Simon Serfőző’s oeuvre to date ranks among the notable accomplishments of our most recent literature. His performance merits attention within his generation, and within that generation, the poetic group known as Hetek [‘The Seven’ – a circle of poets associated with the late 1960s–1970s].

He has worked in all three major literary genres, and beyond these, his journalistic pieces and reports constitute an essential part of the period’s chronicle. Among his foundational experiences are the fate of the Great Plain’s dispersed farmstead culture (tanyavilág), the pain he feels at the destruction of the farmsteads, and fidelity to his native soil. His poems, short stories, novels, and plays are alike in theme, and, aesthetically, they remain anchored in Hungarian literary tradition. According to a well-known – if at times simplifying – classification, this oeuvre belongs to populist literature [népi irodalom: a Hungarian current centred on rural society, social responsibility, and national self-definition]. The simplification is worth signalling, since in Serfőző’s verse-building we can also detect the influence of Lajos Kassák and the avant-garde. This is not to claim, of course, that our author’s oeuvre is avant-garde in character. His intellectual world and ideological orientation are more closely aligned with the line whose principal representatives include Zsigmond Móricz, István Sinka, Gyula Illyés, László Nagy, Ferenc Juhász, and Sándor Csoóri.

He belongs to those creators who emerge ‘from the depths’. He is a poet and writer who preserves, throughout, the strength of his forebears, takes their fate upon himself, and writes out of his own body the pain of seeking truth. He laments the tanyavilág, but when he must, he also laments the victims and heroes of the Don Bend [the catastrophic 1942–43 campaign of the Hungarian Second Army on the River Don] and other dreadful historical sites. In this latter register, his most important lyric work is Feledésből az emlékmű (lit. From Oblivion, the Memorial). Yet other periods of our history also engage him: for instance, in his drama Jövőlátó (lit. Seer of the Future), King Stephen’s great dilemma stands at the centre, while the later centuries appear in the play as a vision. Even so, we may say that the focal point of Simon Serfőző’s oeuvre to date is the social reality he himself has lived. He gives form to the characteristics, distortions and experiences of his age. He belongs among those ‘litigating’ intellectuals who probe the nation’s questions of fate. This marks his activity as a writer and poet, as an editor, and as a publisher, too.

Already at the outset of his lyric career, his lines testify to the close consonance between landscape and soul – as, among other examples, in the following passage from the poem Fölcsapódó szántók felől (lit. From the Upflung Ploughed Fields):

“a felhőket néztem, a vasútpartot,

ahol tavasszal pipacsok kergetőztek,

a tanyák, mint görnyedt öregemberek

hurcolkodtak a rögök közt,

és répát, krumplit mentünk bengészni

a szelektől fölcsapódó szántókra,

merre a szegénység és a könnyek

rögei sisteregtek az égen.”

(lit. “I watched the clouds, the railway verge,
where poppies chased one another in spring;
the farmsteads, like bent old men,
dragged themselves among the clods,
and we went gleaning carrots, potatoes
on the ploughed fields flung up by the winds,
where the clods of poverty and tears
hissed in the sky.”)

In the flowing movement of free verse, he conveys love for the homeland, the milieu of the tanya, the realm of poverty and tears. Here and elsewhere, very early on, he makes us feel the power of a fate that has been suffered through – and behind it, a deep humanity.

In the realm of poverty, human belonging – noble ties and mutual reliance – becomes especially precious. Here we may speak of the relationship between mother and child. Among Serfőző’s early works is one of the finest Hungarian poems about the mother: Félország, félvilág eltakar (lit. Half a Country, Half the World Conceals) – comparable in achievement to Sándor Csoóri’s Anyám fekete rózsa (lit. My Mother, a Black Rose) – is remarkable for its mystical power. It speaks of a time when the son has not yet even been born, and yet already determines his mother’s existence. With its intense imagery and its exact rendering of enduring emotions, it leaves deep traces in the reader:

“azóta se látsz,

félország,

félvilág eltakar,

vasba,

csillagba felöltöztem,

de sorsodat,

istenedet,

gúnyás szegénységed

az országban

én sikoltom,

halálodat is majd

én tanítom,

anyám, édesanyám…”

(lit. “since then you cannot see me,
half a country,
half a world conceals,
I have dressed myself in iron,
in stars,
but your fate,
your God,
your mocking poverty
in this country
I scream –
even your death one day
I shall teach,
mother, my dear mother…”)

A sense of being at home – the experience of ‘we are going home’ – characterises the whole lyric oeuvre, as does fidelity, which can be followed across every genre and mode. This is also true of his sociographic writings and reports, which follow the best traditions of that genre. He lays bare the everyday struggles and hardships of people living in society’s lowest rungs, always seeking the truth. And he did so during times (the 1960s and 1970s) when even speaking the truth encountered countless obstacles. Simon Serfőző went as far as the boundary of what could be said, and achieved significant successes on this literary and journalistic journey of ‘public concerns’.

