Shortly after I recorded his, I heard a review of an exhibit celebrating native sons of the Czech Republic who were very famous, but mainly outside of the country. These include Franz Kafka, Sigmund Freud, and Oskar Schindler of “Schindler’s List” fame. Of the many speculations about why this might be so, a journalist interviewed for the segment pointed out that part of the problem was that the Czech language has no word for “bohemian.”
Or rather, it has a definition but it may not be one many of us usually think about. Say “bohemian” and I immediately think of a person—usually but always a writer or artist or wannabes—and his/her followers who adopt manners and moral attitudes viewed as outside the societal norm for some reason. Back in the 1960s the words “hippy” and “bohemian” were often linked like, well, not peanut butter and jelly exactly because that was too mainstream. More like tofu and sprouts.
But if you lived in the Czech Republic, a Bohemian was a resident of Bohemia, a distinct region of the country. While I have no idea if the Czech language has a word for bohemian that might convey the same sentiment with which it’s imbued in other countries, I can appreciate the dilemma. Suppose someone in Canada or France describing me as a lower-case new englander. Even Spell-Check cringes at the thought of it. My mind would immediately attempt to figure out what characteristics of this area would distinguish me from other people. My love of maple syrup perhaps? My mud-caked boots every spring?
That would be tough enough to figure out. But if I was lumped with—forgive a fit of fantasy here—Van Gogh or Lady GaGa—by virtue of this label, it would become even more meaningless to me.
Or to put it another way, what ever the reality created by these words was supposed to be, it wouldn’t be real to me.
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