nevertheless, what came out of the Czech
underground community within Charter 77 was considerably differ-
ent from the  career paths of most representatives of the  Western

4) See NUTTALL, Jeff, Bomb Culture, New York: Delacorte Press, 1968; RYGULLA,
Ralf-Rainer (ed.), Fuck you (!) Underground-Gedichte, Darmstadt: Josef Melzer Verlag,
1968 (bilingual English and German anthology of American poets with an extensive
epilogue by Rygulla in German).

( 178 )
underground who were either devoured by commercialism, or
destroyed by drug addiction; ruined by their own success or mar-
ginalised by the mainstream to a nullifying extent. In that sense, we
can paradoxically thank the totalitarian regime in Czechoslovakia
for its intolerance – the oppression of its dissident artists actually
contributed to their social importance.
As a promoter and historian of modern art, as well as a theore-
tician of the cultural underground, regardless of whether one calls
it the counter-culture or alternative culture, Jirous had an indisput-
ably unique significance in the  context of Czech culture. Keeping
in mind, however, that when viewed from an international cultural
perspective, he is simply one of many.

Let us now take a  look at Jirous the  poet. Initially, however, it

should be mentioned that as regards poetry, any kind of theorizing
in institutions, whether social, scientific or cultural, at least since
the  19th century, has always been related to earlier ideas, thus
making it somewhat groundless to argue about poetry’s originali-
ty – a poet worthy of the name either is one, or not. One cannot be
a poet only “to some extent”. In the case of Jirous, whose poetry is
brimming with various paraphrases, appropriations, various literary
metatexts and dedications to the living or dead, including notorious
figures, the question of originality acquires a special meaning.
Jirous is the author of 21 collections of poetry, one consisting of
poetry and prose for children (he wrote these in prison, sending
them in letters to his two young daughters) with the last three com-
piled after his death from his literary estate.5 His first book of poetry
Magorův ranní zpěv [Magor’s Morning Song] – is from 1975; neither
this book, nor the  four subsequent ones from 1979–1981, brought
Jirous much acclaim, not even from the underground community. As
yet, he was not making much effort to promote his own poetry, per-
haps due to his excessive self-criticism; none of his first collections

5) In addition to individual publications of Jirous’ various poetry collections (prior to

1989 only by samizdat or exile publishers), Jirous’ poetry was organised in several col-
lections, out of which the most extensive one is Magorova summa [Magor’s Sum]; ed.
Martin Machovec; 1st edition 1998, 2nd supplemented edition 2007, 3rd supplemented
edition 2015: this last edition in three volumes contains Jirous’ entire poetry œuvre
including the collections from his literary estate.

( 179 )
were included in the series of samizdat anthologies of underground
poets he edited. His first two poetry collections – Magorův ranní zpěv
and Magorova krabička [Magor’s Morning Song; Magor’s Box] (1975;
1979), consist primarily of very short texts with frequent wordplay,
linguistic experiments, comments referring to specific people or
situations, real or imagined fragments of conversations with friends,
and combinations of different languages. It is a sort of literary and
artistic freak show of experiments, which is evidently one of the aes-
thetic expressions of the already mentioned Crusader School, and as
his work progresses we can also observe the influence of the poetics
of Egon Bondy’s  totální realismus [total realism] or trapná poesie
[poetry of awkwardness or poetry of embarrassment] (and also by
extension the  similar poetry of Ivo Vodseďálek). This is only one
perspective, however. In a completely different way, these texts are
related to the  experimental new-Latin poetry of Jirous’ friend and
fellow prisoner, Eugen Brikcius or the  nonsense “zaum” poetry of
Andrej Stankovič, another important underground poet.
Today, after all his poetry work has already been published, there
is no doubt that the height of his work is the collection Magorovy
labutí písně [Magor’s  Swan Songs], which he wrote in prison be-
tween 1981 and 1984 and which, when it was published for the first
time in samizdat in 1985, immediately won considerable fame for
the author, at least within Czech dissident and underground circles.6

6) Until now only a few small anthologies of Jirous’ poetry have been published in Eng-
lish translation, primarily from the collection Magor’s Swan Songs. See: 1/ The mag-
azine Yazzyk, 3, 1994, Praha, translations by Anne Bryson and Jana Klepetářová; 2/
The special issue of New Orleans Review, vol. 26, no. 1–2: Ten Years After the Velvet
Revolution. Voices from the Czech Republic, STONE, Sophia (ed.), New Orleans, USA,
2000 (translations by Jiří Flajšar and Robert Hýsek); 3/ The  bilingual anthology
VOLKOVÁ, Bronislava – CLOUTIER, Clarice (eds.), Up the Devil’s Back – Po hřbetě ďábla,
2008, Boomington, IN, USA, translations by both editors; 4/ The journal Word & Sense,
9–10, 2008, Praha, translations by Kirsten Lodge; 5/ Worth mentioning is the anthol-
ogy from the collection Okuje (2008) translated to English by Bernie Higgins, Toby
Litt and Tomáš Míka: released with the CD Magor & Postcommodity, undated [2010];
6/ The magazine Inkshed, no. 23 (Spring/Summer 1992), London, pp. 25–27, brought
four poems by Jirous from collections Magorova mystická růže [Magor’s  Mystical
Rose] and Magorovi ptáci [Magor’s Birds] in Toby Litt’s and Tomáš Míka’s translation.
With the exception of item 6/ all of these translations, as well as translations to other
languages, are recorded in the 3rd edition of Magorova Summa [Magor’s Sum] (2015).

( 180 )
A number of other samizdat publications followed, as well as two
publications by Czech exile publishers in the West, and after 1989
several independent, as well as collected publications at home.7 Ma-
gor’s Swan Songs also earned Jirous the Tom Stoppard Prize in 1985,
awarded by the Czech community in exile. Thirteen years later, after
Jirous’ collected poetic works were first published under the  title
Magorova summa [Magor’s Sum] (1998), the book came in number
one in the “Book of the Year” category of the readers’ survey in one of
the Czech Republic’s leading daily newspapers Lidové noviny. Then,
in 2006, his letters from prison, Magorovy dopisy [Magor’s Letters],
2005, again came in first in the same survey. In that same year, Jirous
also became the  laureate of the  prestigious Jaroslav Seifert Prize,
awarded primarily for his work as a poet. So, in the end “the trou-
blemaker” became Poet Laureate. This changed absolutely nothing
in the life of the poet, but these official awards were noticed by at
least part of mainstream Czech society and Jirous became a kind of
celebrity, at least in the last few years of his life.
At the end of the day, it does not matter much under what circum-
stances a particular text was written – whether the author’s suffer-
ing resulted from hard labour in a concentration camp, starvation
in the village of their birth or alcohol or drug addiction, or whether
they had lived happily and peacefully in prosperous times and
were able to adequately depict both the dark and the bright sides
of life thanks to their own imagination. Nonetheless, to completely
ignore possible connections between a poet’s life and work is also
incorrect, especially when such  connections are obvious. This is
unequivocally the  case of Jirous’ collection Magor’s  Swan Songs,
a  book that enriched Czech prison literature. The  assertion can
certainly be made that in prison Jirous truly became a  poet (spe-
cifically while serving his fourth, three-and-half-year sentence in
the harshest Czechoslovak prison). Since Jirous was not allowed to
write anything but letters home while in jail, he had to memorize
his poems, waiting for an opportune moment to secretly write them
down on a scrap of paper that would later be smuggled out. It was
also this fact that influenced the form of the poems, specifically their

7) The most current bibliographic details can be found in the 3rd edition of Magorova

Summa [Magor’s Sum].

( 181 )
prevalent regular rhythm and rhyme schemes, which made them
easier for the author to remember.
Perhaps the most distinct attribute of the collection is the strange
tension between fragility, tenderness and precision of the  poetic
form, and the hardly imaginable brutality of the prison world, which
we get a glimpse of through his verse. But neither does Jirous avoid
giving us specific “messages”, often aided by vulgarity. One can also
regard the collection in its entirety as a form of testimony, testimony
of several years of life in a harsh Czechoslovak prison: 1981–1985
A.D. The  indication Anno Domini is not merely a  formality here.
­Although Jirous grew up in a Roman Catholic family, he did not find
a path to God – a truly deep, authentic religious spirituality – until
he was in prison. Numerous texts in the  collection are written in
the manner of biblical psalms or prayers. The abyss of a “reprobate”
assumes the specific image here of a “shit-hole”, where a prisoner is
held in a country allegedly run by a humane, socialist regime. All of
Jirous’ convictions were for “disturbance of the peace”, but in reality
he was only “guilty” of co-creating a free space for Czech dissent;
needless to say, he never committed a criminal offence. A number
of the other texts in the book are like inner monologues, replacing
dialogues he might have had with absent friends, forced into exile at
the beginning of the 1980s, and whom the poet now perceived “as
if they were no longer alive” – there wasn’t even a faint hope that
he would ever see them again. But there are not only recollections
of friends who were unlikely to ever return; there are also prayers
to God and the Virgin Mary, prayers for saints to intercede, some of
whom the poet was able to see daily (the prison in Valdice near Jičín,
Eastern Bohemia, is located in a formerly Carthusian, Baroque mon-
astery and several statues including Saint Hugh of Lincoln adorned
the façade of the church, which at the time served as the prisoners’
workplace. This saint’s attribute – a white swan – became the em-
blem of Magor’s Swan Songs, but there are also references to fi­gures
not exactly compatible with catholic orthodoxy  – Master Jan Hus,
T. G. Masaryk or George Orwell, for instance). There is not only
the real prison world including murderers, violent homosexuals or
brutal prison wardens, but also the world of dreams and the ima­
gination – depressive as well as hopeful, tragic, as well as depicted
with mocking self-irony, humour that actually makes us shudder.

( 182 )
The horizontal plane of earthly finiteness and suffering is perfectly
balanced here with the  vertical plane of entirely authentic, albeit
unorthodox piousness.
Of course, even in the  Swan Songs Jirous cannot deny his level
of erudition. It is clear from numerous poems in the collection that
he is Poeta Doctus; some of his texts abound in so many literary
appropriations and allusions that they would be worthy of com-
mentary comparable to that added by T. S. Eliot to his publication
of The Waste Land (for that matter, Jirous acknowledges Eliot in his
poetry several times). And this creates yet more tension in these
texts: between intellectual refinement, bordering on artfulness, and
the predominantly simple, yet always elaborate, poetic form. Expres-
sions of an intellectual’s ambitions are immediately confronted by
the  banal and commonplace. The  authenticity of this intellectual
world examines the effort to somehow wait out one’s time in prison,
to survive, to live to see the day when one will be released from pris-
on into the free world, even though in the case of Czechoslovakia
in the 1980s, this freedom was still limited – it was freedom behind
barbed wire, behind the Iron Curtain.
The collection Magor’s Swan Songs was soon noticed by critics –
some of the first reviews were published by the Parisian exile journal
Svědectví – Temoinage written by Eugen Brikcius in 1986 and Sylvie
Richterová in 1987, to name two. Today there is extensive literature
about the Swan Songs, as there is about Jirous’ poetry as a whole,
though it is only available in Czech. The literary critic Jiří Trávníček
wrote specifically about the Swan Songs in his study Běsy a stesky
kajícníkovy [The Penitent’s Demons and Sorrows],8 as follows:

The  source of energy in Jirous’ writing is contact. The  poet’s  verses

constantly need to be directed at someone, related to people, cultural
figures, saints, and to God. This is related to the great inner dialogue of
the collection, the incessant addressing of some recipient, inviting them
into the poem through a memory… […] The truth of life and the truth of
the text melt together here. From another angle: it is as if the authentic-
ity of the text needed to be verified by the authenticity of a life’s stance.

8) In TRÁVNÍČEK, Jiří, Poezie poslední možnosti [Poetry of the Last Opportunity], Praha:

Torst, 1996, pp. 185–198.

( 183 )
 Only a prisoner can warrant the prisoner’s lines, no one else. It is not
in the words, but in what is behind them. […] There is something per-
haps childishly innocent in it, how Jirous unburdens himself before us
of his losses and failures  – often through prayers and appeals to God
or the Virgin Mary. It brings to mind the prison oppressions and pleas,
which another prisoner and Jirous’ predecessor, François Villon, had
confessed. […] Similarly to Mácha’s  Vilém from the  poem Máj [May],
who comes to realize only during his last night and under the pressure
of the  silence of the  prison cell, the  makeshift of the  earthly code, by
which he is condemned, and he submits himself to the  all governing
cycle of nature, the same environment also changes Jirous – a prisoner
turns into a monk. […] The same torment, however, is simultaneously
the reverse side of the feeling of unchaining, of freedom: […] in Jirous’
case it is the knowledge that the true judge of our acts is not in the ca­
mouflaged shadow-plays of socialist paragraphs, but in the one and only
eternal Truth.

After Jirous was released from Valdice, his fourth stint in prison,
he continued to be engaged in various civil initiatives. After 1989
he was even politically active, but it was always only in marginal
groups. As an author, he practically stopped writing any theore­
tical texts, or journalism, only continuing to write poetry. He put
together more and more collections, some of which contain new
literary gems. But he never surpassed the collection Magor’s Swan
Songs as a whole. He even lived to see official recognition as a poet
in his own country, although quite late in his life. Internationally,
however, hardly anyone knows anything about Jirous the poet, ­Jirous
the  civic initiator and defender of Czech underground culture or
Jirous the essayist and art critic – yet.

Prague – London
September 2017
T r a n s l a t e d b y Va n d a K r u t s k y, M a r e k To m i n a n d K i p B a u e r s f e l d

( 184 )
10. REPORT ON THE THIRD CZECH MUSICAL
R E V I VA L B Y I VA N M A R T I N J I R O U S   – I T S O R I G I N S ,
STRUCTURE AND FUNCTION

Much has already been written about Jirous’s Report on the Third

Czech Musical Revival, although attention has focused chiefly
on the  manner of its publication, and on the  pragmatic value of
the text; for example, the function it acquired ex post facto, and its
ideological influence and impact at home and abroad (i.e., within
the  Czech dissent, among Czech exiles, and abroad in general,
prior to 1989).

Jirous’s  Report was judged to be a  kind of “manifesto” of 1970s

Czech underground culture, and at various periods it was received and
read either positively – in an unequivocal and even reverent fashion
(such as by Egon Bondy,1 Zdeněk “Londýn” Vokatý,2 František Stárek

1) Although Bondy made no specific reference to the  text anywhere, there are
a  number of texts in the  collection of poems Trhací kalendář [Tear-off Calendar]
that he compiled towards the end of 1975 that indicate that Jirous’s arguments and
the terminology employed in the Report have a close affinity, such as, for instance:
“(...) But we have reached a historical phase / when this division is starting to be too
sharply defined / and those of us who have no interest in the Establishment / are
completely excluded from society for precisely that reason // Thus a second culture
is emerging / that doesn’t care about so-called people / And this second culture is
strong because it is initially weak / and the  culture of the  Establishment is weak
because it is so powerful / and roars at it” (Czech original in E. B.: Básnické spisy II,
Praha: Argo, 2015, pp. 743–744).
2) See VOKATÝ, Zdeněk, “Sen o kole”, in O svobodě a moci, Köln – Roma: Index – Listy,
1980, pp. 343–350 [text dated 28th February 1979]. Vokatý talks here about how Jir-
ous’s views on life in the underground are perceived and what they might give rise
to: “We have rejected the Establishment and everything it has to offer. And we know
why. We’ve even rejected the Establishment’s destruction. And we also know why.
Now what? We’ve decided to create a second culture and release those who want
to join it from their despondency and resignation. But can we really see the world
and the people in it with fresh eyes? Setting off into the desert like this is something
fantastic [...]” (p. 350).

