In the last peaceful year, 1938, a child was born in a good place, the late younger brother of László Nagy. Felsőiszkáz lies at the foot of the Somló mountain, on a plain, but close to the mountain that stirs the imagination. The family’s house was on the outskirts of the village, but the father was an ambitious man and a model farmer, also serving as the village judge. The family’s worldview already stretched far beyond Iszkáz’s borders. At this time, the traditional peasant culture was still alive here, but the transformation was already underway, a process that, in the lifetime of István Ágh (Nagy), would accelerate rapidly and, by the 1970s, almost erase the spiritual and material culture he had once experienced. His older brother’s example was especially significant. Not just as a grown man but as a young literary scholar who represented an ideal life model for both the young boy and the teenager. István Ágh closely observed and followed the changes in poetry that, in their pursuit of truth, confronted the schematicism of the 1950s. As a first-year philosophy student, he experienced the grandeur and tragedy of 1956 firsthand.
Szabad-e énekelni? (lit. Is it Free to Sing?) – he asked with the title of his first collection (1965), that is, is it free to stand out? And does the poet, and his song, even have a place? The collection provides an affirmative answer, marked by a nearly bucolic depiction of the homeland, nature, and youth, a theme that would soon become more subdued, already evident in his second collection Rézerdő (lit. Copper Forest, 1968). The young man began to sense the decay behind beauty, to realise the ruthlessness of time, as Új év (lit. New Year) opens the book:
“Majd eljön minden pontosan, mint ez az év,
ahogy a férfiak homlokához fölértem,
ahogy a nőkre megértem,
végülis ő lesz látható belőlem,
akit a kínok vágtak, összegyűrtek,
a lombhullató fákat örökzöldre bűvölő
ének mögött a veszendő ember arca.”
“Then everything will come precisely, as this year,
As I reached the foreheads of the men,
As I have come to understand women,
Eventually, he will be visible in me,
The one shaped by suffering, crushed,
Behind the song that enchants the leafless trees,
The face of the perishable human.”
The poet found his foundational question: the relationship between the evergreen, the song, and the perishable human. In Harangszó a tengerészért (lit. Tolling for the Sailor), his first major success, he summarised and closed the central question of his first phase. The sailor’s symbol represents all those who stand apart and, by doing so, acquire knowledge that makes the world no longer seem unequivocally clear in either their old or new environment. For them, identity and difference, familiarity and the feeling of foreignness intermingle at every level of existence, making them more sensitive to the nature, order, and quality of changes; thus, time perception becomes an inseparable element of their worldview. The foundation of polyphony is the confrontation with time.
Based on the tragic experiences of lived history, it became clear that, although time passes, true change is minimal, often announced only by human noise. The notion of progress, the global historical advance, becomes questionable, and even if accepted, it no longer remains the only determining criterion. It is revealed that humanity’s history is not driven by a purposeful goal toward a continuously advancing path, but rather by circularities and repetitions, even if the conditions and environment of human existence change, human nature and the nature of societies hardly do. If human will is not the sole driver and determinant of history, then it is not the only point of reference in the order of the world. The 20th century seemed to reveal that neither human nor divine principles provided satisfactory explanations for existence, either on its own or in relation to others. Thus, either nature’s principle provides the relatively solid point, or one concludes that existence has no single or multiple principle, and the whole of being is unordered and, ultimately, meaningless.
In István Ágh’s poetry, numerous experiential facts and conclusions that question the principle of human centrality led both instinct and consciousness toward nature’s principle. This offered a successful solution on a poetic level because, in this way, man can be viewed once again as a natural being, and the personality itself is revealed differently. The mortality of man appears not only in biological terms but also in the historical-philosophical, ontological, and ethical dimensions: in his frailty, perishability, and transience. The role of the poet as a prophet is therefore unimaginable within this worldview. The face of the perishable human is more suited to elegiac poetry, and the poet’s role is reintegrated into the order of other human roles. If man is not the privileged point in nature’s order, the role of the poet in society may not be so special, although it is considered unique, since, in his intention, the poet provides some form of world explanation. István Ágh does not inquire into the meaning of poetry or the potential role of the poet, for to him, existence has meaning, even if limited, because the mortal cannot become immortal, and thus his life goal, happiness, is also limited. Earthly order is imperfect, but an order nonetheless, which, in many ways, limits the personality, yet still provides room for movement:
“Legyen vizemnek íze, rezgesse vissza
kenyerembe a sót elvesztett anyakéz!
amíg belső növényzetem issza a teliholdból
a krumplihéjszagú, gyerekkori éjt,
amíg kiválasztódom egy személlyé
csodavárók közül szólni csodát, igazit,
szörnyeteget borzongva simogatni szelíddé,
elhitetni a hihetetlent, soselátott
tengert, akinek tengere nincs,
átcsempészni tilos határokon
ifjúba a mulandót, vénbe az ifjúságot,
s úgy teremni, hogy végemet tudom.”
