A torso of hope

From Lubomír Vaculík's commentary on the original 2LP set 2 58 0421"Modern Czech and Slovak Poetry Collections IV," released by Supraphon in 1970 and now available digitally for the first time: When Torso of Hope was first published in 1938, it contained only the poems Panychida for F. X. Šalda, Ten Plagues of Egypt, To Prague, Song of Anxiety, Mobilisation, The Soldier, All Souls' Day 1968, and What He Saw. It was only in later years that the poems The Dead Man from Zborov, It Will Not Rust…, Between Us…, In the Camps, The Poet Thaws, The Poet Matures, The Poet Sheds, and The Poet Hibernates were added to the collection. These changes are a true reflection of the poet's maturation. The poet matures before the eyes of his readers, before the judgment of the entire public. The first edition of Torso ends like this: What he saw / Multitudes of the righteous / whom God did not hear / And a later edition: On a small bundle of clay the poet hibernates / He has a dream Time flies a golden stag flies / And everything is too little for him and everything is too little for him In Torso of Hope, the poet of life and death's dizzying depths expressed what weighed on the soul of all people during the most difficult of times, on the eve of the Second World War. Those verses attempted to be more than just a torso of hope. The publisher of fine prints and Halas's friend, Josef Florian, wrote these words to Halas in December 1938: “Thank you for Torso of Hope. You truly succeeded with those words about Wenceslas's horse. (Meaning the verses: The bronze horse Wenceslas's horse / trembled yesterday / and the prince hefted his spear / Think of the chorale / You of little faith / Think of the chorale/, author's note) Speaking for myself, I not only think of the chorale, but often sing it (and I believe, effectively), and do so to the fullness of Hope.” Besides, not even the poet himself is granted the fullness of hope from on high; he too must mature into it. In the cited poem To Prague, the first edition truly expresses only hope, perhaps even just a torso of hope: Just no fear Just no fear / no one has ever played such a fugue / as we will play here / if the time comes if the time comes It is only in later editions that the poet completes his torso, not only according to the laws of beauty but also of thought. He arrives at the fullness of hope, and thus at certainty. Just no fear Just no fear / not even Sebastian Bach himself played such a fugue / as we will play here / when the time comes when the time comes The poet, who was often criticised for being too immersed in his private life, his problems, his dreams, his inner self, which constantly teetered on the edge of being and non-being, seized the “incendiary torch” of poetic similes better than anyone else at the decisive moment of national sorrow and defiance…. Poetry was everything to František Halas. It was his life and death, it was his work, joy, torment, and redemption; it was his tool of revolution and a tool against the deformations of revolution. He was a poet-craftsman. He knew the weight of a word. He handled it like a surgical instrument, a rare medicine, and a dangerous poison all at once. For him, the absolute point a poet should reach was simplicity…