( 185 )
Čuňas,3 Ivan Hartel4 at al.), with reservations (e.g., Svatopluk Karásek5
and Pavel Zajíček6), or negatively (e.g.,  Milan Knížák,7 Jan Ságl,8

3) STÁREK, František Čuňas in Czech TV’s documentary serial The Underground Phe-

nomenon (2012; part 10, called “Magor is the Greatest Czech”): “Magor’s merit was
in actually framing the Czech Underground as a parallel structure. He framed it as
a human factor, in other words as a community, and also framed its main postulates.”
4) Hartel included Jirous’s  Report as the  most significant text in the  catalogues
The  Merry Ghetto and Le ghetto joyeux, i.e. the  English and French versions of
the booklet that accompanied the Plastic People’s first LP, Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts
Club Banned (London – Paris 1978).
5) KARÁSEK, Sváťa  – HÁJEK, Štěpán  – PLZÁK, Michal, Víno tvé výborné [The  Good
Wine of Yours], Praha: Kalich, 1998, pp. 106–107. Karásek states there: “When he was
writing the  ‘Report on the  Third Czech Musical Revival’ I  went into a  greenhouse
where he happened to be writing it. He read me what he wrote about me, and I said
to him: ‘Why are you writing it. What do you intend to do with it?’ And he said: ‘We’ll
give it to people, of course!’ And I said: ‘Well that’s tantamount to denunciation. You
describe here what we do and the police will immediately get hold of it and will be
better informed. Is it worth it?’ [...]” Karásek goes on to recall how Jirous subsequently
convinced him of the usefulness of the Report, but in retrospect it is clear that his
fears at the time were justified.
6) ZAJÍČEK, Pavel: “A kámen ideálu skřípe mezi zuby” (interview with Ondřej ­Štindl),
Lidové noviny, Orientace supplement, 20th December 1997: “LN: In his Report Ivan
Martin Jirous described you as chiliast. Do you agree with that? PZ: No. He dreamt
that up when he was writing that text of his in an elated state somewhere in a green-
house. Possibly my texts from the seventies affected people in that way. The text that
is closest to a ‘chiliastic’ mood is Purification.”
7) KNÍŽÁK, Milan, “Ivane, Martine, Magore, (Ivanu Jirousovi, 1975)”, in Bez důvodu,
Praha: Litera, 1996, pp.  120–123. Knížák states in his letter: “You have created an
artificial aureola of avant-garde about the  Plastics who have never been anything
but a bunch of sound guys who wanted to play beat music and you forced on them
and infected them with ideas which are alien to them and which they’ve never un-
derstood, so the result was always just an embarrassing copy or paraphrase of what
had already been invented long ago [...]” (p. 122).
8) SÁGL, Jan, Tanec na dvojitém ledě / Dancing on the Double Ice, Praha: KANT, 2013,
pp. 30–31. Ságl does not specificially refer to the Report here, but voices his reserva-
tions about IMJ in general, which can be applied to the Report also, as Ságl’s chief
objection was to publication of underground acitivities.

( 186 )
Václav Černý,9 Petr Fidelius10 and Vladimír Merta11). It should be
added straight away that this assessment could only occur within
the dissent in the wider sense: i.e., the  unofficial and intellectual
scene prior to November 1989, and its heirs after that year; before
then, elsewhere in society Jirous’s  Report had to be deplored  – or
what was more typical – totally ignored, like everything else that was
not controlled by Czechoslovak official circles, and the police in par-
ticular. In the seventies and eighties the Report also inspired further
reflection among dissidents, which is dealt with below.12 It is only
in recent years that literary historians and researchers in the social
sciences field in general have started to pay serious attention to this

9) It concerns two studies by ČERNÝ from 1979 and 1980: “Nad verši Věry Jirousové
a o kulturním stanovisku našeho undergroundu” (in Tvorba a osobnost I, Praha: Ode-
on, 1992) and “O všem možném, dokonce i o ‘hippies’ a ‘novém románu’” (in Tvorba
a osobnost II, Praha: Odeon, 1993). Jirous replied to Černý in the article “Nikdy nebyla
v troskách” (1980), in Magorův zápisník (1997) on pp. 402–418. Černý does not spe-
cifically take issue with Jirous and the Report, but simply – somewhat one-sidedly –
attempts to interpret the underground culture phenomenon. In terms of specifics,
Jirous’s response is more interesting.
10) FIDELIUS, Petr [PALEK, Karel], “K  Jirousově koncepci undergroundu”
[Jirous’s­ Concept of the  Underground], written in 1981, Souvislosti 4, no. 1 (1993);
also in FIDELIUS, Petr, Kritické eseje, Praha: Torst, 2000 (ibidem: Kultura oficiální
a neoficiální [1981]).
11) MERTA, Vladimír, “Čtvrté hudební obrození. Příspěvek k  typologii jednoho ne-
myšlení” [The Fourth Musical Revival. A Contribution to the Typology of Non-Cogita-
tion], in ELŠÍKOVÁ, Monika (ed.), Aby radost nezmizela. Pocta Magorovi, Praha: Monika
Vadasová-Elšíková [sic!], 2011 (see Footnote 25).
12) There is no evidence that the Report was read with any great interest either in
1975, or even particularly appreciated by the  the  musicians of The  Plastic People,
DG  307, Umělá hmota or their fans in the  underground community. The  fact that
the  Report was not regarded as particularly significant, let alone a  breakthrough
cultural achievement, is indicated by the total absence of any reference to it in two
handwritten Chronicles of the  Plastic People (one edited by Pavel Prokeš, the  other
by Josef Vondruška) covering 1975. In an interview with Jan Pelc (Bez ohňů je under-
ground, Praha: BFS, 1992) Milan Hlavsa says (p. 105): “Magor had just completed
The  Report on the  Third Czech Musical Revival, and started to engage in further
education of adults. He organised talks in various towns, reading from the Report
and playing our recordings. He was really successful with that.” But Hlavsa says
nothing about the Report’s contents.

( 187 )
text, ­including Jonathan Bolton,13 Veronika Tuckerová14 and Martin
Valenta.15

Almost no attention has yet been paid to the circumstances of

the text’s creation, and particularly to its structure (i.e., it has not
been subjected to more detailed textual criticism).

I. The genesis of the text
Jirous dated his Report February 1975, so it was written during
the fairly brief period of underground culture’s boom, when it was
holding public events without official permission, which were not
illegal in the narrow sense but were held on various pretexts, most
frequently as wedding celebrations. Of particular significance in
this respect was the so-called “First Festival of the Second Culture”
(as it was dubbed retrospectively in line with the title used in Jir-
ous’s Report), which took place on 1st September 1974 at Postupice
near Benešov as a celebration of the wedding of Arnošt and Jarka
Hanibal. It was there “for the first time in the history of the Czech
Underground” that several bands (not only rock bands) took part,
as well as two solo singers (who were not rock-oriented).
One non-musical event worth mentioning took place on 4th and
5 November 1974 at the Na Zavadilce pub at Klukovice near Prague,
th

when Bondy read from the manuscript of his book Disabled Siblings,

a text that had a considerable influence on the formation of the un-

13) BOLTON, Jonathan, Worlds of Dissent. Charter 77, The Plastic People of the Universe,
and Czech Culture under Communism, Cambridge and London: Harvard University
Press, 2012; in Czech translation: Světy disentu. Charta 77, Plastic People a česká kul-
tura za komunismu, Praha: Academia, 2015.
14) TUCKEROVÁ, Veronika, “Jirousova Zpráva o třetím českém hudebním obrození:
úvaha o  formě a  kulturní kontinuitě” [Jirous’s  Report on the  Third Czech Musical
Revival: a  reflection on its form and cultural continuity], in ONUFEROVÁ, Edita –
POKORNÁ, Terezie (eds.), Magorova konference (k dílu I. M. Jirouse), Praha: Revolver
Revue, 2014. I have particularly drawn on that study for the present text.
15) STÁREK, František Čuňas – VALENTA, Martin, Podzemní symfonie Plastic People
[The Plastic People’s Underground Symphony], Praha: Argo, 2018, the chapter enti-
tled “Jirous a jeho Zpráva” [Jirous and his Report], pp. 54–60. There is no indication
which sections of the book are by which author, but it may be assumed that Valenta
probably wrote this particular chapter.

( 188 )
derground community’s “ideology”, and which was also dealt with
by Jirous in the Report. Towards the end of 1974, The Plastic People
made some so-called “studio” recordings of their compositions in
the  chapel at Houska Castle, which were subsequently issued on
their first LP in 1978 (Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club Banned, re-
leased abroad, of course). These were the first recordings of Czech
underground music of relatively high quality. By then Jirous had
already served his first prison term (1973–74) and the underground
community had already suffered harsh police harassment: on 30th
March 1974 the audience at a concert at Rudolfov near České Budě-
jovice was brutally dispersed and several of them were prosecuted.
These facts are now familiar, but it necessary to view the writing
of the Report in the light of them because they were an undoubted
influence.

Now to some less well-known facts:

After spending October 1974 in a psychiatric clinic at Horní Beř­

kovice, Jirous took a job towards the end of that year as a labourer
working on the  renovation of the  park at Měšice Chateau near
Prague, where his friend, the  musician and landscape gardener
Vratislav Brabenec, was in charge of the project. At that time Jirous
was living, among other places, at a  nearby farm at Zlatý Kopec,
where one of the first underground communities was established,
but he also slept over in the greenhouse at Měšice,16 where he wrote

16) Marie Benetková testifies to this in her text “Zlatý kopec – dějiny české under-
groundové komuny” [Goldberg  – history of a  Czech Underground Commune], in
STÁREK, František Čuňas – KOSTÚR, Jiří (eds.), Baráky. Souostroví svobody, Praha:
Pulchra, 2010: “Ivan built a bed for himself in the greenhouse: an old door support-
ed by two sawing horses. On top he placed a mattress, of which there were always
lots of discarded ones outside the hospital, and some blankets. Ivan made a writing
desk out of two other sawing horses and a big sheet of reinforced glass. Once he’d
added a reading lamp he had a ready-made office and bedroom. He would then sleep
and spend his nights in the greenhouse when he wanted to escape from the lures
of Prague: the only person to tempt him out to the pub was old Láďa but Ivan was
mostly able to resist him. We used to find Ivan in the morning sleepy and still in bed
complimenting himself on his house of glass. On the  occasions he actually did go
the pub and stayed out late he was less complimentary about his doss house, and

( 189 )
the  Report. Evidence for this is contained in his still unpublished
correspondence with Juliana Stritzková,17 whom he married on 9th
January 1976 (the  church wedding was at Hostim near Moravské
Budějovice on 17th January 76 and one of the celebrations of their
marriage was the so-called 2nd Festival of the Second Culture on 21st
February 1976 at Bojanovice). Jirous would seem to have worked at
Měšice until the end of February 1975; letters from March were sent
from Horní Počernice and Prague, and a letter from September 1975
already bears the  Prague address Pod Zvonařkou, where he later
lived with Juliana at No. 6.

Jirous’s letters to Juliana from December 1974 to February 1975

contain many useful facts, including details about the circumstan­
ces surrounding the writing of the Report.

In a  letter from Zlatý Kopec from 3rd December 1974: “As well
as that I’m giving a  lecture about the  underground to doctors at
Beřkovice on Monday of next week and have to cobble it together
somehow.”

In a letter from 14th December 1974:

I’m writing that lecture on the  underground, and now I’m half-way
through I keep up thinking of excuses for how to get out of it […] You’d
be amazed at where I’m now staying; it’s not possible to work at Zlatý
Kopec either – bad light plus Vráťa and Marie [Vratislav Brabenec and
his wife Marie Benetková], and I’m obliged to chat. So I’ve moved into
the  greenhouse in the  chateau park (Charlie [Karel “Charlie” Soukup]
lived here before me). On top of two sawing horses I’ve got a sheet of
glass with wire mesh inside  – it’s  used for windows. Above it I’ve got
a light bulb in a tin lamp and in front of me cucumber plants are sprout-
ing. All around is an unobtrusive sort of mess and there is an open door

would say he felt hoodwinked by the Surrealists, whom he’d blame for the fact he
had only a glass house and a hangover” (p. 63).
17) All the available Jirous correspondence (i.e. published and unpublished) is dig-
itised for internal purposes at the Institute for Czech Literature of the Academy of
Sciences. I am grateful to Daniela Iwashita for making this correspondence available
to me and allowing me to quote from it.

( 190 )
 to another part of the building […] Through the glass above me and all
around I can see darkness. Quite simply it is an ideal underground and
I have ideal scope for concentration. Unfortunately it’s a bit cold here,
but maybe that’s better for reflection.18

The following from a letter of 3rd February 1975 from Zlatý Kopec:

Tomorrow I’ll try to put together at least the  first part of the  Report
on the  Third Czech Musical Revival at last. As I  wrote to you, this is
supposed to be a  time of supreme intellectual and other activity, but
apparently there are eruptions on the sun until 5th February – so it strikes
me that one’s situation is always uncertain, but I can’t afford to go on
blaming my scholarly inactivity on something else.

Of crucial significance is a letter from Měšice dated 11th Febru-

ary 75:

[…] so I’m sitting here in the  greenhouse at Měšice […] I’m diligently
writing the Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival until I run out
of sensible ideas […] It’s ages since I’ve been able to write like this, in
fact it’s the first time since I got back from j[ail]; it’s grown into a whole
book: i.e., it will have over 20 pages excluding notes, and there’ll also be
a collection of texts – old texts of the Plastics that you don’t even know,
of Aktuáls, Umělá hmota, Bondy’s things set to music, Zajíček, Charlie
[Soukup] and Sváťa [Karásek]; Zorka [Ságlová] will do the  layout and
there’ll be lots of photos from Ságl (as well as Helena [Wilsonová] and
[Petr or Pavel] Prokeš); it’ll come it in five copies probably. I’m bringing
together in it all my theoretical blather about this music and the second
culture, that I otherwise hawk around the pubs, so that in my old age
I don’t have to tire myself and will be able simply to tell people to read
it in the Report.

That “lecture on the  underground” for psychiatrists at Horní

Beřkovice psychiatric institution probably wasn’t the  beginning
of his work on the  Report, but there would definitely seem to be

18) Marek ŠVEHLA quotes from this letter in his book Magor a jeho doba [Magor and
his Times], Praha: Torst, 2017, p. 279, without acknowledging the source.

( 191 )
a connection. Jirous wrote most of the Report in the Měšice green-
house probably in the first half of February 75, when he was think-
ing of ­including it in a collection of texts by underground authors,
although in the end he did not achieve it in the form he described.
(The first samizdat underground collection edited by Jirous – Egonu
Bondymu k 45. narozeninám invalidní sourozenci [To Egon Bondy on
his 45th Birthday from Disabled Siblings]  – is dated January 1975,
when it was presented in the pub at Klukovice at Bondy’s birthday
party. Jirous had been definitely compiling it over the previous few
months. A sort of residuum of the collection which he was conside­
ring at Měšice in February of 1975 could be regarded in the second
of these anthologies – namely Ing. Petru Lamplovi k 45. narozeninám
[To Ing. Petr Lampl on his 45th Birthday]  – dated December 1975.
But that collection has never been linked with the  Report and its
contents only partly correspond to Jirous’s plan).

Finally some better known facts: The manuscript of the  Report

has not survived and carbon copies of the author’s original samizdat
of 1975 are now extremely rare.19 During that year IMJ read the text
of the Report at various venues, where he also distributed carbon
copies of that typescript, the  best known of those readings being
at the  SSM Club at Přeštice on 13th December 1975.20 The  Libri
Prohibiti has a copy of the first publication of the Report in an es-
tablished samizdat series of editions, namely Havel’s Edice Expedice
(described in the imprint as “Volume 6: Copied by Václav Havel in
1976 for himself and his friends”).

A  number of probable motivations for writing the  Report have

been mentioned earlier, and one could speculate about others, albeit
the danger of such speculations is obvious. One could easily identify
or confuse those motivations with its function, role, and purpose,
and with its literary and extra-literary impact and influence; i.e.,

19) One of them is in the  private archive of Jozef Furman in Košice, Slovakia (see
Footnote 21). Another (with two carbon copies) was attached to the prosecution’s in-
dictment before the trial of Stárek, Havelka and Skalický as an “exhibit”; a copy of
that indictment is in the private archive of František Stárek.
20) See ŠVEHLA, Marek, Magor a jeho doba, Praha: Torst, 2017, Chapter 15, particu-
larly p. 308.

( 192 )
everything that the Report gave rise to as a result of its being read
and interpreted, and also, of course, in the light of the events that
happened soon after it started to circulate as samizdat. One can-
not even be sure who was most likely Jirous’s intended readership
of the  Report, who was his “target group”, but the  recollections of
Karásek and Hlavsa, cited above, are evidence that, unlike Bon-
dy’s Disabled Siblings, the Report was not written a priori for the peo-
ple who were its subject, i.e. pro foro interno (which would anyway be
fairly odd, and indeed might give rise to the suspicion that the author
had a tendency towards a kind of “sectarianism”), but was actually in-
tended for a much broader public, for the purposes of education and
“enlightenment”. So it would appear that at the beginning of 1975,
Jirous believed that by distributing the  Report he could gain more
supporters for the underground community, as well as for its lifestyle
and cultural resistance from among the young,21 and probably did
not expect it would receive any response from intellectuals in vari­
ous other circles of the broader “parallel polis” that was gradually
coming into being, although that was where it would eventually find
the  greatest number of readers (including critics and opponents).

Thus the Report was read by the dissent within the country, as

well as by exiles, as a sort of quintessence of the underground’s “ide-
ology”, as an expression of the aspirations of one specific section of

21) The reservations that Jirous’s closest friends from the underground community

had regarding the distribution of the Report is fairly understandable, but the Report
would seem to have been read avidly by communities of young people in the coun-
tryside who shared the  outlook of Jirous’s  circle and the  Plastic People but often
had no close contact with it or personal connections. Eloquent testimony of this is
provided by Jozef Furman from the Košice circle of Marcel Strýko (ČT serial Fenomén
underground, part 30, “Divoký východ” [The Wild East], directed by Břetislav Rychlík,
2014). In it Furman recalls being at Přeštice in December of 1975, where Jirous read
the Report and he received a typescript of the text which he took back to Košice and
gave it to friends, thereby “changing their lives”, particularly in the sense that they
realized it was possible to work on something and do things their own way. (However
in subsequent private correspondence Furman recalled that he received a  carbon
copy of the  author’s  original samizdat edition of the  Report from Jirous earlier “in
a flat in Prague [probably at the Němecs’ in the Ječná Street flat] where Magor read
his Report”, and not at Přeštice, where he also was later, although Jirous probably
did not hand out the text of the Report there.)