“Let my water taste, let it return the salt
Lost from a mother’s hand in my bread!
While my inner vegetation drinks from the full moon
The potato-peel-scented night of my childhood,
While I’m chosen to be a person
Among the miracle seekers, to speak of a real miracle,
To tame a monster with trembling into gentleness,
To make the incredible believable, the never-seen
Sea, to whom the sea is absent,
To smuggle the fleeting through forbidden borders
Into youth, the youth into old age,
And thus grow, knowing my end.”
(Úgy teremni [lit. To Grow Like This])
This ars poetica, closing the umpteenth volume (Napló és tulipán [lit. Diary and Tulip], 1987), amplifies fuller voices of faith. It is organically linked to his early career and foreshadows the continuation. This poetry is a series of variations on the relationship between the personality and the world. The initial bucolic nature and idyllic character appear much less frequently in the later volumes, and more as an idealized image. Alongside the confessions breaking through the elegiac mood – like the quoted poem – the song form’s prominent role, the motif of singing, and its structural and formal realisation testify to this development. Singing is understood not only as an inner melody but also as a behavior that expresses its elemental experiences, joy, and sorrow. Singing always carries social significance: it connects to others. In both grief and joy, not only experiencing but also singing them requires the presence of others, the community. Songs ‘sing’, but they are directed much more to a single person, about a single person. The personality in them observes not so much its relationships but itself: its place in the natural order:
“Valami selymes állat
japánakác-sziromban
szaglássza cipőm orrán
az eltűnő időt
Morzsája hull a nyárnak
mintha lerázták volna
uzsonna után a tarka
asztalterítőt”
“Some silky animal
In a Japanese pagoda tree petal
Sniffs the disappearing time
On the tip of my shoe.
The crumbs fall from summer
As if the colorful
Tablecloth had been shaken off
After lunch.”
(A bánat vasárnapja [lit. Sunday of Grief])
The essential difference between the prophetic poet and the elegiac poet, such as István Ágh, does not lie in the former fighting for the salvation of humanity, while the latter probes the state of the individual. These two concerns are inseparable. The prophetic perspective considers being and the life principle as more important ethical values than life itself. It tends to focus more on humanity, often at the expense of the individual. In its ethics, it sharply distinguishes between good and evil, often viewing the individual through a romantic lens as either wholly good or wholly evil. The elegiac poet, on the other hand, considers life an irreplaceable value even if its ethical judgment is limited. Man is not only perishable but also fallible, meaning that he can be described as a complex mixture of both positive and negative traits.
The life path of the individual unfolds over time. After nature-based thinking altered perceptions of time, cyclical patterns became more dominant than a linear view of development. Every slice of time has some essential similarity: it refers to the same natural order. Thus, in many ways, the temporal slices of the individual’s existence are also identical: memory, the present, and the anticipated future, or, as an example, the young man, the adult, and the aging person all fit into a single, unifying order, where the earth’s crust embitters:
“Elegem volt a nyárból, ó, téli nyárimádat!
nyári, őszre furdaló vágyakozás!
éltem már annyi évet, hogy semmit ne kívánjak,
csak elviseljem, amit mai napom ád,
akár a földműves, mindent a maga idejében,
az égbolt évgyűrűs óralapjához mérten.
Lomb belsejében kísértő sárga szellem,
rebbegő szemem káprázata csak?
lobogó lepedő valami külön szélben
tán, amit mondana az a legfontosabb:
hogyan öli meg egymást napra nap,
s amit elkezdtem már be is fejeztem.”
“I’m tired of the summer, oh, winter’s summer adoration!
Summer, the longing that pricks for autumn!
I’ve lived so many years that I desire nothing,
Just to bear what today gives me,
Just like the farmer, everything in its own time,
Measured by the annual rings of the sky’s clock.
A yellow ghost haunting within the foliage,
Is it just the dazzlement of my fluttering eyes?
A fluttering sheet in some peculiar wind,
Perhaps what it would say is the most important:
How they kill each other day by day,
And what I have started, I have already finished.”