His love poetry also develops in the early stages of his career. Here as well, he does not hold back: above all, the voice remains raw and sincere. Everyday events are lifted into poetry – without poses, with clarity. Elsewhere, he confesses and asks in a manner almost reminiscent of prayer: “Add meg a mindennapi szót, / amivel szólhatok szerelemről…” (lit. “Grant me the daily word / with which I can speak of love…” (Add meg [lit. Grant Me]). And there are moments when he speaks intimately of physical love: Mert elfogy (lit. Because It Runs Out). We see, then, that in his early lyric poetry, he already embraces many facets of existence. He reckons, too, with the possibility of displacement, though at this point the roots remain especially strong. He also articulates a will-to-act, whose consequences become clearly visible later.

The 1970s and 1980s mark a period of a mature career. The world of the third poetry collection, Ma és mindennap (lit. Today and Every Day), confirms as much. His circles increasingly widen; the horizon broadens. His small vignettes offer fine examples of artistic compression. At the same time, there are works in which dramatic tension is strongly perceptible. And since the word ‘dramatic’ has been mentioned, we may note that he also produced essential works in the dramatic genre during this period: Rémhírvivők (lit. Bearers of Ill Tidings) and Otthontalanok (lit. The Homeless) proved on stage as well that Serfőző the playwright, too, gave expression to the era’s contradictions. Yet the circles continue to widen, since the writings in the 1978 report volume Amíg élünk (lit. While We Live) also trace the burdens of those years.

Although establishing a hierarchy among modes and genres makes little sense, we might suggest that Serfőző, the poet, is arguably the most well-known figure in today’s Hungarian literary scene. His temperament, intellectual outlook, imaginative ability, and sensitivity contribute to this perception. In poems from the 1970s, we observe the same traits, and content-wise, these works also demonstrate an emotional connection with manual workers. To the reader, the consistent thematic focus may sometimes seem nearly monotonous. Nevertheless, we must remember that, despite certain undeniable limitations, the spiritual foundation of these writings is rooted in a very firm artistic and human stance at that time – and this remains true in later works as well.

A kind of reformulation of his poetic worldview appears in the vital cycle Otthonuk: e táj (lit. Our Home: This Landscape). Here, the form is often loose; he allows his thoughts freer rein. The title poem presents a tableau-like depiction of the homeland. The poet expands the image of the narrower home, and the elements build upon one another in mosaic fashion. Once again, the love of the native land finds voice, even if it cannot always, in depth, move beyond earlier motifs. Closely related thematically, however, is the poem Anyám (lit. My Mother). Its composition is extraordinarily consciously constructed, and entirely devoid of strain. Its tone is more restrained than that of many mother-poems, and precisely for that reason, it becomes exceptionally credible. Such powerful lines make it memorable: “Éjjel is tőlem alszol. / Égen-földön ott járok dörgő képek / fekete vasképében. / Angyalok ijednek el az égen.” (lit. “Even at night, you sleep from me. / In heaven and on earth I walk there in thundering images / in the black iron-image. / Angels are startled in the sky.”)

A broader observation also applies to Simon Serfőző’s entire body of work: in Hungarian poetry, one can always identify a potent line which, starting from the premise of inheritance and drawing ongoing strength from it, reflects reality – often through statements with a revolutionary tone, but in any case, through utterances that demonstrate social engagement. Undoubtedly, Serfőző’s work belongs to this tradition.

With values such as the 1980s poem From Oblivion, the Memorial. In this large-arched work, he speaks with pain about how several tragic events in Hungarian history were deliberately allowed to be forgotten by the people, including the memory of Hungarian soldiers who perished at the Don Bend. The poet contends against this forgetting, while other past moments line up alongside. With verse-lines that awaken conscience and remembrance, he fills a void that had been missing even from the world of ‘men of letters’ up to that point. These passages carry a force comparable to the laments for the tanyavilág elsewhere. Here, however, the circles are broader still, the examples more fate-like, more general.