( 193 )
the unofficial cultural scene of the first half of the 1970s, one that
evaded supervision by the  authorities, and which was allegedly
made up essentially of rock musicians and their fans. Neither inter-
pretation was quite right, but a simplification current at the time.

The fact is that the “ideological section” at the end of the Report is

the most problematic and contradictory part of the entire text, and,
as we shall show when analysing it, it is only partly Jirous’s ipsissima
verba, “own words” – his own ideas. The reason why the Report was
interpreted as a kind of calling card of solely the unofficial musi­
cal scene was partly because of the  author’s  choice of its rather
confusing and poetical title, which he immediately proceeds to
call into question in the introduction: Was there actually any “first
musical revival” in the  Czech lands? And the  author then admits
that the theory of the “second musical revival” that was supposed
to precede the  third of the  revivals was based on some slogan or
witticism of his friend Karel Voják. Clearly the Report deals with far
much more than music. The Report is anything but a musicological
treatise.22 Moreover the  Report documents the  musical activity of
underground bands mostly in terms of social, psychological, histo­
rical, and “art historical” analysis, or in relation to song texts, rather
than analysis of music as such.

II. The structure of the text of the Report. Its literary genre23

A. The actual text of the Report

In her study on the Report (pp. 137–139, 141–143 op. cit. in Footnote
14), Veronika Tuckerová reflects on whether the Report is actually
“a report” and seems to conclude that the prevailing factuality, infor-
mativeness and striving for objective description of the phenonema

22) The  only possible attempt at musicology in the  Report are the  comments on
Knížák’s music for the Aktual band (in chapter 6).
23) Reference will be made here to the version of the Report published in the book
Magorův zápisník [Magor’s  Notebook, hereafter MN] (ed. Michael Špirit, Praha:
Torst, 1997), albeit that version is not free of errors. The most recent publication to
date, which also includes fairly extensive notes, forms part of the “Brown Book” on
the Trials of Czech Underground published by the Institute for the Study of Totalitarian
Regimes (ÚSTR), Prague 2012.

( 194 )
studied, which are evident in Jirous’s text, mean that the Report need
not be read as an “essay”, as it is classified in Špirit’s bibliography
in Magor’s  Notebook,24 but it can be seen more as journalism. (In
its German translation “Report” is “Bericht”, the French translation
by Petr Král has a modified, abridged title, but in the text the term
“zpráva” is translated as “rapport”.) However, Tuckerová concludes
that “Jirous’s Report is and isn’t a report” (p. 141 op. cit.), with which
one can only agree. Nevertheless we need to assess to what extent
the Report is true to its name, because if the Report on the Third Czech
Musical Revival was simply a “report”, a “Bericht” in its most hum-
drum sense, it would probably be far less inspirational, and it would
not have provoked as much passionate polemic and harsh condem-
nation, one example of which was actually written immediately
after Jirous’s death, as if its author was waiting for that moment.25

24) Tuckerová also points out that this is the second text in Jirous’s œuvre to be enti-
tled “Zpráva” [Report], the first being his Zpráva o činnosti Křižovnické školy [Report on
the Activity of the Crusaders School], written in 1972, (pp. 125–133 of MN). But there
are also other texts by Jirous, which do not have that description in their titles, but
are very similar to both “Reports” in terms of content and style. One is the “článek”
[article]: Český underground – geneze a přítomnost hnutí [The Czech Underground – its
Genesis and Present State], which was published in 1988 in issue no. 6 of Informace
o Chartě [Information about Charter 77], and subsequently in print in 2012 in Viktor
Karlík’s catalogue, Podzemní práce / Underground Work, the other is the text Česká
literatura 70. a 80 let [On Czech Underground Literature of the 70s and 80s], which
was written for the conference about Czech literature held in New York in March
1990. That text first came out in magazine form in Vokno, no.  18, 1990, and then
in book form in the  volume Pohledy zevnitř, 2008 (English translation, Views from
the Inside, 2018). But Tuckerová also notes that in common with the the “Reports”,
the text entitled Pravdivý příběh Plastic People [The True Story of the Plastic People]
also includes in its title an indication of genre, and which also suggests factuality,
and where possible an objective description of the topic in question.
25) I refer to the text of Vladimír Merta mentioned earlier which states inter alia re-
garding the Report: “I found a badly written pamphlet: provocative theories offset by
a passionate personal defence of several bands. But in no way was it a theoretically
erudite perspective, of the kind we might lack at the present time” (pp. 104–105 op.
cit. in Footnote 11). It is truly a bit strange that this text of Merta’s was published
in a book with the subtitle “Tribute to Magor”. Karel Kocour Havelka responded to
Merta with his text “Kecy. Otevřený dopis adresovaný písničkáři Vladimíru Mertovi
a  nakladatelce Monice Elšíkové” [Bullshit. An Open Letter to the  Songster V.M.
and the  publisher M.E.], MFD, Víkendová příloha Dnes, 24th  – 25th November 2012.

( 195 )
 The Report is a fairly short text divided into thirteen chapters, 2 to
12 of which more or less chronologically describe the actual events
during and because of which the  “psychedelic band”, The  Plastic
People of the  Universe, which, from 1968, under the  influence of
Ivan Martin Jirous, began to perceive “the  underground” not in
terms of another rock music genre but in the sense of “a spiritual
standpoint”, 26 became the centre of a wider community of rock and
non-rock musicians, artists, photographers, film-makers, writers,
poets, and intellectuals, who made music, created art, and wrote
solely within the  framework of the  notional underground “merry
ghetto” into which they had been confined by the  established
“normalised”, and essentially totalitarian regime. The exception to
the chronological approach are the first chapter, in which the reader
is placed in medias res (describing how a concert by Umělá hmota
and The Plastic People of the Universe at Líšnice near Prague was
arbitrarily banned by a local Communist bigwig – Jirous compares
him here to “servants of the Anti-Christ” – at the end 1974), part of
the fifth chapter and chapter thirteen which are not only a summa-
ry of the earlier chapters but also an apologia for the underground
community as it appeared in the mid-1970s, as well as an outline of
its “ideology” (dealt with in greater detail below).

First a summary of the contents of chapters two to twelve:

II. The profuseness and vibrancy of the rock scene in Czechoslo-

vakia towards the end of the 1960s, and why the events depicted
are described as the “third musical revival”, the beginning of which
the author dates to 1973.

Merta’s errors were pointed out by Martin Machovec in an interview with Miroslav

Balaštík, “Žij a pracuj vskrytu”, Host 27, no. 2 (2012).
26) This is well illustrated by the story recalled by Hlavsa in the book Bez ohňů je under-
ground (on p. 69 of the first edition from 1992): “This is also related to the memo­rable
debate on this topic in the U Bubeníčků pub sometime in sixty-nine when Magor tried
to explain the difference between a psychedelic sound and the underground. Until
then we had regarded the underground as a musicial orientation. After a lengthy lec-
ture about how psychedelic was a musical orientation whereas the underground was
an attitude to life, Přemek [Jiří “Přemysl” Števich] closed the debate with the words:
‘So psychedelic is with fires and if there are no fires it’s underground!’”

( 196 )
 III. The Primitives Group, which introduced the Czech audience
to the  music of the  American underground rock scene (e.g.,  Jimi
Hendrix, The  Grateful Dead, The  Doors, The  Fugs and Frank
­Zappa’s Mothers of Invention); the so-called psychedelic sound as in-
terpreted by The Primitives: achieving a state of liberation, a change
of mind-set by various different effects; its affinity with happenings.
IV. The beginnings of The Plastic People of the Universe in 1968,
and the  band’s  original “emotional perception” of the  concept of
the underground as “a mythological world with a different mentali-
ty” (which was allegedly the origin of the reference to the “Universe”
in the band’s name); how The Plastic People drew inspiration from
The Primitives, and in addition to The Fugs and Zappa were the first
on the Czech rock scene to introduce compositions by the New York
band The Velvet Underground.
V. The change in the concept of “the underground” at the begin-
ning of the 1970s; how The Plastic People were deprived of the sta-
tus of a  professional band at the  beginning of the  “normalization
era”, which did not deter them from continuing their activity, unlike
other rock bands. Here Jirous writes for the  first time not just as
a  historian but also as a  passionate defender of that resistance,
and even as a judge; he makes claims (ethical as well as aesthetic)
about the music of The Plastic People, as about any other art form,
and after the first chapter again makes use of religious analogies:

It is better not to play at all than to play music that does not flow
from one’s own convictions. It is better not to play at all than to play
what the establishment demands. And even this statement appears
too mild. It is not better; it is absolutely essential. This stand must be
taken right at the beginning.
For as soon as the  first compromise is made, whether it is accompa-
nied by hypocritical excuses or it springs from an honest belief that it
doesn’t really matter, everything is lost. As soon as the devil (who today
speaks through the  mouth of the  establishment) lays down the  first
condition: cut your hair, just a  little, and you’ll be able to play  – you
must say no. As soon as the devil (who today speaks through the mouth
of the  establishment) says  – change your name and you’ll be able to
continue playing what you’ve been playing – you must say no, we will
not play at all.

( 197 )
 What is also more striking about this chapter than elsewhere is
that no specific mention is made of the  Husák regime, the  estab-
lishment of a collaborationist puppet government, and that govern-
ment’s project for “normalising” society (the term “normalization”
does not appear even once in the Report!). Instead the author repeat-
edly uses the English term “Establishment”, which was both vague
and extremely uncommon in Czech at that time, and the  term is
sometimes used as a metaphor for the devil: i.e., a religious concept
of evil. (Jirous’s  concept of the  “Establishment” will be dealt with
further when interpreting the final chapter of the Report.)
VI. Knížák and his band Aktual; Jirous speaks highly of
Knížák’s  contribution to the  underground music scene, pointing
out that in the case of Aktual it was not rock music but “techniques
of aleatoric music and serial composition”; he regards Knížák as
a  creator of “happenings, environments and events”, and also va­
lues his lyrics in Czech. Jirous writes here as an art historian who
perceives the rock music phenomenon as simply one of many forms
of artistic expression.
VII. The origins of The Plastic People’s musical and artistic exper-
iments; for example, their second creative phase, which was by then
entirely “underground”: i.e., it occurred away from the official music
scene. Jirous points out that apart from their own lyrics they soon
started to set to music actual poems, citing William Blake, Edmund
Spenser and Jiří Kolář (although he fails to mention that it was he
himself who suggested these poems to the band), but Jirous stresses
that the major turning point for The Plastic People was the discovery
of Egon Bondy’s verse, and even attempts a brief characterisation
of Bondy’s poetry – probably the first such ever written – in which
connection he cites Jeff Nuttall’s statement about “the Pauline lie”,
without attributing its author.27 Jirous mentions the  experimental

27) Nuttall is mentioned by Jirous at the end of the fourth chapter alongside Sanders,

Ginsberg and Leary as one of the pioneers of the underground – in a sociological and
cultural sense – “in the early sixties”. The passage used by Jirous in characterising
Bondy’s poetry comes from Nuttall’s book Bomb Culture (New York: Delacorte Press,
1968, p. 264): “To eradicate utterly and forever the Pauline lie implicit in Christian
convention, that people neither shit, piss, nor fuck.” It is part of a list of aspirations
that Nuttall introduces with the  words: “Four years ago the  underground was an­
xious to bring about the following developments on a larger scale.” The reference

( 198 )
happenings in relation to The Plastic People’s first attempt to put
a text by Ladislav Klíma to music (the song Jak bude po smrti [How It
Will Be After Death] played at a concert at Klukovice in June 1973),
and the  concert at Veleň in December 1973, at which the  one of
the outstanding underground poets Pavel Zajíček first drew atten-
tion to himself.28
VIII. Here Jirous explains why he considers 1973 as the  begin-
ning of the  new “musical revival”, recalling that it was the  year
when two new underground bands were formed: the  Midsummer
Night’s Dream Band and DG 307 (both of which represented for him
“different musicial orientations” than rock music). However for him
that year was above all a moment of a certain psychological turning
point: “It was a time when we all began to realize that the situation
we were living in was not temporary, that it would last for a long
time, probably forever. It was definitively a  rather dead period as
far as our collective activities were concerned; a time of muteness
and hangover as far as the official cultural situation was concerned,
at least compared to how it seemed at the beginning of the 1970s.”
Jirous ends this chapter with words that are actually a paraphrase
of the Milton quote that heads the final chapter: “We must learn to
live in the existing world in a way that is both joyful and dignified.”
(Regarding the Milton quote see infra.)
IX. In this and the next chapter Jirous continues his factual de-
scription of the diversified underground scene of 1973–74. Here he
focuses on the Midsummer Night’s Dream Band, which comprised
solely artists from the  unofficial circle around the  so-called Cru-
saders’ School of Pure Humour without Jokes: i.e., non-musicians,
and how it managed to introduce music into a broader art context –
happenings, “neo Dadaist” events.
X. Pavel Zajíček’s band DG 307, which Jirous once more praises
highly not only for its experimental musical expression, but also
for Zajíček’s “chiliastic” lyrics: “DG is the desperate cry of normal
people who are incapable of adjusting to the  world presented to

of “four years ago” thus relates to 1964, since Nuttall’s book was first published in
1968, which explains Jirous’s dating of Nuttall’s statement (and his own early role in
the U.S. underground movement).
28) See the Plastic People’s CD, Do lesíčka na čekanou 1. 12. 1973, Guerilla Records,
Louny 2006.

( 199 )
them by contemporary consumer society.” The chapter is testimo-
ny to the genesis of one of the most significant artistic projects of
the Czech musical and literary underground.
XI. Jirous cites Lautréamont’s statement that “Someday everyone
will make art,” in defence of the right of untrained, non-professional
musicians and artists to liberate their creative potential, mentioning
as an instance of this the band Umělá hmota of Josef Vondruška and
Milan “Dino” Vopálka (who are not named in the chapter). He recalls
the  connection with urban folklore, but in fact it was an implicit
protest against the absurd demands of the “normalisers” that rock
musicians should meet certain musical standards, which were actu-
ally a way of censoring them. It was an attempt to rehabilitate live
rock music as played in the West and Czechoslovakia in the 1960s,
and defend spontaneously created space for free creative, however
“artless”, “primitive” or “naïve”.
XII. Concerning the  solo underground musicians Svatopluk
Karásek and Karel “Charlie” Soukup, whom Jirous viewed as an
example of the diversity of the underground scene. Jirous stresses
that Soukup’s lyrics are not mawkish like so-called protest songs.
“there is not one sacred issue connected to consumer society that
he leaves in peace”. In the case of the protestant pastor Karásek he
stresses the religious themes that resonate with his own cri de coeur
(“Say no to the Devil, say no”), but he also detects these themes not
only in the texts of the “chiliastic preacher” Pavel Zajíček (he does
so in chapters X. and XII.), but also as at the level of philosophical
utopia in Bondy’s prose work Disabled Siblings, whose visions might
already have been realized in the “First Music Festival of the Second
Culture” at Postupice.

So much then for the  majority of the  Report’s  content, which

needed to be summarised in greater detail because it helps make
clear that the passages that have given rise to polemic and criticism
consist of just part of the opening chapter and a few paragraphs of
the final chapter.
In the  first chapter, which is written in the  form of reportage,
as already noted, there is emphasis on the  peace-loving “passive
resistance” aspect of the underground community and Jirous twice
draws a parallel with religious thinking, according to which those

( 200 )
who wish to live in truth confront the “servants of the Anti-Christ”,
whom he identifies with the  Establishment of A. D. 1974. It must
be acknowledged that this initial uncompromising approach and
the  first instance of analogy with the  world of religious radicals
might come as a surprise to some readers.

The thirteenth and final chapter is headed by a quotation by John

Milton: “We must act with reason in this world of evil, the place in
which God has irrevocably placed us,” (the epigraphs are dealt with
in detail in the next section of this study). In it Jirous explains what
he means by the terms “underground” and “second culture”, what
is and isn’t the goal of the underground, and the difference between
underground activities in the West and Czechoslovakia:29

The  underground is a  mental attitude of intellectuals and artists

who consciously and critically determine their own stance towards
the  world in which they live. It is the  declaration of a  struggle
against the Establishment, the regime. It is a movement that works
chiefly through the various art forms but whose representatives are
aware that art is not and ought not to be the final aim of an artist’s ef-
forts. The  underground is created by people who have understood
that within the bounds of legality nothing can be changed, and
who no longer even attempt to function within those bounds.
Ed Sanders of The Fugs put it very clearly when he declared a total
‘attack on culture’ This attack can be carried out only by people
who stand outside that culture. Briefly put, the  underground is
the activity of artists and intellectuals whose work is unacceptable
to the Establishment and who, in this state of unacceptability, do not
remain passive, but attempt through their work and attitudes to
destroy the  Establishment. Two absolutely necessary character-
istics of those who have chosen the  underground as their spiritual
home are rage and humility.

