Miroslav Krleža: A Literary Giant in the Garden of History
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
July 7, 1893
On this day, dear readers and fellow garden enthusiasts, we commemorate the birth of a literary giant whose pen was as sharp as the thorns on a rose bush - the inimitable Miroslav Krleža.
Born in Zagreb, this Yugoslav and Croatian writer, poet, and cultural influencer would grow to become a towering figure in 20th-century literature, much like a mighty oak in a forest of saplings.
Known affectionately as Fritz, Krleža's roots ran deep in the complex soil of Balkan politics. He held the belief that Serbs and Croats were one people, divided by two national consciences - a notion as intricate as the most elaborate garden maze.
Today, a statue of Krleža stands proudly in Opatija, overlooking the famed Slatina Beach, much like a guardian topiary watching over its domain.
But it is Krleža's connection to the Croatian Botanical Garden in Zagreb that piques our horticultural interest.
Picture, if you will, a young Miroslav, pen in hand, seated amidst the verdant beauty of the garden during the tumultuous days of World War I.
The garden, a haven of tranquility bordering the city's railroad tracks, gradually blending into the wild grass and forests beyond - a perfect metaphor for the intersection of civilization and nature.
Yet, our dear Miroslav, ever the contrarian, found this botanical paradise lacking. He dismissed its beauty with a wave of his literary hand, describing it as a "boring second-rate cemetery."
Oh, how our gardener's hearts weep at such a pronouncement!
But perhaps we can forgive Krleža his horticultural heresy, for his pen yielded fruits far sweeter than any orchard could produce.
His 1938 work, On the Edge of Reason, blossomed into an instant classic, exploring the tangled vines of human nature, hypocrisy, conformism, and stupidity.
Krleža's life was as intertwined with history as a climbing rose on a trellis. He served in the same regiment as the future Yugoslavian communist dictator Tito during the war. Their friendship, which truly took root in 1937, was as unlikely as finding a desert cactus thriving in an English cottage garden.
Tito, recognizing the value of Krleža's unique perspective, once told him:
I know you're an old liberal and that you disagree with me on many things, but I wouldn't want to lose you.
How fascinating, dear readers, to see such a robust friendship bloom in the harsh climate of politics!
Yet, it is perhaps Krleža's observation on the natural world that resonates most deeply with us garden enthusiasts.
He once penned this thought-provoking line:
There is no justice even among flowers.
What a statement! It challenges us to look beyond the beauty of our gardens and consider the complex ecosystems at play.
Is the tallest sunflower more deserving of the sun's rays than the humble daisy at its feet?
As we tend to our gardens today, let us ponder Krleža's words.
Let us celebrate the diversity in our flowerbeds, the struggle for survival among our plants, and the beauty that emerges from this controlled chaos.
For in understanding the injustice among flowers, perhaps we can better appreciate the delicate balance we strike in our gardens and in our lives.
Happy birthday, Miroslav Krleža!
May your words continue to grow and flourish in the fertile minds of readers for generations to come!