And, as has already become clear, alongside the primary, universal issue, it is, above all, personal fate – the main line of biography – that plays a role in this oeuvre. By way of a brief detour, let us also speak of Serfőző the novelist. Two works stand out here: Gyerekidő (lit. Childhood Time) and Fészekhagyók (lit. Leaving the Nest). (His short stories also merit attention; they can be read in the volume Varjúleves (lit. Crow Soup).) The former novel – more precisely, a novel trilogy – was published in instalments in 1999 and then in 2002. Its subject is, naturally, the period indicated in the title, up to adulthood. He writes in a fluent, readable narrative style, authenticated by personal presence. The autobiographical character is clear, and thus we draw even nearer to the poet-writer’s roots. In Géza Vasy’s words, it is a “confession of origin”. Its informative value is not slight, for it introduces us to a reality that is now largely unfamiliar. Simon Serfőző presents the fate of the human being living in the farmstead world marked for destruction, and, with puritan, realist means, he exposes the historical era that produced the post-war period’s most unjust system. Alongside the lack of freedom and the manifestations of communist dictatorship, there is a finely lyrical solution at the end of the section titled Nyulak a hurokban (lit. Rabbits in the Snare), where the boy releases the likeable animals: at least they may be free… Later, one of the most beautiful passages of writing is the one in which the tractors appear and mercilessly plough up the farmstead’s land – and, moreover, block the residents’ exit as well. The reason for the punishment is that the father of the work’s protagonist is unwilling to obey the agitators’ command. And then, at the end of the story, nothing remains but that the boy must face new challenges and struggles. “Never have I felt such bitterness as then. My heart twisted within me,” we read.

There are also lyrical elements in this novel, though they do not overwhelm it. Then, of course, before it and after it, the lyric poet once again moves to the forefront. This is supported by many volumes, including, in the 2000s, Megfordult égtájak (lit. Reversed Compass Points) and A magunk szárnyán (lit. On Our Own Wing). This period is both proof of renewal and of continuity in Simon Serfőző’s lyric career. Here, as in other phases, we can observe the roughness of his voice, its forthrightness, its raw formulations. We may note here that, as one of those who gave voice to national questions of fate, he too was a spiritual forerunner of our newest world; as an intellectual struggling for systemic change it was natural for him, for example, to be present in the legendary tent at Lakitelek [the 1987 Lakitelek meeting: a pivotal gathering of Hungarian opposition intellectuals, often treated as a symbolic precursor to regime change]. Since then, of course, he has also had to acknowledge that – to quote the title of one of his works – the ‘dogcatcher time’ (sintér idő) has still not entirely passed.

Alongside preserving these aesthetic qualities, we can also detect a reflective and elegiac tone in his poems. In every era, the poet expresses his thoughts, addresses public issues, and simultaneously embarks on inward journeys into the deeper layers of the soul, reveals the more hidden aspects of the private sphere, and at times mourns departed fellow writers and relatives. His most poignant work is Sirató (Lament), written in memory of his father. It is a large-arched poem that embodies many of the principles of his lyrical style. Through it, he achieves a synthesis, exemplifying how the most personal domain becomes a matter of shared concern – an experience that the reader can also live through. At the same time, he also criticises the world that showed so little regard for his father.

“Hová az évek, apám?

Lábadból a járás hová tűnt?

Erődet ki vitte el,

amivel a százhektáros dombot

hátadra vetted?

Amivel Istent lebirkóztad,

hogy ne az ő,

a te akaratod legyen meg?”

(lit. “Where have the years gone, Father?
Where has the walking gone from your legs?
Who took away your strength,
with which you took the hundred-hectare hill
upon your back?
With which you wrestled God down
so that it would not be his,
but your will, that was done?”)

From this point, we reach transcendent hope – indicating that only through this can refuge and ultimate resolution be achieved for the human being.

It is also clear that, whether earlier or later, he speaks with intense concern about the human condition and a world that has lost hope – a world where poetry and literature plainly do not take centre stage. With completely materialised, dehumanised pseudo-thinking, a true poet can do nothing. Instead, he commemorates or laments László Kalász, István Bella, or Attila József. He notes with sadness that “they used to sleep in the street” is still true today. And, being exceptionally sensitive to the fate of the poor and vulnerable and feeling responsible for them, he approaches each such phenomenon with natural compassion. He names the pain to try to dissolve it – and this is among poetry’s most important tasks.

This kind of intense emotional tension – the passion that explores the deepest human relationships – often characterises Simon Serfőző’s poetic career so far, as well as his work in other genres.

[2013]