29) The emphasis in bold and the underlining in the following extensive quotations

is mine, MM. All the English citations from the Report come from the 2nd edition of
Views from the Inside, Praha: Karolinum Press, 2018, pp. 7–36 (Paul Wilson’s transla-
tion). The Czech original text is in MN as mentioned above.

( 201 )
 Further:

It is a  sad and frequent phenomenon in the  West, where, in the  early

1960s, the  idea of the  underground was theoretically formulated and
established as a movement, that some of those who gained recognition
and fame in the  underground came into contact with official culture
(for our purposes, we call it the  first culture), which enthusiastically
accepted them and swallowed them up as it accepts and swallows up
new cars, new fashions or anything else. In Bohemia, the situation is
essentially different, and far better than in the West, because we live
in an atmosphere of absolute agreement: the first culture doesn’t want
us and we don’t want anything to do with the first culture.

And finally:

For things are not in order. There has never existed a  period in hu-
man history which could be considered an exclusively happy one; and
genuine artists have always been those who have drawn attention to
the  fact that things are not in order. This is why one of the  highest
aims of art has always been the  creation of unrest. The  aim of
the  underground in the  West is the  destruction of the  establish­
ment. The aim of the underground here in Bohemia is the creation
of a  second culture: a  culture that will not be dependent on official
channels of communication, social recognition, and the  hierarchy of
values laid down by the establishment; a culture which cannot have
the  destruction of the  establishment as its aim because in doing
so, it would drive itself into the establishment’s embrace; a culture
which helps those who wish to join it to rid themselves of the scepticism
which says that nothing can be done and shows them that much can
be done when those who make the culture desire little for themselves
and much for others.

Jirous came in for a lot of criticism for these somewhat contradic-

tory and rather confused statements. What was meant by the fre-
quent references to “the  Establishment”? A  society founded on
consumerism? What the Trotskyists called “political and economic
management” in the USSR? The ruling group or class in a totalitar-

( 202 )
ian regime? Or a  combination of them all?30 So those artists who
had “declared a struggle” against the Establishment were intent on
destroying it, or not? Did a “first culture” and “second culture” ex-
ist, and can there be a “third” and more cultures? Isn’t there ­rather
a single culture which takes an “authentic” form or a (political or
commercial) “conformist” form? What is more understandable is
Jirous’s  at first sight absurd statement that “the  situation in Bo-
hemia [i.e. in the  Czech lands, or in Czechoslovakia as a  whole]
is essentially different, and far better than in the  West”, which is
immediately specified and explained: “the  desire for recognition,
success, the  winning of prizes and titles” is eliminated in a  total-
itarian regime, unless the artist was willing to collaborate with it.

In the  final chapter of the  text the  author apparently realized

the contradiction between the need “to destroy the Establishment”
and the striving to create something independent of it, which is why
he tried to differentiate the “aims” of underground culture on either
side of the Iron Curtain. This contradiction is easier to clarify if one
realizes that these “confrontational appeals” did not originate with
Jirous, but with Sanders, who is mentioned in the text, and Ralf-Rainer
Rygulla, who is not. The  passages underlined in Jirous’s  Report are
simply a loose translation of a text by that German theorist of Western
“counter-culture” from the end of the 1960s, which is why it seems

30) In her above-mentioned study Tuckerová writes very pertinently: “The condem-

nation of consumerism is the  [Report’s] closest link with movements in the  West.
Evidence of Jirous’s British or American inspiration is the use of the word ‘Establish-
ment’, which occurs at least sixteen times in the text [...] And it is precisely the use
of the expression Establishment – first used in this sense in 1955 by a journalist of
the British Spectator magazine – that lends Jirous’s text a wider validity. It distances
it from the  specific situation of ‘normalization’, so that it does not refer solely to
the existing Husák regime, but criticizes it within a broader and also more allegorical
and metaphorical context” (p. 135). It should it be added that the use of the expression
“establishment” in a political and religious sense (and likewise “disestablishment”
or even “anti-establishment” – the established church = the state church) has a long
tradition in Anglo-Saxon culture reaching back to the  16th century, which is com-
mon knowledge, although the expression has not yet taken root in Czech. Modern
re-interpretation of the term “Establishment” within the Anglo-American culture
is usually attributed to the American sociologist C. Wright Mills and his theory of
“power elites”. See his book The Power Elite, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956.

( 203 )
incongruous here: “Der von Ed Sanders geforderte ‘totale Angriff
auf die Kultur’ kann nicht durch systemimmanente Kritik erfolgen,
sondern durch Kritik von aussen, d.h. von Kriminellen, Süchtlingen
und Farbigen. […] Die Leute vom Underground haben erkannt, dass
innerhalb der Legalität nichts mehr verändert werden kann.”31

Thus one cannot deny a certain degree of ideological and intel-

lectual confusion in the final chapter of the Report, and the author
can also be criticised for excessively polarized standpoints, but 1) if
critics of Jirous’s alleged theories of the underground took the trou-
ble they would find in his earlier texts more precise and more
conciliatory formulation of the  same ideas; 2) one cannot ignore
the entirely unequivocal conclusion of the entire Report: Jirous gives
hope to those in the  totalitarian regimes who have fallen prey to
scepticism by showing that it is possible to create an independent
and free culture even under the most unfavourable conditions; he
also makes an appeal for the preservation of the ethical dimension
of culture in general and seeks a  space in which it is possible to
preserve one’s human dignity.

B. The quotations used to head the chapters of the Report as an

attempt to provide a historical context
We are paying particular attention to these epigraphs not only be-
cause there are so many of them, but because they convey a specific
message. Although we concede that Jirous’s  Report is essentially
a factual account and only to a very limited extent proposes a would-
be “ideology of the  underground” or “second culture” which, nota
bene as we have pointed out earlier does not entirely consist of Jir-
ous’s own thinking, we cannot ignore the fact that the very existence
of some kind of “underground” in Czechoslovakia in the mid-1970s,
and the attempt to create an “independent culture” was something
quite unusual, which lead some to suspect a  tendency towards

31) From Rygulla’s  afterword to an anthology of American underground poetry

(­RYGULLA, R.-R., ed., Fuck you! Underground Gedichte, 1. Aufl., Darmstadt: Josef Melzer
Verlag, 1968). Jirous doesn’t mention Rygulla in the  Report, but he does in his text
Sedmá generace romantiků [The seventh Generation of Romantics] of 1969, where he
criticises his (but originally Sanders’) concept of “total assault on culture”, the key
passage of which is on p. 693 of MN).

( 204 )
something truly chiliastic, some kind of sectarianism divorced from
reality. This did not necessarily relate to the musical, literary and
other artistic activities developed in the  underground community
described by Jirous, but rather the way he interpreted them. But he
himself seems to have been aware of that danger, which is why he
used the various epigraphs to provide historical parallels to the facts
described, and thus show that the Czech underground was simply
a  new expression of age-old artistic and spiritual ambitions,
striving for something new, unconventional, more free (perhaps
“anti-systemic”, to use today’s “suspect” political jargon). And he did
all this in an awareness of the specific nature of the existing con-
ditions, which provided no scope for “other opinions” – and which
the intrinsically intolerant totalitarian political system was neither
able nor permitted to provide.
One might also speculate that by incorporating “cultural refer-
ences” in the form of epigraphs, Jirous also bore in mind the possi-
bility that the readers of the Report would, after all, include some
of those intellectuals, whom he could hardly hope to “enlist” into
the underground, but he could at least try to gain their sympathy for
“the cause”. And as we know, he did achieve that to a certain extent.
There are seven manifest epigraphs in the Report, but the parallel
in the introduction between the trip to Líšnice and “the pilgrimages
of the first Hussites into the mountains” may also be regarded as an
epigraph of sorts, and the same could apply to the closing quotation
from Martin Húska, or the Duchamp quotation at the end of the fifth
chapter. This makes a total of ten analogies between the world
of underground culture and the cultural heritage of the past. Of
those ten “anchorings”, five are obviously of a  religious character.
Apart from the opening comment and the closing quotation, which
suggest a parallel between the Czech underground and the Hussite
millenarians of the 15th century,32 there is also a telling quotation from

32) Regarding the  supposed quotation of Martin “Loquis” Húska, this was a  mis-
apprehension on Jirous’s  part. The  words are attributed to the  priest Jan Němec
of Žatec (Johannes von Tepl), Húska’s  colleague. On pp.  262–309 of his his book
Ktož jsú boží bojovníci (Praha: Melantrich, 1951) Josef Macek quotes from a  tract
Ze života kněží táborských [From the  Lives of Taborite Priests] by Jan of Příbram,
namely Příbram’s critique of the Taborite millenarians including Martin Húska and
Jan Němec (Johannes von Tepl). According to Příbram on p.  297, Jan Němec states

( 205 )
St Matthew’s gospel.33 However, without context the quotation from
Milton could be ambiguous: “We must act with reason in this world
of evil, the place in which God has irrevocably placed us.” (It is more
categorical in Jirous’s paraphrase at the end of chapter 8, mentioned
earlier).34 The first epigraph in the Report (discounting the opening
one), but one which is least markedly religious, is the  quotation
from a  text by the  American underground band The  Fugs: “When
the mode of the music changes / When the mode of the music chang-
es / The walls of the city shake,” which has overtones of the biblical
story of Joshua’s conquest of Jericho (Joshua 6:20).35

in a dispute over the meaning of holy communion: “A faithful man is worthier than

the sacrament.” On page 456 of his book Husitská ideologie [Hussite ideology] (Praha:
Academia, 1961) Robert Kalivoda writes: “Elements of Húska’s  arguments are evi-
dent particularly in a tract by Jan Němec of Žatec (if Christ was present in the host
he could be eaten by mice and flies; a  good man is worthier than the  sacrament,
Christ is more perfect in a good man than in the sacrament). The tract is entitled
‘Cum spiritus veritatis’ printed by Sedlák, loc. cit.” Earlier R. K. refers to the  book
by J. Sedlák, Táborské traktáty eucharistické, Brno (Austria-Hungary): 1918. Here on
p. 22 of the actual text the following passage appears: “Secondly, a believer is much
worthier than the  sacrament...” and on p.  17 of the  appendix as part of the  tract
“Joannis de Zacs” [i.e.  Johannes / Jan of Žatec / of Zacs / von Tepl] beginning with
the words “Cum spiritus veritatis...”, it states in Latin: “Secundo notet fidelis, quod
homo fidelis est multum dignior quam sacramentum...” It has not been possible to
locate the newer source from which Jirous apparently quotes.
33) Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the king-
doms of the world and their splendour. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will
bow down and worship me.” (Matthew 4:8–9).
34) The quotation is from Milton’s Areopagitica: “To sequester out of the world into
Atlantick and Eutopian polities, which never can be drawn into use, [we] will not
mend our condition; but to ordain wisely as in this world of evill, in the  midd’st
whereof God hath plac’d us unavoidably” (Areopagitica – A speech of Mr. John Milton
for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing, to the Parliament of England, London 1644).
Milton is not advising people to “sensibly adapt to prevailing evil” but to be realistic
and not retreat into utopias and dreams, but try to confront the world of evil.
35) Ed Sanders used the original English text (a composition entitled When the Mode
of the  Music Changes that first came out on the  The  Fugs’  LP It Crawled Into my
Hands, Honest in 1968) as an epigraph for his book FUG YOU (Philadelphia: Da Capo
Press, 2011, p. ix) and gave the following explanation of its source: “When the mode
of the  music changes the  walls of the  city shake.  – Tuli Kupferberg adapted (and
considerably improved) from Damon of Athens, ca. 460 B.C.”

( 206 )
 Three of the epigraphs are purely literary: the first, by Comte de
Lautréamont mentioned earlier;36 the  second, a  Czech translation
of one of Kafka’s aphorisms – “From a certain point on, there is no
more turning back. That is the point that must be reached.” – which
eloquently supports the  author’s  argument, while also creating
a  link between the  “merry ghetto” of the  Czech underground and
the thousand-year ghetto of European Jewry;37 and finally, a quota-
tion from Duchamp, a classic of modern art: “The great artist of to-
morrow will go underground,” which is already somewhat profaned
and its meaning is not entirely clear in the Czech translation used.38

The  remaining two epigraphs may be regarded as references to

voices “calling for freedom” or seeking a  better world: The  text of

A passage in Book 4 of Plato’s Republic reads (in Paul Shorey’s translation): “‘To put

it briefly, then,’ said I, ‘it is to this that the overseers of our state must cleave and be
watchful against its insensible corruption. They must throughout be watchful against
innovations in music and gymnastics counter to the established order, and to the best
of their power guard against them, fearing when anyone says that «That song is most
regarded among men which hovers newest on the singer’s lips», lest haply it be sup-
posed that the poet means not new songs but a new way of song and is commending
this. But we must not praise that sort of thing nor conceive it to be the poet’s mean-
ing. For a change to a new type of music is something to beware of as a hazard of all
our fortunes. For the modes of music are never disturbed without unsettling of
the most fundamental political and social conventions, as Damon affirms and as
I am convinced.’” Kupferberg is obviously combining Plato’s quote from Damon with
the story of Joshua destroying the walls of Jericho with a blast from the ram’s horn.
36) A  quotation from Lautréamont’s  Poésies II: “La poésie doit etre faite par tous,
non par un.”
37) Jirous probably used the Czech translation by Rio Preisner (Kafka, Aforismy, Praha:
Československý spisovatel, 1968, p. 7): “Jistým bodem počínaje není již návratu. Toho
bodu je třeba dosáhnout.”
38) This statement by Duchamp from 1961 has already been commented on in detail
in the book Views from the Inside (2018, p. 18), so suffice it to recall that the main
source would seem to be an interview Duchamp gave to Jean Neyens in 1965, at
the end of which Duchamp says: “Une table ronde qu’on avait faite à Philadelphie, on
m’avait demandé «Où allons-nous?». Moi j’ai simplement dit: «Le grand bonhomme de
demain se cachera. Ira sous terre.» En anglais c’est mieux qu’en français – «Will go
underground.» Il faudra qu’il meure avant d’être connu. Moi, c’est mon avis, s’il y a un
bonhomme important d’ici un siècle ou deux – eh bien! il se sera caché toute sa vie
pour échapper à l’emprise du marché... complètement mercantile (rire) si j’ose dire.”

( 207 )
Vesmírná symfonie [The Universe symphony] (“Krásný je svět, / ale plas-
tičtí lidé to nevidí…” [The world is beautiful / but plastic people don’t
see it]) is Jirous’s translation of the words of a text written in English by
Michal Jernek The Universe Symphony and Melody about Plastic Doctor
from 1969, which The Plastic People set to music, and which Jirous also
comments on at the beginning of the fourth chapter of the Report.39
So it is actually the only self-referential epigraph in the Report, which
would seem to be a way of indicating the gulf between the spiritual
world of the underground in the mid-1970s and its beginnings.

Finally there is the  epigraph at the  very beginning, allegedly

by Mao Tse-Tung, the  only epigraph from the  Report that literary
historians and editors have noted so far:

In the great cultural revolutions there is only one way for the people – to

free themselves by their own efforts. Nothing must be used that would
do it for them. Believe in people, rely on them and respect their initia-
tive. Cast away fear! Don’t be afraid of commotion. Let people educate
themselves in the great revolutionary movement.

This is not necessarily a verbatim quotation of Mao as is clear from

the broader context in which the unknown author invokes Mao him-
self. It is part of a proclamation by the Central Committee of the Chi-
nese Communist Party from 1966, the original English text of which is
in the footnote.40 Of themselves, the words of the quotation would not
give cause for irritation were their author not named Mao Tse-Tung.

39) See RIEDEL, Jaroslav (ed.), The  Plastic People of the  Universe, Texty, 2nd edition,
pp. 36–40, the passage quoted is on pp. 37–38.
40) Peking Review, vol. 9, no. 33 (12th August 1966), pp. 6–11. “Decision of the Central
Committee of Chinese Communist Party Concerning the Great Proletarian Cultural
Revolution 4. [...] In the  Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, the  only method is
for the masses to liberate themselves, and any method of doing things in their stead
must not be used. Trust the masses, rely on them and respect their initiative. Cast
out fear. Don’t be afraid of disturbances. Chairman Mao has often told us that revo-
lution cannot be so very refined, so gentle, so temperate, kind, courteous, restrained
and magnanimous. Let the masses educate themselves in this great revolutionary
movement and learn to distinguish between right and wrong and between correct
and incorrect ways of doing things.”