(Lomb belsejében kísértő sárga szellem [lit. A yellow ghost haunting in the foliage])
Correspondences and connections weave through this poetry. These can be temporal, intellectual, emotional, or visual, and the phrase keseredik a föld héja (lit. the earth’s crust embitters) is an example of all of them. The fundamental poetic experience lies in the relationship between temporality and timelessness. The former manifests elementarily in the duality of life and death, while the latter transcends death, existing in the ‘immortal’ nature and the principle of human life.
The interconnections and resulting polyphony also define the poetic characteristics of István Ágh’s work. His poems are genuine poetic creations; in addition to their lyricism, they also possess epic and dramatic elements. A strongly lyrical feature is the elemental elegiac tone, interwoven with motifs of song and singing. The epic nature emerges through the narrative of fate and its temporal dimensions, while the dramatic aspect lies at its core: the duality of life and death. This can manifest at both the individual and community levels. A poetic feature is the mixed structure, which blends linear and circular perspectives, aligning with the contrast and relationship between temporality and timelessness. Such pairs of opposites include objectivity and visionary quality, transparency and obscurity, and everydayness and sublimity.
The dominant nature-based perspective does not at all imply romantic escapism or detachment from society’s social history and present. István Ágh cannot be called a public poet in the ordinary journalistic sense of the term, but in its aesthetic meaning. In the 1956 revolution, he was also injured in front of the parliament. His entire oeuvre testifies that his wound is the same as the wound of the Hungarian people. These two pains merge into a single motif in the deep current of his poetry, which became clear in his Októberi fogadalom (lit. October Vow) collection (2006). This motif is not only about 1956 but symbolically addresses every hope and every defeat. It is about fate, both national and human. A poem written in 1989, A Parlamentnél (lit. At the Parliament), states it clearly:
“Mert egész hétköznapi életemmel,
ahogy cipőfűzőm kötöm a vérengzés
terén, cigarettára gyújtok,
eldobom az érvénytelen jegyet,
ő működik, ki akkor erre voltam
véletlenül és mégis sors szerint,
fiatal arcom láthatom ma is
oda-vissza a 2-es villamosban.”
Because with my whole everyday life,
As I tie my shoelaces on the field of bloodshed,
Light a cigarette,
Throw away the invalid ticket,
He works, the one who, by chance and fate,
I was at this place at that time,
I can still see my young face
Going back and forth on the No. 2 tram.
(A Parlamentnél [lit. At the Parliament])
For István Ágh, the naturalistic love for life is self-evident, and in this lyricism, human relationships occupy a central place. The personality is not an isolated value in itself; primarily, it does not live with humanity but with named others and smaller communities. The key concept in István Ágh’s worldview is love. The nurturing family, his father, mother, siblings, then his wife, children, friends, fellow poets, and with them, the time-defying journey that spans centuries, presents a life path in which, according to both personal and professional essence, he is a bearer of values: a guardian and a fulfiller. Family lyricism, love poems, and the evocation of classical poets are central motifs in his work, with such aesthetic and ethical validity that few can match it. Even in the face of death, the image of happiness remains.
Living within nature, contemplating in the world of personality and humanity, events are revealed not only on the level of vision. The network of facts and events is driven by imagination, and through them, the metaphysical conception of human existence shines through. At the end of life, death seems natural in his autumn-colored poetic period, but the question of the afterlife becomes increasingly prominent, naturally intertwining with the concept of God. Istenháza (lit. The House of God) is a magical poem, yet it does not answer, but rather asks:
“jó lenne, ha volna,
aki létünk igazolva
arra tudna megfelelni,
miért vagyunk így leosztva,
ha a végünk égi semmi,”
“It would be nice if there were
Someone who could confirm our existence
Who could answer,
Why are we assigned this way,
If our end is celestial nothing.”
(Istenháza [The House of God])
In the worldview expressed in his poems, connected with love and happiness, living in nature, experiencing the beauty of human relationships, and experiencing the wonder of art, István Ágh declares, while listening to music, that “the ethereal world / unfolded, which I no longer understand, only feel / the divine part of existence in the whole.” (Zene [lit. Music]). In the poignantly titled A képzelet emléke (lit. The Memory of Imagination), “the celebration of life”, the wonder of the autumn garden evokes the image of a childhood garden, and the past and present seamlessly align:
“Hogyan vehetném észre, milyen könnyű vagyok,
nem lehet az üdvözült lelket fölbecsülni,
nincsenek még szavak a kegyelmi állapotra,
most alakulnak a ködszerű eszméletben,
innen az elvadult gyümölcsös káoszából,
ahol minden magában való összefonódik,
s amit már elfeledtem, a létezés boldogságát
kifejezi helyettem paradicsomi nyelvén.”
