Serbia's bitter salute to nationhood
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Sep 3, 2008, 1:41:15 AM9/3/08
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http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2008/sep/02/serbia.radovankaradzic?gusrc=rss&feed=worldnews
Serbia's bitter salute to nationhood
Novi Sad's international literature festival revealed a worrying
cynicism about sovereignty and integrity among local poetsAll comments
(12)
Nicholas Blincoe guardian.co.uk, Tuesday September 02 2008 21:00 BST
Article historyI ought to have expected to hear Serbian nationalist
poetry at the third international literature festival in Novi Sad, but
it is still a surprise to share a stage with a poet delivering verses
with titles like Prayer for Kosovo and refrains that repeat the word
Serbia, accompanied by salutes. Just to add to the experience, this
happened on the day when the most prominent Serbian poet of recent
times, Radovan Karadzic, refused to enter a plea at his war crime
trial in The Hague.
The guest of honour at Novi Sad was Ben Okri, who argued forcibly that
no dictator has ever written good poetry. He added that when poets
gather, they do so to speak of the highest aspirations of mankind. He
may be right: I do not know Serbian well enough to judge Karadzic's
poetry, and when I shared a stage with another ultra-nationalist poet,
I had to judge the quality of his work by his hand gestures and the
audience's response, which ranged from indifference to embarrassment.
But I am not convinced that poetry is an agent of good: many prose
writers have unappetising political views, such as Martin Heidegger
and Knut Hamsun, whose Nazism cannot quite erase the merits of their
work.
The problem for poetry in general and Serbian poetry in particular is
that there is something poetic about nationhood. Like poetry,
nationalism depends on language. And its moods are covered by poetic
genres, especially the heroic and the elegiac. Taken together, the
heroic and elegiac cover the entire range of Serbian nationalism:
recounting the exploits of medieval nobles or mourning their defeat by
the Turks at the Battle of Kosovo in the 14th century. A local poetry
translator told me that her nation's heart was broken over Kosovo, and
yet that throughout the ages Kosovo has awaited the Serbs' return. I
was told that it was General Tito who allowed the Albanians to settle
in Kosovo while forbidding Serbs from entering. When I asked why Tito
would do this, I was told that it was because he was a freemason. I
suggested he was better understood as a communist but was put in my
place; only the little people believe in communism: wiser heads know
there is an occult intelligence at work in history and it was a
masonic conspiracy that led to the new heartbreak of the Serbian
nation.
These are vital elements of poetry: confabulation and imagination. But
poetry also has room for analysis and, via ambiguity, multiple voices.
This is why Novi Sad may be the most appropriate city for an
international poetry festival in Serbia. It is a diverse city with a
lively student population. I attended mass at the splendid city centre
Catholic church. The enormous deconsecrated synagogue is a memorial to
the Holocaust, but a living one used for classical music concerts
throughout the year. These things counter the black hand graffiti seen
across the city, as well as the numerous promises to liberate Kosovo.
I left Novi Sad with the impression that the key attribute of Serbian
nationalism is bitterness – yet that most Serbs are determined to
shrug it off and look forward. This was the overwhelming message of
the Novi Sad festival which was, in the best sense, an international
colloquium. My only question is: are they failing to look back at
themselves? Unfortunately, the international atmosphere does not
encourage Serbian soul-searching.
Serbs seem largely indifferent to the fates of Slobodan Milosevic,
Karadzic or other war criminals. They are even phlegmatic about the
1999 Nato bombing of the country. They do care about Kosovo, but in a
fatalistic way. Kosovo independence is regarded as a key moment in
international law; in effect, the moment that such law ceased to
exist. This confirms the widespread view in Serbia that national
sovereignty and integrity is a joke, a view that recent events in
Georgia confirm. By shrugging at these perceived injustices and
turning away to forget, Serbs leave a wide space for ultra-
nationalists to appropriate their national symbols – as British
fascists appropriated the union flag. These are worrying issues,
coming at the start of a dark era in world diplomacy. Their resolution
is beyond the compass of any poet, but it may be wise for poets in
Serbia – and elsewhere – to look again at what they do.