( 208 )
A poignant example of how even decades later Jirous’s  Report was
capable of annoying even his fans and admirers are the comments
on this epigraph from the pen of Jirous’s biographer Marek Švehla:

Jirous placed at the beginning a paradox that one would hardly expect

from a  thoughtful and educated person, who had such a  distrust of
Communism – he opened his essay on freedom with a quotation from
of its worst enemies, the  Chinese Communist leader Mao Tse-Tung.
Undoubtedly it was under the  influence of Egon Bondy, a  fervent ad-
mirer of Mao. At the time Jirous himself knew little about Mao and had
no information about the crimes he was committing in China, and how
he was utterly opposed to free-thinking people. He simply borrowed
Mao’s  ‘thoughts’ and he was taken by the  appealing but totally vapid
theses about people’s ability to free themselves by means of their own
activity, which also applied to the Czech situation.41

In one of the  Report’s  first appearances in print, namely in Ti-

grid’s  Paris-based Svědectví,42 where it appeared under the  pseu-
donym of Jan Kabala with the altered title of Report from the Czech
Musical Underground, the  “Mao quotation” was omitted. In Ma-
gor’s Notebook it is printed without comment.

Regarding the Christian parallels, it is not fortuitous that the au-

thor chose as analogies of the  Czech underground of the  1970s
so-called fringe or even “heretical” figures, whose mission was to
invoke the original meaning of God’s word in opposition to a secu-
larised church, and to the world of the powerful and rulers, as well
as a  biblical text opposing the  world of pharisees and hypocrites,
who had gained the world but lost their souls (Matthew 16:26).

III. The purpose served by the Report

It is a  well-known fact that the  immediate and very specific use-
fulness (but also exploitability) of the  Report as a  basic source of
information about what the  Czech underground was or was not,
was confirmed the  year after Jirous wrote it, i.e. 1976, a  year of

41) ŠVEHLA, Marek, Magor a jeho doba, Praha: Torst, 2017, chap. 14, pp. 283–284.
42) Svědectví 13, no. 51 (1976), pp. 571–586.

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persecution and political trials of leading figures of the  Czech
­underground culture headed by Jirous. The  fundamental signifi-
cance of the  Report was proved by the  “Hnědá kniha” o  procesech
s českým undergroundem [“Brown Book” on the Trials of the Czech
Underground], which initially appeared in samizdat and naturally
also included Jirous’s Report.43

Evidence that many key theoretical texts on the form of Czechoslo-

vak dissent were influenced to a certain extent by Jirous’s Report was
provided quite recently by Martin Valenta (Podzemní symfonie Plastic
People, Argo, Praha, 2018), so I shall only briefly allude to them here.
On pages 98–99 and 101–103 op. cit. Valenta quotes the  aforemen-
tioned anthology O svobodě a moci (Köln – Roma: Index – Listy, 1980) –
which comprised inter alia texts by Václav Havel (Moc bezmocných
[The ­Power of the Powerless]), Václav Benda (Paralelní polis [The Par-
allel Polis]), Jiří Němec (Nové šance svobody [New Opportunities for
Freedom]), and Zdeněk Vokatý (Sen o kole [Dream about a Wheel]) –
while indicating to what extent these authors came to terms with
the phenomenon of underground culture, knowledge of which they
would have had difficulty acquiring (apart from the last named, who
was one of its protagonists), except via Jirous’s  Report. There were
several other texts that could be mentioned in this respect, of course
(such as many of Egon Bondy’s  reflections from the  1980s, which
would scarcely have arisen without Jirous’s Report),44 and there is also
scope for closer investigation of echoes of Jirous’s text in the works
of his successors. Just a few at random: the phrase “living in truth”
used by Jirous in the Report (and in the same year 1976 also by Bondy
in the  prose Šaman) and the  way that postulate is transformed in
the  writing of Václav Havel;45 Jirous’s  concept of the  independence

43) See “Hnědá kniha” o procesech s českým undergroundem, its first printed, enlarged
and commented edition, Praha: ÚSTR, 2012.
44) See MACHOVEC, Martin, “Egon Bondy – apologeta a teoretik českého undergroun-
du?”, in KUDRNA, Ladislav (ed.), Reflexe undergroundu, Praha: ÚSTR, 2016, pp. 210–226.
45) See BOLTON, Jonathan, “Šaman, zelinář a  ‘život v  pravdě’” [The  Shaman,
The  Greengrocer, and ‘Living in Truth’], in SUK, Jiří  – ANDĚLOVÁ, Kristina (eds.),
Jednoho dne se v  našem zelináři cosi vzbouří. Eseje o  Moci bezmocných, Praha: ÚSD
AV ČR, 2016, pp. 27–33. In English: J.B.,“The Shaman, the Greengrocer, and ‘Living in
Truth’”, East European Politics, Societies, and Cultures 32, no. 2 (May 2018), pp. 255–265.

( 210 )
of the  “second culture” and Benda’s  concept of the  “parallel polis”;
Jirous’s  emphasis on mutual respect and tolerance, and on culture
as opposed to politics in the  sense of its traditional paradigm, and
Havel’s concept of “apolitical politics”. But let the above list suffice, as
these topics merit much more extensive independent study.

Concerning the  critics of Jirous’s  ideological concepts in the  Re-

port, Veronika Tuckerová, in her study, which has been mentioned
several times already (in Magorova konference (k  dílu I. M. Jirouse),
Praha: Revolver Revue), focuses chiefly on Petr Fidelius (p. 140 op. cit.),
acknowleding the consistency of his text K Jirousově koncepci under-
groundu [Jirous’s  Concept of the  Underground] while highlighting
shortcomings in Fidelius’s “critical methods of textual and linguistic
analysis which take the text ‘at its word’”. Nevertheless Fidelius’s cri-
tique of the Report is clearly the most serious of the various criticisms
of the text and is free of the emotiveness of Knížák’s or Ságl’s response
(not to mention Merta’s latterday hate-filled reaction).

Any future assessment of the  significance of Jirous’s  Report on

the  Third Czech Musical Revival will certainly have to take into
account Fidelius’s  criticisms. However, in conclusion, the  point
should be made once more that these and similar criticisms actually
only concern certain ambiguities in the “ideological component” of
the Report, which is limited almost entirely to the thirteenth chapter
and is only marginal elsewhere in the text.

In our view the Report remains a very valuable source text not

only in respect of facts about this part of Czech cultural history, but
also as a plea for artistic creation to have an ethical dimension, and
last but not least, it is a visionary warning against the irreparable
disruption of human culture if totalitarian regimes were to become
“established” worldwide.

Prague, September 2018

Translated by Gerald Turner

(Bondy’s prose Šaman, which is discussed by Bolton with regards to Havel’s concept

of “living in truth”, was written in March 1976, i.e. practically the same time as Jir-
ous’s Report.) See E.B., Šaman, Praha: Akropolis, 2006.

( 211 )
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY – DISCOGRAPHY –
FILMOGRAPHY

Underground literature and culture – Czech dissidence with regards

to Czech underground culture – Samizdat book/periodical produc-
tion (English, Czech, German titles)

The bibliography does not contain the titles of all the books and articles
mentioned in the text and the footnotes since some of them refer only
indirectly to the main topic of this volume. On the other hand, the titles of
some books and articles (especially the English ones) not mentioned in the
text are included here because of their seminal importance for the themes
discussed.

Adamy, Herbert, Byl jsem manažerem ilegální továrny [I Was a Manager of

an Illegal Factory], Praha: Ostrov, 1999.
Alan, Josef (ed.), Alternativní kultura. Příběh české společnosti 1945–1989
[Alternative Culture: The Story of Czech Society, 1945–1989], [Contribu-
tions: Josef Alan, Tomáš Bitrich, Michal Bregant, Martin Čihák, Stanislav
Dvorský, Jiří Gruntorád, Lenka Jungmannová, Vladimír Just, Marie Kli-
mešová, Martin Machovec, Josef Moucha, Alice Růžičková, Josef Vlček,
Tomáš Vrba], Praha: Nakladatelství Lidové noviny, 2001.
Beale, Lewis, “The Rockers Who Started a Revolution”, Herald Tribune, 16th
January 2002.
Benda, Václav, “Paralelní polis” [The Parallel Polis], in O svobodě a moci [On
Freedom and Power], Köln – Roma: Index – Listy, 1980, pp. 101–110.
Benetková, Marie, “Zlatý kopec – dějiny české undergroundové komuny”
[Goldberg – History of a  Czech Underground Commune], in Baráky.
Souostroví svobody [Shanties. The Archipelagos of Freedom], Stárek,
František Čuňas – Kostúr, Jiří (eds.), Praha: Pulchra, 2010, pp. 30–73.
Blažek, Petr – Pažout, Jaroslav (eds.), Nejcitlivější místo režimu. Výbor na obra-
nu nespravedlivě stíhaných očima svých členů. Diskusní setkání 19. října
2007 [The Most Irritable Spot of the Regime: Committee for the Defense
of the Unjustly Persecuted as Seen through the Eyes of Its Members.
A Discussion Meeting of October 19, 2007], Praha: Pulchra, 2008.
Blažek, Petr – Schovánek, Radek (eds.), VONS.cz, Webové stránky o dějinách
Výboru na obranu nespravedlivě stíhaných (1978–1989) [VONS.cz, Web-
site on the History of the Committee for the Defense of the Unjustly
Persecuted (1978–1989)], www.vons.cz, esp. www.vons.cz/ informace-o-
-charte-77, 2007.

( 212 )
Blažek, Petr (ed.), Opozice a odpor proti komunistickému režimu v Českoslo-
vensku 1968–1989 [Opposition and the Resistance against the Communist
Regime in Czechoslovakia 1968–1989], Praha: Dokořán, 2005.
Bock, Ivo – Hänsgen, Sabine – Schlott, Wolfgang, “Kultur jenseits der Zen-
sur” [The Culture beyond Censorship], in Eichwede 2000, pp. 64–77.
Bock, Ivo, “Der literarische Samizdat nach 1968” [The Literary Samizdat
after 1968], in Eichwede 2000, pp. 86–93.
Bolton, Jonathan, “The Shaman, the Greengrocer, and ‘Living in Truth’”,
East European Politics, Societies, and Cultures 32, no. 2 (May 2018),
pp. 255–265.
Bolton, Jonathan, Worlds of Dissent. Charter 77, The Plastic People of the
Universe, and Czech Culture under Communism, Cambridge and London:
Harvard University Press, 2012.
Bondy, Egon, “Berta” [Běta] (part 3, section XXII – an excerpt from a novella),
Yazzyk Magazine 4, (1995), pp. 64–69.
Bondy, Egon, “Cellar Work” [Sklepní práce] (an excerpt from a  novella),
Yazzyk Magazine 1, (1992), pp. 23–26.
Bondy, Egon, Básnické dílo Egona Bondyho [The Collected Poems of Egon
Bondy], 9 vols., Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1990–1993.
Bondy, Egon, Básnické spisy [Poetic Works], 3 vols., Praha: Argo, 2014–2016.
Bondy, Egon, Bezejmenná [Nameless], 2nd edition, Praha: Akropolis, 2019.
Bondy, Egon, The Consolation of Ontology: On the Substantial and Nonsub-
stantial Models, translated by Benjamin B. Page, Lanham – Boulder – New
York – Oxford: Lexington Books, 2001 [On Egon Bondy, see: “Transla-
tor’s Introduction (2000)”].
Bondy, Egon, Filosofické dílo I––IV [Philosophical Works I–IV], 4 vols., Praha:
DharmaGaia, 2007–2013.
Bondy, Egon, Invalidní sourozenci [The Disabled Siblings], 4th edition, Praha:
Akropolis, 2012.
Bondy, Egon, “Kořeny českého literárního undergroundu v letech ­1949–1953”
[The Roots of the Czech Literary Underground, 1949–1953], Haňťa
­Press 2, no. 8 (1990), pp. 5–9; commented in Pohledy zevnitř, 2008.
Bondy, Egon, Poznámky k dějinám filosofie [Notes on the History of Philoso-
phy], 6 vols., Praha: Vokno, 1992–1997.
Bondy, Egon, Prvních deset let [The First Ten Years], Praha: Maťa, 2002.
Borecký, Vladimír, Odvrácená tvář humoru (Ke komice absurdity) [The Rever-
se Side of Humour (On the Comicality of the Absurd], Liberec – Praha:
Dauphin, 1996.
Boudník, Vladimír, Dopisy Vladimíra Boudníka Mikuláši Medkovi [Letters of
Vladimír Boudník to Mikuláš Medek], Praha: Jan Placák – Ztichlá klika,
2012.

( 213 )
Boudník, Vladimír, Dopisy Vladimíra Boudníka přátelům 1949–1953 [Letters
of Vladimír Boudník to Friends 1949–1953], Praha: Jan Placák – Ztichlá
klika, 2015.
Boudník, Vladimír, Z korespondence I (1949–1956) [From the Correspondence
I], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1994.
Boudník, Vladimír, Z korespondence II (1957–1968) [From the Correspondence
II], Praha: Pražská imaginace, 1994.
Boudník, Vladimír, Z literární pozůstalosti [From the Literary Papers], Praha:
Pražská imaginace, 1993.
Brabec, Jiří – Gruša, Jiří – Hájek, Igor – Kabeš, Petr – Lopatka, Jan, Slovník
českých spisovatelů [Dictionary of Czech Writers], Toronto: Sixty-Eight
Publishers, 1982.
Brabenec, Vratislav – Kalenská, Renata, Evangelium podle Brabence. Rozhovor
Renaty Kalenské [The Gospel according to Brabenec. Talks with Renata
Kalenská], Praha: Torst, 2010.
Brabenec, Vratislav, Sebedudy a jiné texty z let 1966–1987 [Self-Bagpipes and
Other Texts from 1966–1987], Praha: Kalich, 2010.
Brikcius, Eugen, A tělo se stalo slovem [And the Flesh Became Word], Radim
Kopáč (ed.), Brno, Czech Republic: Větrné mlýny, 2013.
Brikcius, Zuzana (ed.), Charta Story – Příběh Charty 77 / The Story of Charter
77, Praha: Národní galerie, 2017.
Brukwicki, Jerzy, “‘Neuer Himmel, neue Erde.’ Die Symbolik der Solidarność
1980 bis 1989” [‘New Heaven, New Earth’: The Symbology of Solidarność,
1980–1989], in Eichwede 2000, pp. 124–128.
Bučilová, Lenka, Zorka Ságlová. Úplný přehled díla [Zorka Ságlová. A Com-
plete Survey of her Work], Praha: KANT, 2009.
Burian, Václav – Galík, Josef – Machala, Lubomír – Podivínský, Martin –
Schneider, Jan, Česká a slovenská literatura v exilu a samizdatu. Informa-
torium pro učitele, studenty i laiky [Czech and Slovak Literature in Exile
and in Samizdat. An Informatory for Teachers, Students, and Laics],
Olomouc, Czechoslovakia: Hanácké noviny, 1991.
Černá [Krejcarová], Jana, Adresát Milena Jesenská [To: Milena Jesenská],
3rd edition, Praha: Torst, 2014.
Černý, Václav, “Nad verši Věry Jirousové a o kulturním stanovisku našeho
undergroundu” [On Věra Jirousová’s Poetry; also on the Cultural Stand-
point of our Underground], in Černý, Václav, Tvorba a osobnost [Creation
and Personality], Kabíček, Jaroslav – Šulc, Jan (eds.), Praha: Odeon, 1992,
pp. 900–908.
Černý, Václav, “O  všem možném, dokonce i  o  ‘hippies’ a  ‘novém románu’”
[Miscellanea, even on “Hippies” and “The Nouveau Roman”], in Černý,

( 214 )
 Václav, Tvorba a osobnost II [Creation and Personality II], Kabíček, Jaro-
slav – Šulc, Jan (eds.), Praha: Odeon, 1993, pp. 553–562.
Černý, Václav, O povaze naší kultury [On the Nature of our Culture], Brno,
Czechoslovakia: Atlantis, 1991.
Císařovská, Blanka – Prečan, Vilém (eds.), Charta 77. Dokumenty 1977–1989
[Charter 77: Documentary 1977–1989], 3 vols., Praha: Ústav pro soudobé
dějiny AV ČR, 2007.
Daniel, Aleksandr, “Wie freie Menschen” [As Free People], in Eichwede
2000, pp. 38–50.
Day, Barbara, The Velvet Philosophers, London: The Claridge Press, 1999.
Denčevová, Ivana – Stárek, František Čuňas – Stehlík, Michal, Tváře
­undergroundu [The Faces of the Underground], Praha: Radioservis, 2012.
Devátá, Markéta – Suk, Jiří – Tůma, Oldřich (eds.), Charta 77. Od obhajoby
lidských práv k  demokratické revoluci 1977–1989. Sborník z  konference
k 30. výročí Charty 77. Praha, 21.–23. března 2007. Charter 77: From the As-
sertion of Human Rights to a Democratic Revolution, 1977–1989. The proce-
edings of the conference to mark the 30th anniversary of Charter 77. Prague,
21–23 March 2007, Praha: ÚSD AV ČR, 2007.
Dočekal, Jaroslav, “Smršťovače – hořké dávky. Z dopisů Jaroslavu Rotbauero-
vi” [Shrinkers – Bitter Doses. From Letters to Jaroslav Rotbauer], Revolver
Revue, no. 29 (1995), pp. 129–160.
Dočekal, Jaroslav, Dopisy Jaroslava Dočekala Vladimíru Boudníkovi I–II
[­Letters of Jaroslav Dočekal to Vladimír Boudník I–II], Praha: Jan Placák
– Ztichlá klika, 2017.
Drda, Adam, “Ti, kteří nepodepsali (O lidech v opozici, ne-signatářích Charty
77)” [Those Who Did Not Sign (On Oppositionists, Non-Signatories of
Charter 77)], Revolver Revue, no. 33 (1997), pp. 215–224.
Drubek, Natascha, “Sich (k)einen Namen machen: Die Židovská jména der
Honza K.” [How to Become (un)known: The Jewish Names of Honza K.],
Slovo a smysl / Word & Sense 14, no. 28 (2017), pp. [51]–73.
Dvorský, Stanislav, “Židovská jména – bájení a skutečnost” [The Jewish Na-
mes – Myths and Reality], Souvislosti 28, no. 3 (2017), pp. 48–62.
Eichwede, Wolfgang (ed.), Samizdat. Alternative Kultur in Zentral- und
­Osteuropa: Die 60er bis 80er Jahre. Dokumentationen zur Kultur und Gesell-
schaft im östlichen Europa [Samizdat: Alternative Culture in Central and
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­Eichwede 2000, pp. 8–19.

