Abstract
In Pilsen Snow, you can feel the crunch of dead snow under your feet, and smell the oats malt and hops drifting through the poems from the breweries in this old Chicago neighborhood. In the first poem in the collection, Kolin states, “the bitter air of winter smelled / like a drunkard’s breath” (1). With this line, we realize we are in a strange place, walking on words that take us back in time to a community of Czech immigrants. People who enriched the culture of Chicago by recreating the old world they brought with them on ships from their native Czechoslovakia.
In these poems, we meet Czechs who live half their day remembering the old world, and trying to preserve it, while at the same time adapting to the new world, in a poor neighborhood. Their greatest hope was to offer their children a better future. In this cold place, heroes are born and nurtured, and new meaning is given to the term, achieving the American dream. This collection of poems is a delicious blend of flavors, sights and sounds that will give the reader a sense of place, time and community, preserved in words and memories that will translocate the spirit via the power of poetic discourse.
Kolin uses a chronological approach to arrange the poems in the chapbook. The first section contains poems about the settling of Pilsen at the turn of the 20th century, “No place for anything green. / Here is where they looked for paradise.” (1), from “Eden in Pilsen.” In the first section of the book we encounter the elders, fresh from Czechoslovakia, determined to preserve the old ways. “They never left the old country / behind. They packed it into / suitcases: recipes, family / Bibles and the Czech language” (3). The desire to preserve Czech history is seen again in, “The Pilsen Saints.” “Their saints sailed with them— / Ludmila, Procopius, Vitus” (4). The Saints were a part of Czech life in Chicago: “Saint Ludmila martyred for her faith, Saint Procopius of Sázava, the hermit saint, and Saint Vitus, the patron saint of dancers. As with many cultural icons, the venerated saints were replaced by Mexican icons; as noted in the same poem, “Gaudalupanos did not pray the “Zadravas Maria”/ or hold Velarios—wakes—for the vanishing/ Czech saints” (5).
The poem “The Pilsen Saints” is also the beginning of a transition from the Czech culture to Latino. The theme is repeated in some of the other poems as warnings of changing times. From the poem “Wallpaper,” “No one living there now / understands Czech or cares” (26). And from “Czech Hieroglyphics,” “The sunlight no longer speaks / with a Slavic accent in Pilsen” (27). This short collection acts as an archaeological dig into a world covered by the indomitable force of change. Each poem is like a fine relic, giving us some insight into a world existing in the memory of those who once lived there, but slowly fading, as memory fades, and as the elders die out.
A prominent theme in the chapbook is one of identifying the important citizen who hailed from Pilsen, and those who served the community. The first one honored with a poem is Antonin J. Cermak, Chicago’s 35th mayor who spent time in the Pilsen neighborhood. This wonderful poem, “The Abe Lincoln of Pilsen,” portrays Cermak as a beloved leader of the oppressed. Kolin quotes from his emancipation declaration: I didn’t come over On the Mayflower but I came over as soon as I could. (6)
Another noted figure from Pilsen was Kim Novak, the famous film and television actor, best known today for her performance in Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller, Vertigo (1958), with James Stewart. The poem “Kim” gives the reader a glimpse into the honored position she held in the Pilsen community. “But your father still dispatches trains / for your fans to attend your latest hits” (22). The chapbook also speaks of unknown characters, who occupied the poet’s memory. This is evident in such poems as “The Cock that Spoke Czech.” “Once or twice a month / on late Saturday mornings/ an old, toothless black man” (12). This, and other poems about relatives, friends, and quaint characters from the area, add spice and realism to the vanishing world of Czechoslovakian Pilsen.
The poems in Pilsen Snow can be compared to the poems of Stuart Dybek, who spent much of his youth in Chicago’s Little Village and Pilsen. He also writes from the perspective of his youth. The long poem Autobiography recounts memorable scenes from his youth. He writes, “Our Lady of Sorrows, / the black virgin of Czestochowa, / was my girlfriend” and in his poem “Windy City” he writes, “The garments worn in flying dreams / were fashioned there.” In these poems, Dybek captures the same spirit of nostalgia and zeal for the cultural history of that era as Kolin in Pilsen Snow: “The statue of the Virgin Mary ahead of me/ looked like the image of her / printed on Prayer cards from / Our Lady of the Snows Shrine,” from “The Procession” (17). And this, from “Wallpaper,” “The old apartment buildings in Pilsen / spoke Czech for most of their life” (26).
In comparison to Kolin’s recent works, Pilsen Snow is a collection of poems focusing on place and the people who inhabited that space. His books, Benedict’s Daughter (2017), and Emmett Till in Different States (2015) both focused on people. Kolin is adapt at attacking subjects from a variety of angles, including a strict focus on the holy, as in his collections Deep Wonder (2000), and my favorite, Reading God’s Handwriting (2012). While Pilsen Snow is a series of poems of place, it is a place that receives its heritage from the church and a sacred relationship with the holy.
A chapbook does not loan itself to a comprehensive portrayal of a subject. Pilsen Snow gives the reader an introduction to a cultural heritage that existed in Chicago’s Lower West Side during the late 19th century. It is not intended to cover the history of that era but exists more as snapshots of bygone days. Because this is a period piece, one is confronted with an excess of unfamiliar words like houska, pivo and knedlicky, to name a few. There are times in reading the poems one wishes for a glossary on the last page. This does not detract from the fact that the poems are set in a period unfamiliar to those of us who do not have a Czech background. On the contrary, it is a reminder that this is an alien world to the reader, and most likely to the children and grandchildren of the original immigrants. Overall, the poems are very descriptive, which is a way of preserving that early period and bringing it briefly back to life, but there are moments when one wishes for less description and more poetic fantasies. In the illusions in the poem “Wallpaper,” the poet creates a magical semblance of a world peopled by memories and ghost. “The ghosts living there still howl / with laughter at the same cartoons / the Hlasatel ran years ago” (26). Or more lines like these from “When Pilsen Heard about Lidice” would have enriched the collection: They built monuments to the martyrs with sad arms and bronze faces to stave off the tears, but learned grief was irrevocable. (9)