“How could I notice how light I am,
The soul in bliss cannot be measured,
There are no words yet for the state of grace,
Now they form in the foggy consciousness,
From here, the wild orchard chaos,
Where everything intertwines in itself,
And what I have already forgotten, the happiness of existence
Is expressed in the paradisiacal language for me.”
(A képzelet emléke [The Memory of Imagination])
István Ágh’s prose and essay work is equal to his lyrical work. His prose volumes exhibit varied literary interests. The genres of his works include: sociography, confession, family history, short prose, novella, novel, narrative cycles, and essays. In the 1960s, the genre of literary sociography experienced a resurgence. It provided writers with work opportunities, but for István Ágh, it meant much more. He was analytically confronted with the radically changing world of his childhood, and by confronting the past and the present, he not only wrote about his family’s history but also about the history of the Hungarian people. His work, especially Dani uraságnak (lit. To Mr Dani) (1984) presents the current state of his homeland through Dániel Berzsenyi’s lens, while simultaneously showing Berzsenyi and his era. Meanwhile, the present also becomes layered: the recent past and the present overlap. The didactic storytelling for educational purposes, lyrical sociography, the diary-like quality, and poetic expression create an organic unity. These combined characteristics define most of his prose works, with the strongest expression in the lyrical-sociographical family history Kidöntött fáink suttogása (lit. Whispers of Our Fallen Trees, 2008), as well as in the autobiographical Egymás mellett (lit. Alongside, 1988) and Virágárok (lit. Flower Trench, 1996). It also applies to his novel Rókacsárda (lit. The Fox Inn, 1993), which is set in the tragic 1950s and 1960s and is about the homeland. And this period is also explored in the narrative cycle Árokból jön a törpe (lit. The Dwarf Comes from the Ditch, 1997), which, following Géza Gárdonyi’s example, could also be titled My Village. This is reinforced by a poetic feature. Every page of the main text in this work includes an excerpt from letters written by his mother to her son. István Ágh’s prose, moving away from sociography, is objective and autobiographical, experiential and fairy-tale-like, layering the real and the surreal.
The nine prose volumes published so far are complemented by three essay collections that contain studies and critiques. Writers generally tend to recognize only those endeavors similar to their own, but István Ágh, particularly when considering the generations before him, remains open to the values of almost everyone. In his writings, he does not avoid the natural personal element: he mentions shared childhood and youth experiences, common literary beginnings, friendships, and even debates. All these serve as authentic contributions to the social and historical experiences that define the given poet’s worldview. His critiques, book analyses, and essays are objective and professional, even with their affectionate tone. They speak beautifully about beauty. The culmination of all this is his essay trilogy Fénylő Parnasszus (lit. Shining Parnassus, 2008), which addresses the life’s work of Bálint Balassi, Mihály Csokonai Vitéz, and Endre Ady. For him, all three are significantly important. He calls the poetry of Endre Ady a ‘soul-universe’, and shares a similar view of his predecessors. These artists are less familiar to younger generations. Reading Ágh’s essays can help the younger generation relate to the works and personalities of these poets.
István Ágh is also a notable creator in children’s literature. His two fairy-tale novels and poems attest to this. Today, his poem Virágosat álmodtam (lit. Dreamed of Flowers) has become an indispensable classic for the youngest generation:
“Édesanyám,
virágosat álmodtam,
napraforgó-
virág voltam álmomban.
Édesanyám,
te meg fényes nap voltál,
napkeltétől
napnyugtáig ragyogtál.”
“Mother,
I dreamed of flowers,
I was a sunflower
In my dream.
Mother,
You were a shining sun,
Shining from sunrise
To sunset.”
István Ágh’s worldview as a poet and writer has resulted in a grand and contemporary lyricism and epic, which, within its scope, provides answers to several questions that sharpened at the turn of the millennium. His work is connected to Hungarian identity yet universal, traditional, and innovative, questioning development while remaining future-conscious. His achievements stand out as one of the most significant contributions to Hungarian literature at the turn of the millennium. A versatile creator, Ágh expresses in every one of his works that literature creates and conveys values for possible readers, that is, for all existing and future human beings. Thus, his works not only have a present but also a future.
[2013]