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Eichwede, Wolfgang, “The Conception of the Exhibition,” in Hamersky 2002,
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Elšíková, Monika (ed.), Aby radost nezmizela. Poc­ta Magorovi [Let Joy not
Disappear. A  Tribute to Magor], [Contribu­tions: Zbyněk Petráček, Jan
Macháček, Petr Placák, Pavel Zajíček, Vratislav Brabenec, Sváťa Karásek,
Jan Steklík, Jiří Gruntorád, Juliána Jirousová, František Lízna, Františka
Jirousová, Marta Veselá Jirousová, Daniel Degtěv, Vladimír Zavadil, Mi-
roslav Skalák Skalický, Vladimír Lábus Drápal, Eva Štolbová, Zuzana
Brejcha, Eva Turnová, Anna Irmanovová, Vladimír Merta, Ilona Francko-
vá, Nadia Rovderová Láďa Heryán, Václav Havel, Jana Hradilková, Eva
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UNDERGROUND MUSIC

AKTUAL – ATENTÁT NA KULTURU, Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Anne Re-

cords, 2003.
AKTUAL – DĚTI BOLŠEVIZMU, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2005.
BÍLÉ SVĚTLO – DĚLNÍCI BÍLÉHO SVĚTLA, Vladimír Lábus Drápal (ed.), Louny:
Guerilla Records, 2006.
CHARLIE SOUKUP – GENERACE, Globus Music, Praha, 2001.
CHARLIE SOUKUP – RADIO, Martin Machovec – Karel Kourek (eds.), Prague:
Galén, 2012.
DG 307 – GIFT TO THE SHADOWS (FRAGMENT), Uppsala: Šafrán and Boží
Mlýn, 1982.
DG 307 – 1973–1975 [LP], Prague: Globus International, 1991.
DG 307 – DAR STÍNŮM (JARO 1979), PTÁK UTRŽENEJ ZE ŘETĚZU (PODZIM
1979), TORZO (LÉTO 1980) [3 CDs], Prague: Globus International, 1993.
DG 307 – HISTORIE HYSTERIE. Archiv dochovaných nahrávek 1973–75 [2 CDs],
Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Louny: Guerilla Records, 2004.
DG 307 – SVĚDEK SPÁLENÝHO ČASU 1979/1980 [5 CDs], Louny: Guerilla
Records, 2013.
JIM ČERT – SVĚTLU VSTŘÍC, Prague: Aske Globus International, 1990.
JIM ČERT – POUTNÍK Z TRANSPORTY, Prague: Puky Records, 1997.
SVATOPLUK KARÁSEK – SAY NO TO THE DEVIL, Uppsala: Šafrán 78 and Boží
Mlýn, 1979.
SVATOPLUK KARÁSEK – ŘEKNI ĎÁBLOVI NE (1978), Jaroslav Riedel (ed.),
Prague: Globus International, 1998.
SVATOPLUK KARÁSEK – RÁNY ZNÍ (BLUES, SPIRITUALS & …), Prague: Globus
Music, 2000.
SVATOPLUK KARÁSEK – ŘEKNI ĎÁBLOVI NE [2 CDs], Jaroslav Riedel – Karel
Kourek (eds.), Prague: Galén, 2012.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE I. Muž bez uší (1969–1972), Jaroslav
Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2002.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE II. Vožralej jak slíva (koncerty
1973–75), Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 1997.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE III. Egon Bondy’s Happy Hearts Club
Banned (1974–75), Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2001.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE IV. Ach to státu hanobení (koncerty
1976–77), Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2000.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE V. Pašijové hry velikonoční (1978),
Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 1998.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE VI. Jak bude po smrti (1979), Jaroslav
Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 1998.

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THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE VII. Co znamená vésti koně (1981),
Jaroslav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2002.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE VIII. Kolejnice duní (1977–82), Jaro-
slav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2000.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE IX. Hovězí porážka (1983–84), Jaro-
slav Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 1997.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE X. Půlnoční myš (1985–86), Jaroslav
Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2001.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE XI. Trouble Every Day, Jaroslav
Riedel (ed.), Prague: Globus Music, 2002. [including bonus: the PPU
discography, lyrics in Czech and English, photos]
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE & AGON ORCHESTRA – Pašijové hry
/ Passion Play, Prague: Knihy Hana, 2004.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE: Do lesíčka na čekanou 1. 12. 1973
[2 CDs], Guerilla Records, Louny, 2006.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE & AGON ORCHESTRA – Obešel já
polí pět. Koncert na počest Ladislava Klímy (2003), [2 CDs], Jaroslav Riedel
(ed.), Louny: Guerilla Records, 2009.
THE PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE. Komplet nahrávek 1969–2004,
Jaroslav Riedel (ed.) [2 DVD comprising the music on CDs I.–XI. + PPU:
Bez ohňů je underground (concert 1992) + PPU concert 1997 + PPU Líně
s tebou spím / Lazy Love (2001) + PPU & Agon Orchestra – Pašijové hry
(2004)], Prague: Levné knihy 2008.
THE PRIMITIVES GROUP – COMEBACK 2017, LIVE & THE PRIMITIVES GROUP
1968 [2 CDs], ed. Vladimír Lábus Drápal, Louny: Guerilla Records, 2017.
UMĚLÁ HMOTA: BARBARA [LP], Prague: Globus International, 1991.
UMĚLÁ HMOTA II. VE SKLEPĚ – 1976/77 [2 CDs], Vladimír Lábus Drápal (ed.),
Louny: Guerilla Records, 2003.
VONDRUŠKA JOSEF: THE DOM & UMĚLÁ HMOTA III – ROCK’N’ROLLOVÝ
MILÁČEK [2 CDs], Vladimír Drápal, Martin Machovec, Štěpán Smetáček
(eds.), Louny: Guerilla Records, 2010.

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D O C U M E N TA RY F I L M S

20 minut z Říše [a TV documentary about I. M. Jirous]; dir. Václav Kučera;

Czech Television (ČT), 1994.
Alternativní kultura I. [a 13-part TV documentary; on underground poetry:
parts 4, 5, 6: Od avantgardy do podzemí, Od undergroundu k šedé zóně, Ke
konci věčných časů], dir. Petr Slavík; Czech Television (ČT), 1998.
Alternativní kultura II. [an 11-part TV documentary; on underground poetry:
parts 4 and 5; – Poezie v podzemí I., Poezie v podzemí II.]; dir. Petr Slavík;
Czech Television (ČT), 2003.
Atentát na kulturu [a TV propaganda documentary, condemning and vilify-
ing Czech underground culture], dir. not mentioned, probably Ladislav
Chocholoušek; Czechoslovak Television (ČST), 1977.
Bigbít [a  25-part TV documentary; on underground music: parts 24, 25],
dir. Václav Křístek; Czech Television (ČT), 1998.
ČARODĚJ OZ / PIGI-FILMY [4 DVD with 22 featured and documentary films,
1980–1987; directors: Lubomír “Čaroděj” Drožď and Irena “Pigi” Gos-
manová; with a booklet], ed. Martin Blažíček; Prague: FAMU/PAF Edition,
2012.
CONCERT, (Premiéra) [a  documentary TV film (FATE): presenting the
underground festival in Postupice, September 1974; accompanied by
statements from participants (1990)], dir. Josef Dlouhý; Czechoslovak
Television (ČST), 1990.
Fenomén underground [a 40-part TV documentary on underground culture,
especially music and life style], directors: Břetislav Rychlík, Jana Chyti-
lová, Jiří Fiedor, Václav Křístek; Czech Television (ČT), 2012.
Fišer alias Bondy [a  TV documentary], dir. Jordi Niubo; Czech Television
(ČT), 2000.
My žijeme v Praze [a documentary featuring Egon Bondy, 1984–85], directors
Tomáš Mazal and Pavel “Pablo” Veselý; released on a DVD + CD: Egon
Bondy: My žijeme v Praze..., Louny: Guerilla Records, 2007.
O  kočkách, beatnicích a  všeličems jiném [a  TV documentary:
M. Dohnal’s ­interview with Bohumil Hrabal talking about Vladimír Boud-
ník and Egon Bondy, 1966]; dir. Rudolf Růžička, FTF AMU, Prague, 1966.
Revolver Revue – 5 let pod zemí, 5 let na zemi, dir. Eva Koutná; Czech Televi-
sion (ČT), 1996.
Samizdat [a 15-part TV documentary; on underground/samizdat literature,
part 1 – Padesátá léta, part 6 – Další samizdatové edice 70. a 80. let, part 11 –
Undergroundový samizdat ]; dir. Andrej Krob; Czech Television (ČT), 2002.
Sie sass im Glashaus und warf mit Steinen. Ein Film von Nadja Seelich und
Bernd Neuburger [an Austrian TV documentary about the life of Jana

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 Krejcarová, featuring Egon Bondy, Ivo Vodseďálek, Johanna Kohnová,
and others]; dir. Nadja Seelich; EXTRAFILM, 1992.
The Plastic People of the Universe [a documentary film, with English subti-
tles]; dir. Jana Chytilová; Czech Television (ČT) and Video 57, 2001.
The Plastic People of the Universe 1969–1985. Více než 2 hodiny autentických
dokumentů [DVD with 12 documentaries; directors: César de Ferrari,
Jan Špáta, Petr Prokeš, Jan Ságl, Josef Dlouhý, František Stárek “Čuňas”,
Tomáš Liška, Aleš Havlíček, Lubomír Drožď, Jan Kašpar etc.], Prague:
Levné knihy, 2011.
Vlasatý svět uprostřed holohlavé republiky [a  TV documentary about the
hippie youth in Czechoslovakia in the late 1960s]; dir. Tomáš Škrdlant,
Angelika Haunerová; Czech Television (ČT), 1994.
Zblízka: Vis Magor [a  TV documentary on I. M. Jirous], dir. Andrej Krob;
Czech Television (ČT), 1999.
Z Ruzyně do New Yorku [a documentary on the conference on Czech litera-
ture held at New York University, 1990], dir. Jitka Pistoriusová, Czecho-
slovak Television [ČST], 1990.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

The  texts found in this volume were written over eighteen years
(2001–2018) on different occasions and for different purposes,
the main and unifying topic of them being Czech (or Czechoslovak)
underground culture, especially literature of the years ­1948–1989,
i.e. the times of a totalitarian, pro-Soviet political system in the coun-
try with all its peculiarities, one of them being the fact it generated
“unofficial”, “illegal”, “banned”, “alternative”, “samizdat”, “dissident”,
and “underground” culture which had some features similar to
“counter-culture” in the West.
The contemporary Czech literary scene is small, especially when
compared with literary scenes of the English-speaking world, and
had it not been for Václav Havel, Bohumil Hrabal, and Milan Kunde-
ra (the latter one, however, belonging rather to French than Czech
literature now), it would be probably mostly unknown in the  UK,
US and other English-speaking countries.
Luckily, in certain periods of their lives, both Havel and Hrabal
played an important role in the  development of Czech unofficial,
samizdat literature, thus readers will find their names in this vo­
lume also.
Moreover, a number of publications of essential importance have
come out recently, both in English and in Czech, that help elucidate
the position and role of Czech (Czechoslovak) dissent and the ­cultural
underground of 1948–1989 which fact diminishes the relevance of my
own modest contributions; nevertheless, as far as the texts written
earlier are concerned, I tried to confront them with the most recent
research in the given area, to update them especially with the help
of footnotes and bibliographical references.
It is first of all Jonathan Bolton’s book Worlds of Dissent. Charter 77,
The Plastic People of the Universe, and Czech Culture under Communism
(2012) which radically re-interpreted the significance of Czech under-
ground culture within the East European dissent of the past.
I also have to mention a recent anthology edited by Tomáš Glanc:
Samizdat Past & Present (2018) in which it is especially Tomáš
Glanc’s treatise “Samizdat as a Medium”: its author elaborated and
re-thought the phenomenon of samizdat in a much more sophisti-
cated way than anybody else ever before.

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 Rich photographic commented documentation of the  life and
activities of Czech underground community of artists, musicians,
poets, and their friends is found in one older and two recent bilin-
gual volumes: 1/ Abbé J. Libánský: My Underground. Rodinné album –
Family album – Familienfotoalbum 1972/82, Vienna, Austria: Institut
für Culturresistente Güter, 2002; 2/ Jan Ságl: Tanec na dvojitém ledě –
Dancing on the  Double Ice, Praha: KANT, 2013; 3/ Zuzana Brikcius
(ed.): Charta Story. Příběh Charty 77 / The Story of Charter 77, Praha:
Národní galerie, 2017.
And there are two Czech volumes that must be mentioned here:
1/ Jaroslav Riedel: Plastic People a  český underground [The  PP and
Czech Underground], Praha: Galén, 2016; 2/ Michal Přibáň et alii:
Český literární samizdat 1949–1989. Edice  – časopisy  – sborníky
[Czech Literary Samizdat 1949-1989. Series of Editions  – Periodi-
cals – Anthologies], Praha: Academia – ÚČL AV ČR, 2018.

Of the  ten texts found in this book only four (1, 3, 7, 10) were
meant as serious contributions to literary history and/or textual
studies, though texts 3 and 7 were first delivered as lectures at
respective conferences and only later augmented for the  purpose
of publication. Others (2, 4, 5, 6, 8) were written as lectures which
required a  conciseness and no extensive footnotes. Text 9 was
written as an epilogue to the  edition of Ivan M. Jirous’ selection
of poems translated into English. This, together with a  relatively
wide time range within which the  individual texts were written,
causes a certain degree of heterogeneity: some themes are treated
repeatedly, some quotations occur again and again, in one or two
cases reasoning and arguments overlap texts in succession. I tried
to get the whole set of texts rid of such textual redundance, replac-
ing some quotations with other, similar ones, but I  soon gave in.
I believe the redundance is not too excessive, and besides, with it
readers can realize better that repeated arguments witness of what
the author had believed to be of crucial importance, that he felt it
necessary to remind them more than once.

1. “The Group of Writers Around the Půlnoc Series (­1949–1955­)”

was originally published as a sub-chapter entitled “Skupina literátů
kolem edice Půlnoc (1949–1955)” within the  chapter entitled “Od

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avantgardy přes podzemí do undergroundu, skupina edice Půlnoc
1949–1955 a  undergroundový okruh Plastic People 1969–1989”
[From the avant-garde to the underground, the Půlnoc Series Group,
­1949–1955, and the Underground Circle around The Plastic People,
1969–1989], in Alternativní kultura. Příběh české společnosti 1945–1989
[Alternative Culture. The Story of Czech Society, ­1945–1989], Praha:
NLN, 2001, pp. 156–167. Its translation is based on the reworked and
supplemented edition in Machovec, M. (ed.), Pohledy zevnitř. Česká
undergroundová kultura ve svědectvích, dokumentech a interpretacích
[Views from the Inside: Czech Underground Culture in Testimonies,
Documents and Interpretations], Praha: Pistorius & Olšanská, 2008,
where the text came out with the same title as the sub-chapter (on
pp. 101–114) of the chapter entitled the same as in its first publica-
tion. The English translation by Melwyn Clarke was first published
in Glanc, T. (ed.), Samizdat Past & Present, Praha: Karolinum Press,
2018, pp.  141–159. Parts of the  chapter, including the  translated
sub-chapter, were translated into Russian and published under
the title “Через подполье к андерграуну” in Блестящая история.
Чехословацкая культура в подплье (1968–1989), ed. Machonin,
Jan, Moscow: Czech Centre, 2011, pp. 7–9, 14–17, 23–25, 32–36 (trans-
lated from Czech by Inna Bezrukova).

