Dezső Kosztolányi
Dezső Kosztolányi was a famous Hungarian poet and prose-writer.
Kosztolányi was born in Szabadka (Subotica) in 1885, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but which now lies in northern Serbia. The city serves as a model for the fictional town of Sárszeg, in which he set his novel Skylark as well as The Golden Kite. Kosztolányi studied at the University of Budapest, where he met the poets Mihály Babits and Gyula Juhász, and then for a short time in Vienna before quitting and becoming a journalist--a profession he stayed with for the rest of his life. In 1908, he replaces the poet Endre Ady, who had left for Paris, as a reporter for a Budapest daily. In 1910, his first volume of poems The Complaints of a Poor Little Child brought nationwide success and marked the beginning of a prolific period in which he published a book nearly every year. In 1936, he died from cancer of the palate.
The literary journal Nyugat (Hungarian for "West"), which played an invaluable role in the revitalization of Hungarian literature, was founded in 1908 and Kosztolányi was an early contributor, part of what is often called the "first Nyugat generation", publishing mainly in poetry.
Starting in the 1920s he wrote novels, short stories, and short prose works, including Nero, the Bloody Poet (to the German edition of which Thomas Mann wrote the introduction), Skylark, The Golden Kite and Anna Édes. In 1924 he published a volume of verse harkening back to his early work, entitled The Complaints of the Sad Man.
Kosztolányi also produced literary translations in Hungarian, such as (from English, at least) Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet", "The Winter's Tale", Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland", Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey", Lord Alfred Douglas' memoirs on Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling's "If—". He was the first authentic translator of Rilke's poetry, and he worked a Hungarian masterpiece after Paul Valéry's "Cimetiere Marin".
“Ő nem értette az életet. Fogalma sem volt, mért született erre a világra.Úgy gondolkozott, hogy akinek részévé jutott ez az ismeretlen célú kaland, melynek vége a megsemmisülés, az minden felelősség alól föl van mentve s jogában áll, hogy azt tegye, amit akar, például végigfeküdhet a kocsiúton és minden ok nélkül elkezdhet jajgatni, anélkül, hogy különösebb megrovást érdemelne. De éppen mert az életet a maga egészében értelmetlenségnek tartotta, a kis részeit külön-külön mind megértette, minden embert kivétel nélkül, minden magasztos és aljas szempontot, minden elméletet s ezeket azonnal magáévá is tette. Ha valaki öt percig beszél neki okosan, hogy térjen át a mohamedán-hitre, ő áttér rá, föltéve, hogy megkímélik a cselekvés nyűgétől, a szaván fogják és nem adnak neki időt, hogy később mégis visszatáncoljon.Így élni a nagy esztelenségben a kisebb esztelenségek közepette, véleménye szerint nem is oly ostobaság, sőt talán a leghelyesebb, a legstílusosabb életmód.”
“I,' she began in her thoughts, as we all do when thinking of ourselves. But this I was her, something, someone whose life she really lived. She was this I, in body and soul, one with its very flesh, its memories, its past, present and future, all of which we seal into a single destiny each time we face ourselves and utter that tiny, unalterable word: 'I.”
“A drunkard never walks where he can fly.Only the sober believe that the inebriate stagger to and fro. In reality they float on invisible wings and arrive everywhere much earlier than expected.”
“He was no lover in a worldly sense; the only love he knew was that of divine understanding, of taking a whole life into its depths as if they were his own. From this, the greatest pain, the greatest happiness is born: the hope that we too will one day be understood, strangers will accept our words, our lives, as if they were their own.”
“At any rate, they were strange fellows, these bohemians. They lounged around doing nothing and told you they were working; they were frightfully miserable and yet would tell you that they were perfectly happy. They had more troubles than others but seemed to bear them better, as if they fed on suffering.”
“Her flesh was powdery and voluptuously weary, as if tenderized by all the different beds and arms in which she had lain. Her face was as soft as the pulpy flash of an overripe banana, her breasts like two tiny bunches of grapes. She exuded a certain seedy charm, a poetry of premature corruption and decay. She breathed the air as if it burned her palate, baking her small, hot, whorish mouth. It was as if she were sucking a sweet or slurping champagne.”
“When people go away they vanish, turn to nothing, stop being. They live only in memories, haunting the imagination.”
“El kellene készülni a halálra, mert oda se lehet készületlenül menni. Ő azonban úgy érezte, hogy aki a halálra elkészül, az az életre készül el, s csak az élhet, aki nyugodtan meg tudna halni.(Borotva)”
“Nagyon elcsodálkozott, hogy neve is van, és hogy épp így hívják, Kasornya Kálmán. Nem valami dallamos vezetéknév, de van benne valami szomorú muzsika. Alapjában az is furcsa, hogy néhány betű jelent egy egész embert.(Borotva)”
“Olyan író akarok lenni, aki a lét kapuin dörömböl, s a lehetetlent kísérli meg. Ami ezen alul van, azt lenézem - tessék megbocsátani szerénytelenségemért, hiszen még senki vagyok és semmi-, mégis lenézem, mélységesen megvetem.”