In the 1970s I was writing mostly anti-regime poems and I wanted to publish them before the regime collapsed so I sent a manuscript to the publishing house. They were too afraid to publish them.

I had problems getting published for 10 years.  Lubomir Feldek was one of those editors who struggled to get me published.  But his boss did not want to publish my work because he was anti-Semitic.  I also wrote poems in the 1970s that are based on the Jewish experience.  In late 1985, Feldek called me and said that his boss was leaving the job in January and to prepare all of my manuscripts that had not been published.  On the second of January I took him everything.  In those days it was at one to two years before anything could be published because everything in the economy, including publishing, was planned.  But he had planned it already for 1987.

During these same years, the period of normalization, there was a school of poetry where young poets were taught to write in the communist way of Marxist, socialism realism.  There were three or four of us who had already published some books in the early 1970s and we wanted nothing to do with this school.  We wrote pessimistic poems because everything was so bad during this time.  Because of this and also the fact that I was a Jew some people were against me.

  

There is still anti-Semitism here.  It has never gone away.  In the 1960s, when I was in high school I was often a little uneasy, but I am not afraid anymore.  Sometimes there are some drunkards among the poets at the writers’ club who say something to me about being a Jew or make general, unpleasant remarks about Jews and I tell them not to play with this.  I am not afraid to tell them my opinions.     

I was present in the first hours of the Velvet Revolution when the coordinating committees were being formed.  Half the people who were behind the revolution were not the right people because they used the possibilities to their own advantage.  In my small village nobody was doing anything about the revolution.  After about one week I went to the village doctor and I told her that we should create a coordinating committee in our village.  So we did it.   We met every afternoon at 5:00 in the cultural center and people came with their propositions about what should be done in the village.  

On the 4th of December the law was passed that the Communist Party was no longer the leading power in society.  I recommended that a very ugly sculpture of Lenin in the middle of the village be removed.  One guy who was sitting in the corner, he was an agriculture engineer, said that he would look into it.  This was about 6:00 or 7:00 in the evening.  Then the next morning at 5:00 the first people to leave the village on buses saw that the statue was gone.  This very modest guy not only did this, but he eventually was head of the coordinating committee and until now he is the Lord Mayor? of the village.  That is my small contribution to the revolution.  

After the revolution I made some small changes to some of my poems. The ones where the verses had been edited and cut off, I added the verses back to the poems.  And the poems where the meanings were hidden, I rewrote them a little to make the meaning more clear.  I published these poems last year in a book titled, “Secrets Wide Open”.  

The revolution opened the horizon, opened up the possibility to have some new ideas and new experiences.  I went from poetry to writing drama.  I wrote two plays about Franz Kafka, which I could not have done before because Kafka was a forbidden author in Czechoslovakia.  Now some other Slovak intellectuals and myself, we are citizens of the world.  Maybe 80% of us belong to the world.  This is what the revolution brought to us. 

For ten years, from 1977 – 1987, I couldn't publish books of my poems. Ľubomír Feldek was probably the only editor, who was striving to see at least something of mine get published. But his boss, V. Mihálik, a fanatic communist, did not want to publish my work because he was a rigid anti-Semite. I also wrote poems, in the 1980s that are based on the Jewish experience. In late 1985, Feldek called me and said that his boss was leaving the job in January and to prepare all of my manuscripts that had not been published.  On the second of January I took him everything.  In those days it was one to two years before anything could be published because everything in the economy, including publishing, was planned.  But he had already planned it for 1987.

At same time, during the period of normalization (normalization lasted from 1970 – 1989 and was the restoration of economic and social values to the period before the liberalizing reforms of 1968 or Prague Spring), there was a school of poetry where young poets were taught to write in the spirit of socialist realism. I belonged to a group of three or four young poets, who had published some books in the early 1970s, and wanted nothing to do with this school. (By the way, this was the school of V. Mihálik.) We were writing pessimistic poems because that was our experience. Because of this, and also because I was a Jew, some people were against me.

  

In Slovakia, especially among the so-called intellectuals, there is still anti-Semitism and it has always been here. In the 1960s, when I was in high school, it was often unpleasant. Some of my classmates would mock, or even terrorize me. But, since the time that I was in university, I have no longer been afraid. Some times there are some drunkards among the poets at the writer’s club who say something to me about being a Jew or make general, unpleasant remarks about Jews and I tell them not to play with fire because one time their God will judge them.

I was present in the first hours of the Velvet Revolution when the coordinating committee of Verejnosť proti násiliu (Public Against Violence) was being formed. Half the people who were behind the revolution were not the right people because they used the possibilities to their own advantage. In my small village, near Bratislava, there was nothing happening. There weren't any changes. So after about one week, I went to the village doctor and I told her that we should create a coordinating committee in our village. So, we did it. We met every afternoon at 5:00 in a room at the National Committee (a bureau that was in every town and village). People would come with their propositions about what should be done in the village.  

As soon as the law was passed that the Communist Party no longer had the leading role in society, I proposed to remove a very ugly sculpture of Lenin, made out of a rusty wire, that was in the middle of the village. One man who was sitting in the corner, he was an agricultural engineer, said that this sculpture belongs to the agricultural cooperative. So, we wrote to the head of that cooperative to remove the sculpture immediately, because "the leading role of the Communistic Party" was not valid any more, and therefore Lenin had no place in our village. This was about 6:00 or 7:00 in the evening. People who were taking a bus at 5:00 the next morning saw that, instead of the sculpture, there was an empty space. That quiet man, who was our messenger, eventually became a Lord Mayor of our village and still is, even today. He belongs to the KDH, (Christian Democratic Party) and in our village, instead of Lenin, there are figures and sculptures of the saints. That was my small contribution to the revolution, because after a few weeks the doctor had to concentrate on ill people and I went as a Fulbright scholar to Los Angeles.

After the revolution I made some small changes to some of my poems. Where the verses had been edited and cut off, I added the verses back to the poems. And the poems where the meanings were hidden, I rewrote them a little to make the meaning clear. I published these poems last year in a book titled, “Secrets Wide Open”.  

The revolution opened the horizon, opened up the possibility to materialize new ideas and experiences. I went from poetry to writing drama. I wrote two plays about Franz Kafka. Before, probably, I would not have started this, because Kafka was an unwanted and unwelcome author in Czechoslovakia. Now, together with the other Slovak intellectuals, we (writers) are cosmopolitans. Maybe 80% of us belong to the world; the rest are wailing for the old times, or sharpening their little, nationalistic swords. This is what the revolution brought to us.