2. “Underground and ‘Under-the-ground’” was originally writ-

ten in English and the  author read it in April 2006 as a  lecture
at the  Center for Russian, East European and Eurasian Studies
(CREEES), College of Liberal Arts, the  University of Texas in Aus-
tin, under the  title “Radical Standpoints of Czech Underground
Community (1969–1989) and Variety of Czech Underground Liter-
ature as Specific Values”. Part of it was published in Polish under
the  name “Czeska społeczność undergroundowa (1969–1989) i  jej
literatura” as an introduction to the anthology Czeski underground,
Wroclaw: Atut, 2008. Then came its Czech publication under the ti-
tle “Podzemí a underground. Postavení undergroundové komunity
v české společnosti 70. a 80. let a specifické hodnoty underground-
ové kultury” in the  journal Paměť a  dějiny 9, no.  1 (2015); for this
purpose the  author translated the  text into Czech and rewrote it
in many places, mainly abridging it. This Czech translation was
subsequently translated back into English by Markéta Pokorná and

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published in the journal Behind the Iron Curtain [BIC], vol. 4, 2016. In
2015, the Czech version was also translated into German by Raija
Hauck (Ernst-Moritz-Arndt Universität, Greifswald) and read by
the author at a workshop in Staatsgalerie Prenzlauer Berg, Berlin,
on 20th May 2015; however, this German translation with the title
“Die Stellung der Underground Community in der tschechischen
Gesellschaft der 1970er und 1980er Jahre und spezifische Werte der
Underground-Kultur” was never published.

3. “Charter 77 and the Underground” was written in Czech in

2007 and read at a conference on Charter 77 at the Philosophical
Faculty, Charles University, Prague, on 21st – 23rd March 2007. It was
published in Devátá, Markéta – Suk, Jiří – Tůma, Oldřich (eds.), Char-
ta 77. Od obhajoby lidských práv k demokratické revoluci 1977–1989.
Sborník z  konference k  30. výročí Charty 77. Praha, 21.–23. března
2007 / Charter 77: From the  Assertion of Human Rights to a  Demo-
cratic Revolution, 1977–89. The proceedings of the conference to mark
the 30th anniversary of Charter 77. Prague, 21–23 March 2007, Praha:
ÚSD AV ČR, 2007, pp.  195–215, under the  Czech title “Charta 77
a underground”. The text was translated into English only for this
volume by Gerald Turner. Ten years later, the author published an
article “Předchůdce, součást i oponent” [A Predecessor, a Part, also
an Opponent], in Lidové noviny, 14th January 2017, p. 30, in which
he tried not only to sum up the previous text, but also to suggest
some more conclusions.

4. “Ideological Orientation and Political Views and Stand­

points...” was written in English in 2010 and first delivered at
a  seminar “Berauschte Zeit. Ästhetisierung der veränderten Be-
wusstseinszustände” on 26th January 2010 at Forschungsstelle
­Osteuropa an der Universität Bremen; next it was read on 4th Febru-
ary 2010 at a seminar “Approaches to Counter-Cultural Movements
in East-Central Europe 1960–1990” at Central European University
(CEU) in Budapest; for the third time then in April 2011 at a work-
shop held by the Center for Russian, East European and Eurasian
Studies (CREEES) of the College of Liberal Arts at the University of
Texas at Austin; it was published in English under the unchanged
title in IL SAMIZDAT TRA MEMORIA E UTOPIA. L’editoria clandestina

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in Cecoslovacchia e Unione sovietica nella seconda metà del XX secolo.
eSamizdat, 2010–2011(VIII), eds. Catalano, Alessandro – Guagnelli,
Simone, Roma: eSamizdat, Rivista di culture dei paesi slavi registrata
presso la Sezione per la Stampa e l’Informazione del Tribunale civile
di Roma, 2011, pp. 177–188.

5. “The Theme of ‘Apocalypse’...” was written in 2009 in Czech

in which it had the  title “Motivy ‘apokalypsy’ jakožto významný
stavební prvek undergroundové literatury doby ‘normalizace’”,
and it was read on 22nd May 2009 at a  round table held by Uni-
versità degli Studi di Padova, Dipartimento di lingue e letterature
anglo-germaniche e slave, Udine, Italy, where it was simultaneously
interpreted into Italian; it was published in its Italian translation by
Alessandro Catalano under the title “Letteratura senza primavera.
Il motivo dell’‘apocalisse’ come importante elemento strutturale
nella letteratura underground del periodo della ‘normalizzazione’”,
in MALEDETTA PRIMAVER A: IL 1968 A PRAGA. eSamizdat, 2009 (VII)
2–3, eds. Catalano, Alessandro – Guagnelli, Simone, Roma: eSamiz-
dat, Rivista di culture dei paesi slavi registrata presso la Sezione
per la Stampa e l’Informazione del Tribunale civile di Roma, 2010,
pp. 61–71. The text was never published in Czech and was translated
into English only for this volume by Gerald Turner.

6. “Exploring Modern Art: Czech Underground Rock Mu­

sicians” was originally called “Czech Underground Musicians in
Search of Art Innovation” and was also written in English in 2009.
First it was read on 28th January 2009 at Central European Univer-
sity (CEU) in Budapest; for the second time at a seminar “Berauschte
Zeit. Ästhetisierung der veränderten Bewusstseinszustände” under
the title “Czech Underground Writers of the 1970s and 1980s and
the Dope Inspiration” at Forschungsstelle Osteuropa an der Univer-
sität Bremen on 27th January 2010; under the  original title it was
published in Mapping the Merry Ghetto: Musical Countercultures in
East Central Europe, 1960–1989. East Central Europe, 38, 2011, eds.
Klaniczay, Gábor – Trencsényi, Balázs, Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill,
2011, pp. 221–237. For the purpose of the current publication the text
was revised, augmented and was given a new title.

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 7. “The  Types and Functions of Samizdat Publications in
Czechoslovakia” was written in English in 2006 to be read at a con-
ference “Samizdat and Underground Culture in the Soviet Bloc Coun-
tries” held at the Department of Slavic Languages and Literature of
the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, on 6th – 7th April 2006;
in 2009 it was published in its reworked, edited version (namely
with the help of the editor Meir Sternberg) in Poetics Today. Publish
and Perish: Samizdat and Underground Cultural Practices in the Soviet
Bloc (II) 30, no. 1 (spring 2009), ed. Vladislav Todorov, Durham, NC,
Duke University Press, 2009. This text was never published in Czech.

8. “Three Examples of a Variety of Relations Between Czech

Samizdat and ‘Tamizdat’ Book Production of 1970s and 1980s”
was written in English in 2011 and delivered at a  symposium
“CZECHOSLOVAK SAMIZDAT AND ITS LEGACY” held in the Czech
Center (Bohemian National Hall), New York City, on 10th – 11th No-
vember 2011 (the symposium took place on the occasion of the exhi-
bition “SAMIZDAT: THE CZECH ART OF RESISTANCE, 1968–1989”).
The paper has never got to print, but in 2014, in its abridged, slightly
altered version, it was published in the Internet journal Fair Observer
under the title “On Czech Samizdat and Tamizdat: Banned Books of
1970s and 1980s”; see https://www.fairobserver.com/region/europe
/czech-samizdat-tamizdat-banned-books-1970s-1980s/

9. “My Itinerary Has Been Monotonous for Quite a  While:

Magor’s Swan Songs” is an afterword to a collection of poems by
Ivan M. Jirous in the  English translation by Marek Tomin, chosen
mostly from Jirous’s  chef d’oeuvre collection Magorovy labutí písně
[Magor’s  Swan Songs]; the  afterword has no name in the  book; it
was translated from Czech by Vanda Krutsky, Marek Tomin, and Kip
Bauersfeld; see Jirous, Ivan Martin, My itinerary has been monotonous
for quite a while, London: Divus, 2017, pp. 107–123.

10. “Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival by Ivan Mar­

tin Jirous – Its Origins, Structure and Function” was written in
2018 in Czech with the title “Jirousova Zpráva o třetím českém hudeb-
ním obrození – vznik, struktura a funkce” just for this current publi-
cation and was translated into English by Gerald Turner. Some parts

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of it were read in its Czech original at a workshop “OD MÁNIČEK
K UNDERGROUNDU. Československo 1970–1975” organized by ÚSTR
and held in Václav Havel Library, Prague, on 16th October 2018.

The cover photo was taken on 4th or 5th November 1974 in the
pub Na Zavadilce in Klukovice, a village in the southwest of Prague.
The underground community gathered here for two evenings to lis-
ten to Egon Bondy’s first reading from the manuscript of his novel
The Disabled Siblings. Ivan M. Jirous stands in the foreground with
a spotlight in his hand. Photo by Ivo Pospíšil.
Photographs except those mentioned here are from the
­author’s  personal archive. The photo by Alan Pajer on p. 40 is
published by courtesy of the photographer. Photos by Jan Ságl on
pp. 106 and 113 are published by courtesy of the photographer. The
photo on p.  110 was reprinted from Knížák, Milan, Unvollständige
Dokumentation / Some Documentary. 1961–1979, Berlin [West]: Edition
Ars Viva!, 1980. Olaf Hanel’s photo on p. 115 was reprinted from in
Jirousová, Věra (ed.), K.Š. – Křižovnická škola čistého humoru bez vtipu
(Art Catalogue), Hradec Králové – Praha: Galerie moderního umění
Hradec Králové  – Středočeská galerie Praha, 1991. Other photos
are covers or parts of booklets mentioned individually in the list of
Undeground Music on pp. 233–234.

June – November 2019

INDEX OF NAMES Brabec, Jan 46, 51–52
Brabec, Jiří 147, 153
[The alphabetical order of names Brabenec, Vratislav 42, 44, 46, 50,
of Charter 77 signatories found in 54, 75, 77, 87, 95–96, 124, 129,
footnotes 15/ and 16/ on p. 52 are 189–190
not included in the Register unless Bratršovská, Zdena 46
they are found elsewhere.] Breisky, Arthur 28
Breton, André 20
Achmadulina, Bella 143 Březina, Aleš 44, 50
Adamy, Herbert 136, 153 Březina, Otokar 144, 153
Aksjonov, Vasily 143 Brikcius, Eugen 38, 43–44, 50, 54,
Alan, Josef 17, 22, 55, 61, 133, 136, 112–114, 140, 175, 180, 183
140, 158 Brikcius, Zuzana 238
Andělová, Kristina 210 Brukwicki, Jerzy 137
Arendt, Hannah 134 Bryson, Anna 73, 90, 180
Brzezinski, Zbigniew 134
Balaštík, Miroslav 196 Bučilová, Lenka 112
Bauersfeld, Kip 184, 242 Buřil, Zdeněk 9
Bělocvětov, Andrej 15
Benda, Václav 32, 45, 57, 210–211 Captain Beefheart 28, 178
Benetková, Marie 51–52, 189–190 Catalano, Alessandro 241
Benýšek, Zbyněk 51–52, 54 Čep, Jan 144
Bezrukova, Inna 239 Čepička, Alexej 145
Bierhanzl, Ivan “Váňa” 51–52 Černá (Fischlová, Ladmanová),
Binar, Vladimír 144 Jana – see Krejcarová, Jana
Blatný, Ivan 11 Černá, Marie 46
Blažek, Petr 46–47, 55, 57, 139 Černík, Oldřich 74, 90–91
Bock, Ivo 131–132, 137 Černý, Jiří 122
Bolton, Jonathan 188, 210–211, 237 Černý, Miloš 14
Bondy, Egon 7–8, 10–23, 26, 29, 31, Černý, Václav 27, 37, 39, 45, 65, 187
33–35, 37–38, 44, 47–50, 55–62, Chalkestone, O. T. 99
66, 71–75, 77, 80, 82–84, 87, Chalupecký, Jindřich 9
89–90, 93–94, 97, 99, 103–104, Chytilová, Jana 42, 54, 75, 118
117–118, 129, 142, 145–147, Cibulka, Petr 51, 149
157–160, 163–165, 171, 180, Císař, Čestmír 151
185–186, 188–189, 191–193, 198, Císařovská, Blanka 82, 138
200, 209–211 Clarke, Melwyn 24, 239
Born, Adolf 9, 14, 17, 20 Clinton, Bill 40
Boudník, Vladimír 7–9, 14–15, Cloutier, Clarice 101, 180
17–20, 23 Comenius (Komenský), Jan Amos
Bouše, Jan 16 42

( 244 )
Čori, Ivan 110 Gellner, František 28
Cravens, Craig 99 Ginsberg, Allen 26, 198
Glanc, Tomáš 237, 239
Damon of Athens 206–207 Glazkov, Nikolai 131
Daníček, Jiří 50, 140 Gorbachov, Mikhail 53
Deml, Jakub 10, 28, 102, 144 Grass, Günther 98
Devátá, Markéta 78, 240 Greetham, David 26
Dienstbier, Jiří 64 Gregor, Pavel 53
Dluhosch, Eric 176 Grögerová, Bohumila 16
Dočekal, Jaroslav 14, 16, 20 Gruntorád, Jiří 50, 55, 133, 140, 148,
Dolanská, Karolína 89, 109 151, 155–156, 164
Drda, Adam 46 Gruša, Jiří 147
Drtikol, František 15 Guagnelli, Simone 241
Drubek, Natascha 148
Dubček, Alexandr 74, 90–91 Haas, Benjamin – see Zuska, Jan
Duchamp, Marcel 68, 84, 205, 207 Hájek, Igor 147
Durkovič, Vladimír 156 Hájek, Jiří 44, 64
Dvořák, Ladislav 10 Hájek, Miloslav 114
Dvorský, Stanislav 148 Hájek, Štěpán 186
Hamersky, Heidrun 131–133, 137,
Edmond Š. – see Šmerda, Vladimír 140
Effenberger, Vratislav 9–11, 16, 20, Hanáková, Jitka 133, 153
148 Hanč, Jan 9
Effenbergerová, Anna Marie Hanel, Olaf 43, 50, 112, 114–115, 175
(Neméthyová, Szatmar) 148 Hanibal, Arnošt 188
Eichwede, Wolfgang 131–135, 137, Hanibalová, Jarka 188
140, 143 Hänsgen, Sabine 131–132
Elšíková (Vadasová-Elšíková), Hartel, Ivan 121, 171, 186
­Monika 187, 195 Hartmann, Antonín 14
Erben, Karel Jaromír 12 Hauck, Raija 240
Havel, Václav 29, 33–34, 39–40,
Fafejta Mr. 112–113 42, 44, 47–48, 53, 55, 57, 61, 65,
Falk, Barbara J. 79, 135 78–79, 82, 87, 105, 122, 135,
Fára, Libor 16, 20 139–140, 148, 155, 163, 167, 192,
Fidelius, Petr 187, 211 210–211, 237
Fiedor, Jiří 32 Havelka, Karel “Kocour” 42, 52, 54,
Fišer, Zbyněk – see Bondy, Egon 192, 195
Flajšar, Jiří 180 Havlíček Borovský, Karel 12
Friedrich, Carl J. 134 Havlíček, Zbyněk 9, 16, 20
Fučík, Bedřich 144 Heim, Michael Henry 102
Furman, Jozef 192–193 Hejdánek, Ladislav 44