Serbia's bitter salute to nationhood
Novi Sad's international literature festival revealed a worrying
cynicism about sovereignty and integrity among local poetsAll comments
(12)
Nicholas Blincoe guardian.co.uk, Tuesday September 02 2008 21:00 BST
Article historyI ought to have expected to hear Serbian nationalist
poetry at the third international literature festival in Novi Sad, but
it is still a surprise to share a stage with a poet delivering verses
with titles like Prayer for Kosovo and refrains that repeat the word
Serbia, accompanied by salutes. Just to add to the experience, this
happened on the day when the most prominent Serbian poet of recent
times, Radovan Karadzic, refused to enter a plea at his war crime
trial in The Hague.
The guest of honour at Novi Sad was Ben Okri, who argued forcibly that
no dictator has ever written good poetry. He added that when poets
gather, they do so to speak of the highest aspirations of mankind. He
may be right: I do not know Serbian well enough to judge Karadzic's
poetry, and when I shared a stage with another ultra-nationalist poet,
I had to judge the quality of his work by his hand gestures and the
audience's response, which ranged from indifference to embarrassment.
But I am not convinced that poetry is an agent of good: many prose
writers have unappetising political views, such as Martin Heidegger
and Knut Hamsun, whose Nazism cannot quite erase the merits of their
work.
The problem for poetry in general and Serbian poetry in particular is
that there is something poetic about nationhood. Like poetry,
nationalism depends on language. And its moods are covered by poetic
genres, especially the heroic and the elegiac. Taken together, the
heroic and elegiac cover the entire range of Serbian nationalism:
recounting the exploits of medieval nobles or mourning their defeat by
the Turks at the Battle of Kosovo in the 14th century. A local poetry
translator told me that her nation's heart was broken over Kosovo, and
yet that throughout the ages Kosovo has awaited the Serbs' return. I
was told that it was General Tito who allowed the Albanians to settle
in Kosovo while forbidding Serbs from entering. When I asked why Tito
would do this, I was told that it was because he was a freemason. I
suggested he was better understood as a communist but was put in my
place; only the little people believe in communism: wiser heads know
there is an occult intelligence at work in history and it was a
masonic conspiracy that led to the new heartbreak of the Serbian
nation.
These are vital elements of poetry: confabulation and imagination. But
poetry also has room for analysis and, via ambiguity, multiple voices.
This is why Novi Sad may be the most appropriate city for an
international poetry festival in Serbia. It is a diverse city with a
lively student population. I attended mass at the splendid city centre
Catholic church. The enormous deconsecrated synagogue is a memorial to
the Holocaust, but a living one used for classical music concerts
throughout the year. These things counter the black hand graffiti seen
across the city, as well as the numerous promises to liberate Kosovo.
I left Novi Sad with the impression that the key attribute of Serbian
nationalism is bitterness – yet that most Serbs are determined to
shrug it off and look forward. This was the overwhelming message of
the Novi Sad festival which was, in the best sense, an international
colloquium. My only question is: are they failing to look back at
themselves? Unfortunately, the international atmosphere does not
encourage Serbian soul-searching.
Serbs seem largely indifferent to the fates of Slobodan Milosevic,
Karadzic or other war criminals. They are even phlegmatic about the
1999 Nato bombing of the country. They do care about Kosovo, but in a
fatalistic way. Kosovo independence is regarded as a key moment in
international law; in effect, the moment that such law ceased to
exist. This confirms the widespread view in Serbia that national
sovereignty and integrity is a joke, a view that recent events in
Georgia confirm. By shrugging at these perceived injustices and
turning away to forget, Serbs leave a wide space for ultra-
nationalists to appropriate their national symbols – as British
fascists appropriated the union flag. These are worrying issues,
coming at the start of a dark era in world diplomacy. Their resolution
is beyond the compass of any poet, but it may be wise for poets in
Serbia – and elsewhere – to look again at what they do.
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