( 245 )
Hendrix, Jimi 178, 197 Jelínek, Milan 149–150
Herda, Milan 16–17, 20, 22 Jelínek, Oldřich 7–9, 14, 17, 20
Higgins, Bernie 180 Jernek, Michal 106–107, 208
Hiršal, Josef 15–16 Jesenská, Milena 16, 18
Hlavsa, Milan “Mejla” 26, 38–41, 46, Jesus Christ (Ježíš Kristus) 77, 119,
54, 75, 106, 114, 118, 187, 193, 123–124, 166–168
196 Ježek, Vlastimil 156
Hlinka, Andrej 156 Jindrová, Kamila 166
Hoffman, Abbie 67 Jirous, Ivan Martin “Magor” 23,
Hokeš, Emil 14 ­25–27, 29, 31, 34, 36–38, 42–44,
Holan, Vladimír 10 47, 50–56, 59, 66, 68–69, 71,
Holman, Petr 144, 153 73–75, 77–78, 80, 83–84, 87–88,
Holý, Jiří 133 99–102, 104, 111–112, 122, 129,
Hoptman, Laura 176 142, 144, 173–190, 192–211, 238,
Horáček, Filip 47 242
Hořec, Jaromír 145 Jirousová, Juliana 51–52, 190
Hrabal, Bohumil 7, 10–12, 15, 17–23, Jirousová, Věra 37, 50, 111, 122, 140
29, 40, 85, 102–103, 142, 146, Johannes von Tepl – see Němec of
150, 158, 237 Žatec
Hrdlička, František 46 John the Baptist (Jan Křtitel) 119,
Hugh of Lincoln, St. 182 121
Hus, Jan Master 182 Joplin, Janis 178
Husák, Gustav 37, 42, 86, 198, 203 Joshua 206–207
Húska, Martin 205–206 Jukl, Vladimír 156
Hutka, Jaroslav 51–52, 87 Jůzek, František 15
Hynek, Karel 9–12, 14–15, 19, 147
Hýsek, Robert 180 Kabeš, Jiří 46
Kabeš, Petr 147
Illinger, Nathan – see Hynek, Karel Kadlec, Václav 14
Iskander, Abdulovich Fazil 143 Kafka, Franz 144, 207
Iwashita, Daniela 190 Kainar, Josef 11
Kalandra, Záviš 16, 73
Jagger, Mick 77 Kalivoda, Robert 206
Jamek, Václav (Hauptbahnhof, Karásek, Svatopluk 30, 38, 42, 44,
Eberhardt) 147 50, 54, 75–77, 87, 95, 186, 191,
Janíček, Josef 46, 54, 106 193, 200
Jankovič, Milan 102 Karlík, Viktor 195
Janouch, František 140 Kasjas, Piotr 99
Janoušek, Pavel 88, 129, 146–147 Kellner, Erich 166
Jechová, Květa 46 Kenney, Padraic 135
Jelínek, Josef “Baghýra” 164–165 Kissel, Wolfgang S. 143

( 246 )
Klaniczay, Gábor 241 Lamač, Miroslav 15
Klepetářová, Jana 73, 90, 180 Lamarová, Milena 112
Klíma, Ivan 61 Lamper, Ivan 60–61, 73
Klíma, Ladislav 28, 96, 102, 122, Lampl, Petr, “Peťák” 37, 192
129, 144, 199 Landa, Ivan 166
Knecht, Stacey 22 Lautréamont, comte de 200, 207
Knížák, Milan 30, 44, 55, 87–89, Leary, Timothy 178, 198
92–93, 108–111, 113, 118, 159, Lehoučka, Josef 15
186, 194, 198, 211 Libánský, Jaroslav “Abbé” 238
Kohout, Pavel 45, 64 Lipton, Lawrence 29
Kohoutek, Luboš 117 Litomiský, Jan 52, 58
Kolář, Jiří 9–12, 15, 159, 175, 198 Litt, Toby 180
Komárek, Stanislav 32 Lodge, Kirsten 180
Komeda, Václav Vendelín 42, 169 Lopatka, Jan 23, 50, 147
Koniáš, Antonín 110–111
Konrád, Győrgy 132 Macek, Josef 205
Kořán, Jaroslav 42, 169 Mach, Jan Maria 110
Kosík, Karel 44 Mácha, Karel Hynek 12, 29, 184
Kostúr, Jiří 28, 189 Machonin, Jan 239
Koura, Petr 55 Machovec, Martin 7–8, 11, 15,
Kouřil, Vladimír 156 26, 34–35, 46–47, 78, 88, 104,
Koutek, Ondřej 53 ­110–112, 133, 142, 146–148,
Kozelka, Milan 52 155–158, 169, 176, 179, 196, 210,
Kozlík, Jan 44, 52 239
Kožmín, Zdeněk 142 Machovec, Milan 166–168
Král, Petr 195 Mainx, Oskar 221
Krchovský, J. H. 60, 98–99, 142, 147 Mallarmé, Gala – see Krejcarová,
Krejcar, Jaromír 16 Jana
Krejcarová, Jana “Honza” 8, 11, 13, Mandler, Emanuel 46, 57
15–16, 18, 20–23, 147, 158 Mao Tse-Tung (Mao Ce-tung, Mao
Křesadlo, Jan 15 Zedong) 38, 72–75, 90–91,
Krob, Andrej 61, 134 208–209
Krutsky, Vanda 184, 242 Marvanová, Anna 46
Kučerová, Lenka 57–58 Mary, St. Virgin 182, 184
Kudrna, Ladislav 35, 210 Marysko, Karel 10, 15, 19
Kukal, Jaroslav 51–52, 126, 128 Masaryk, Tomáš Garrigue 65, 182
Kundera, Ludvík 16, 152 Matthew, St. 206, 209
Kundera, Milan 18, 87, 149–150, 237 Mazal, Tomáš 7, 18, 21
Kupferberg, Tuli 67, 206–207 Medek, Mikuláš 9, 14–15, 19–20
Kusák, Alexej 15 Medková, Emila 14
Kužel, Petr 8, 158 Merhaut, Vladislav 14

( 247 )
Merta, Vladimír187, 195–196, 211 Patočka, Jan 27, 39, 42, 44, 65,
Mervart, Jan 166 78–79, 139–140
Míka, Tomáš 180 Pauer, Jan 133, 140, 148
Mikloško, František 156 Paul, St. (sv. Pavel) 118–119, 198
Militz, Anna 18 Pavelka, Zdenko 35
Miller, Leslie 140 Pažout, Jaroslav 139
Mills, Charles Wright 203 Pecka, Karel 61, 65
Milton, John 199, 201, 206 Peel, David 67, 178
Mlynář, Zdeněk 39, 42, 48, 65, 78 Pelc, Jan 26, 100, 187
Modiano, Raimonda 26, 133 Petersen, Klaus 140
Mojzes, Paul 166 Petr, Pavel 156
Morgenstern, Christian 8, 15 Petráček, Zbyněk 32
Morrison, Jim 178 Petrová, Jana 156
Mráz, Bohumír 14 Pigment, Horna – see Lamper, Ivan
Mrázek, Jiří 50 Pilař, Martin 7
Müller, Jiří 65 Pilate Pontius 124
Müller, Miloš 149 Pinkava, Václav – see Křesadlo, Jan
Mundil, Josef 46, 80 Placák, Bedřich 83
Placák, Petr 35, 60, 82–84, 97–98,
Navrátil, Pavel 34, 169 142
Němcová, Dana 44, 50, 193 Plaček, Rudolf 165
Němec of Žatec, Jan (Johannes von Plato 207
Tepl) 205–206 Plíšková, Naďa 55, 175
Němec, Jiří 29, 37, 44, 47–48, 50–51, Plzák, Michal 186
54, 77–78, 80, 193, 210 Pokorná, Markéta 21, 239
Němec, Martin 37 Pokorná, Terezie 188
Nepraš, Karel 43, 55, 112, 114, Pokorný, Marek 113
175 Polanský, Ivan 156
Neyens, Jean 68, 207 Popel, Jiří 52, 118
Niubo, Jordi 47, 60 Pospiszyl, Tomáš 176
Nuttall, Jeff 68, 178, 198–199 Posset, Johanna 133–134, 153, 156
Pošustová, Stanislava 144
Oestereicher, Paul 166 Pottier, Eugène 93
Orwell, George 85, 87, 146, 182 Prchlíková (Vodseďálková,
Otáhal, Milan 46, 53, 57, 81 Kašparová), Dana “Dagmara” 13
Prečan, Vilém 32, 49, 57, 79, 82,
Page, Benjamin B. 157 133, 137–138, 140, 148, 153,
Palek, Karel – see Fidelius, Petr 155
Palouš, Martin 57 Preisner, Rio 207
Pánek, Fanda 38, 48, 52, 87, 93–94 Převratská, Jana 50
Pasquier, Jacques 171 Přibáň, Jiří 135

( 248 )
Přibáň, Michal 8, 156, 158, 238 Schillingsburg, Peter 26, 133
Příbram, Jan of 205 Schlott, Wolfgang 131, 132
Princ, Jan 51–52, 54 Schneider, Jan 46, 50
Princová, Květa 51–52, 54 Schovánek, Radek 139
Prokeš, Pavel 187, 191 Searle, Leroy F. 26, 133
Prokeš, Petr 52, 116, 191 Sedlackova Gibbs, Helena 140
Prusíková, Eva 20 Sedlák, J. 206
Puchmertl, Jaroslav 15 Seifert, Jaroslav 39, 42, 44, 78, 145,
Putna, Martin C. 32, 143 181
Pytlík, Radko 142 Sekal, Zbyněk 14
Shorey, Paul 207
Quinn, Justin 99 Šiklová, Jiřina 46, 80
Silberstein, Sarah – see Krejcarová,
Reed, Lou 38, 40–41, 67 Jana
Reegen, Jan “Hanes” 14 Šilhánová, Libuše 58
Rejchrt, Miloš 44 Šimečka, Milan 80
Reynek, Bohuslav 10, 37 Skalický, Miroslav “Skalák” 42,
Rice, Tim 123 51–52, 54, 192
Riedel, Jaroslav 42, 54, 96, 104, Skilling, Gordon Harold 53, 79, 104,
110–111, 118, 157, 171, 208, 132–133, 137–138, 140, 148
238 Škvorecký, Josef 10, 141, 163
Roszak, Theodore 68, 178 Slánský, Rudolf, jr. 57
Rotbauer, Jaroslav 14, 16 Slavík, Otakar 43, 52, 175
Roth, Susanna 142 Slavíková, Duňa 112
Rubin, Jerry 67–68, 178 Šmejkal, František 42
Růžička, Jaroslav (Kuhnert, Isaak) Šmerda, Vladimír 21, 147
147 Smetana, Bedřich 114
Růžková, Jana 49, 56, 156 Šmoranc, Jiří 9–10
Rychetský, Lukáš 47 Sochor, Konstantin 15
Rychlík, Břetislav 33, 193 Sochorová, Blanka 15
Rygulla, Ralf-Rainer 68–69, 71, 84, Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr 64
178, 203–204 Soukup, Karel “Charlie” 38, 51–52,
54, 190–191, 200
Šabata, Jaroslav 64 Špirit, Michael 26, 34, 177,
Šabatová, Anna 57 194–195
Šafránek, Jan 50 Šrámková, Vítězslava 133
Ságl, Jan 55, 106, 112–113, 186, 191, Stankovič, Andrej “Nikolaj” 38,
211, 238 50–52, 87, 180
Ságlová, Zorka 43–44, 112–113, 191 Stárek, František “Čuňas” 28, 34,
Sanders, Ed 67, 69–70, 198, 201, 42, 49–53, 56–59, 81–82, 169,
203–204, 206 185–186, 188–189, 192

( 249 )
Stenberg, Peter 140 Tucker (Lopatková), Veronika 188,
Stephen, St. (sv. Štěpán) 118–119 194–195, 203, 211
Stern, Arnold – see Wenzl, Oldřich Tucker, Aviezer 79, 140
Sternberg, Meir 242 Tůma, Oldřich 78, 240
Števich, Jiří “Přemysl” 26, 106, 196 Turner, Gerald 62, 90, 103, 211,
Števichová, Miluše 50 240–242
Štindl, Ondřej 186 Typlt, Jaromír Filip 7, 9, 16, 20
Stöhr, Martin 166
Stone, Sophia 180 Uhl, Petr 35, 42, 47, 49–51, 62, 65,
Storoženko, Ilja 51–52 73
Stritzková, Juliana – see Jirousová, Ungar, Pavel – see Effenberger,
Juliana Vratislav
Strouhalová, Libuše (Dina Š.) 147 Urbášek, Pavel 81
Strýko, Marcel 193
Suk, Jaroslav 42, 76, 169 Váchal, Josef 102
Suk, Jiří 78, 140, 210, 240 Vaculík, Ludvík 39, 44, 61, 64, 78,
Šustrová, Petruška 55, 57 148, 150, 155, 167
Švandrlík, Miloslav 145 Valenta, Martin 188, 210
Švehla, Marek 191–192, 209 Valoch, Jiří 113
Svoboda, Ludvík 74, 90–91 Valoušek, Jaromír 13
Svoboda, Pavel 8, 13, 158 Vaněk, Miroslav 81
Szaruga, Leszek 137 Vanicek, Anna Naninka 149
Vašinka, Radim 23
Tachecí, Pavel 166 Vávra, Stanislav 9–10
Taťoun, Petr 51–52 Vávra, Vladimír 9–10
Taussig, Herbert – see Wagner, Velát, Jiří 54
Zdeněk Vereš, Josef 110
Teige, Karel 9–10, 16, 22 Veselý, Luboš 57–58
Tichý, Jirka 173 Villon, François 184
Tigrid, Pavel 163, 209 Vladislav, Jan 135
Tiso, Jozef 156 Vodrážka, Mirek 35
Todorov, Vladislav 242 Vodseďálek, Ivo 7–13, 15–22, 180
Tolkien J. R. R. 144 Vohryzek, Jan 58
Tomin, Marek 94, 96, 99, 102, 173, Voják, Karel 194
184, 242 Voják, Vladimír 51–52
Topol, Jáchym 32, 60, 100, 142, Vokatá, Dagmar 51–52
147 Vokatý, Zdeněk “Londýn” 50, 54,
Trávníček, Jiří 142, 183 185, 210
Trencsényi, Balázs 241 Vokolek, Vladimír 10
Třešňák, Vlastimil 51–52, 54, 87 Volková, Bronislava 101, 180
Troup, Zdeněk 7 Vondra, Alexandr 73

( 250 )
Vondruška, Josef “Vaťák” 37, 45, Zábrana, Jan 10, 15
51–52, 54, 89, 94, 187, 200 Žáček, Pavel 59
Vopálka, Milan “Dino” 51–52, 89, Zadražilová, Miluše 149
200 Zaenkel, Karl 140
Vožniak, Jaroslav 46 Zahradníček, Jan 144
Vrba, Tomáš 133, 136, 138, 155, 158 Zajíček, Pavel 30, 37, 42, 44, 51–52,
Vydra, Luboš 52, 57 54, 87, 92–93, 116, 118–119,
121, 126–127, 129, 186, 191,
Wagner, Zdeněk 11, 16, 147 199–200
Webber, Andrew Lloyd 123 Žák, Karel 8, 13
Wenzl, Oldřich 11, 16, 20, 148 Zand, Gertraude 8, 13, 134,
Wernisch, Ivan (Rozehnal, Václav) 158
146–147 Zappa, Frank 38, 77, 178, 197
Wilson, Paul 34, 54, 66, 76, 95, 121, Žďárský, Pavel 166
124, 171, 176, 201 Zoula, Norbert 92
Wilsonová, Helena 191 Zuska, Jan 11, 147
Wünsch, Jan 55 Zvěřina, Josef 65

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MODERN CZECH CLASSICS
The  modern history of Central Europe is notable for its political and cultural dis-
continuities and often violent changes, as well as its attempts to preserve and (re)
invent traditional cultural identities. This series cultivates contemporary translations
of influential literary works that have been unavailable to a global readership due
to censorship, the effects of the Cold War and the frequent political disruptions in
Czech publishing and its international ties. Readers of English, in today’s cosmopol-
itan Prague and anywhere in the  physical and electronic world, can now become
acquainted with works that capture the  Central European historical experience
– works that have helped express and form Czech and Central European identity,
humour and imagination. Believing that any literary canon can be defined only in
dialogue with other cultures, the  series publishes classics, often used in Western
university courses, as well as (re)discoveries aiming to provide new perspectives in
the study of literature, history and culture. All titles are accompanied by an after-
word. Translations are reviewed and circulated in the global scholarly community
before publication – this is reflected by our nominations for literary awards.
Modern Czech Classics series edited by Karolinum Press
Published Titles
Zdeněk Jirotka: Saturnin (2003, 2005, 2009, 2013; pb 2016)
Vladislav Vančura: Summer of Caprice (2006; pb 2016)
Karel Poláček: We Were a Handful (2007; pb 2016)
Bohumil Hrabal: Pirouettes on a Postage Stamp (2008)
Karel Michal: Everyday Spooks (2008)
Eduard Bass: The Chattertooth Eleven (2009)
Jaroslav Hašek: Behind the Lines: Bugulma and Other Stories (2012; pb 2016)
Bohumil Hrabal: Rambling On (2014; pb 2016)
Ladislav Fuks: Of Mice and Mooshaber (2014)
Josef Jedlička: Midway upon the Journey of Our Life (2016)
Jaroslav Durych: God’s Rainbow (2016)
Ladislav Fuks: The Cremator (2016)
Bohuslav Reynek: The Well at Morning (2017)
Viktor Dyk: The Pied Piper (2017)
Jiří R. Pick: Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (2018)
Views from the Inside: Czech Underground Literature and Culture
(1948–1989), ed. M. Machovec (2018)
Ladislav Grosman: The Shop on Main Street (2019)
Bohumil Hrabal: Why I Write? The Early Prose from 1945 to 1952 (2019)
Jiří Pelán: Bohumil Hrabal: A Full-length Portrait (2019)
Ludvík Vaculík: A Czech Dreambook (2019)
Forthcoming
Jaroslav Kvapil: Rusalka
Jan Procházka: The Ear
Ivan Jirous: Collected Works
Jan Čep: Common Rue
Jiří Weil: Lamentation for 77,297 Victims