Katalin Mezey was born in Budapest in 1943. Among her forebears were peasants, craftsmen, factory workers and members of the intelligentsia. As she recalled in an interview, the mentality forming the basis of her family life – the conviction that human and moral values outweighed material wealth – proved to be of lifelong significance and influence for her. Her character was deeply shaped by her parents and her maternal grandmother, who, in the years following the Second World War, worked with tireless determination to secure the family’s livelihood.
Mezey’s worldview was fundamentally defined by the family’s ethical outlook, its lived Christian faith, and its bitter twentieth-century historical experiences. Two of her grandparents came from beyond Hungary’s present-day borders: her maternal grandfather grew up in Szatmár [Județul Satu Mare, today part of Romania], while her paternal grandmother was born in Nádszeg [now Trstice, in the Mátyusföld region of present-day Slovakia, historically part of Upper Hungary or Felvidék]. The family’s recollections of the 1919 Budapest Commune [a short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic], their painful experiences during the Second World War, and what Mezey learned as a child about the nature of the so-called ‘proletarian dictatorship’ established after the turning point of 1949 [the year marking the consolidation of a Soviet-style one-party system in Hungary], including the forced collectivisation of agriculture (‘téeszesítés’), all became decisive elements in her historical consciousness.
She lived through the days of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution [a popular uprising against Soviet domination] as a young adolescent, and it was then that the experience of freedom, and of its crushing defeat, became a defining, lifelong memory for her.
Her poetic career began with the anthology Elérhetetlen föld (lit. Unattainable Soil, 1969), published by the group known as the “Kilencek” (“The Nine”), and with it she soon attracted the hostility not only of the ruling politocracy [the political elite of the socialist system] but also of the official arbiters of Hungary’s literary life. The nine young poets – among them János Oláh, József Utassy, István Kovács and Benedek Kiss – had selected and edited their debut collection themselves, thereby deliberately bypassing the all-powerful gatekeepers of the era’s paternalistic cultural policy. This act of self-determination caused as much of a stir as the poems’ fervent historical consciousness and passionate experience of freedom – the fact, as László Nagy [poet and literary mentor] wrote in the anthology’s preface, that they “bore within them the red and the mourning of revolutions cut down at the throat”. Nagy himself became an important supporter at the outset of Mezey’s career.
Her first individual volume, Amíg a buszra várunk (Waiting for the Bus), was published in 1970 by Magvető Publishing House. The poems in this collection range widely in form and tone: from song-like compositions (Fohász utoljára [lit. Final Prayer], Hidegebb lesz [lit. It Will Get Colder], Nagycsütörtök, nagypéntek [lit. Maundy Thursday, Good Friday]), through works characterised by vivid imagery, flexible handling of poetic forms and rhythmic patterns of thought (Színes kép [lit. Coloured Picture], Nyugtalan kikötő [lit. Restless Harbour], Kormos szél [lit. Sooty Wind], A hontalanság évszaka [lit. The Season of Homelessness], Ünnepeink [lit. Our Festivals]), to experiments influenced by the avant-garde tendencies of the 1960s, including absurdist approaches and concrete or visual poetry (Kifutópályák [lit. Runways], Vékony álom [lit. Thin Dream], Így készül [lit. How It’s Made], Waiting for the Bus).
Although a poem recalling the memory of the 1956 Revolution – Nem változol (lit. You Do Not Change, later retitled Október [lit. October]), which had still appeared in a university journal in 1963 – could not be included in the volume, poems such as Waiting for the Bus, Rendjeleink (lit. Our Decorations), and Runways articulate the sense of collective failure that characterised Hungarian society in the decade following the suppression of the uprising – the experience of being unable, and unwilling, to conform:
“Who can master / those who are stronger? // Who can master / those who hold power? // For the survivors, / even moral / victory matters. // I do not know / the laws of resistance. // But then – what do I know / at all?” (Runways)
The yearning to break free from greyness, the disenchantment and hopelessness of a youth stifled by the routine of everyday life, are expressed in numerous poems (Ismét az utaknak [lit. Once Again to the Roads], Mire jó? [lit. What Is It For?], Erőnk [lit. Our Strength], Miféle világ ez? [lit. What Kind of World Is This?], Vadrózsás domb [lit. Wild Rose Hill]). This emotional and intellectual core experience – one that shaped the poet’s view of all human relationships – is also reflected in the love poetry of the collection, where it relativises the notion of happiness and strips it of carefree joy, youthful lightness, and fulfilment (Visszatérő sorok [lit. Recurring Lines], Szerelmem [lit. My Love], Ismerj rám [lit. Recognise Me], Nyugtalan kikötő [lit. Restless Harbour]).
The collection was well received by critics, who particularly praised the early poems influenced by the work of Attila József, László Nagy and Sándor Weöres, while the visual poems and avant-garde pieces were appreciated to a lesser degree.
Despite the critical acclaim of her debut, the poet had to wait eight years before the publication of her second collection, and even in 1978 this was made possible only through the intercession of László Nagy. Anyagtanulmány (lit. Material Study), published by Szépirodalmi Publishing House, contains poems written by Mezey between 1968 and 1975. In its first three cycles the volume continues the avant-garde explorations seen in the closing poems of Waiting for the Bus, presenting a remarkable diversity of absurd and “found” poems, as well as numerous experiments in text and form. Even when addressing concrete topics, Mezey often employs highly abstract language (Vőlegény [lit. Bridegroom], Szerkezet [lit. Structure], Kút 1–2 [lit. Well 1–2], Fénykép [lit. Photograph], Elhatárolódás [lit. Dissociation], Beszéd [lit. Speech], Nemzetiségi kérdés [lit. The Nationalities Question], Kompozíció [lit. Composition], Ajánlott énekek [lit. Recommended Songs]).
A particular point of interest in the cycle entitled Material Study is the interplay between language as a tool and material as substance. The poem Eltávozott szavak (lit. Departed Words), dedicated to Győző Határ [Hungarian émigré writer and philosopher], belongs to this cycle and gives poetic voice to the profound sense of loss caused by those who emigrated after 1956: “Those who left took the words with them too… Nowhere can be found what we speak of – the sublimated heart – yet each of our words is essence. If I open the little vial, it escapes as it is spoken, and is no longer true. Words are dense, the world is thin, and the world is dense, the words are thin… I sound myself across the ages from a forlorn scrap of paper, and already there are two of us speaking the same language.”
The poems of the cycle Szárazföldi tél (lit. Continental Winter) are deeply marked by the images of her father’s illness and death: “in November / in a nightshirt / his body / reaches the pavement / door opens / (two uniform trousers / step / around his head)” (Vég [lit. End]). One of the volume’s central themes is this experience of loss (Áttűnés [lit. Transition], Képek [lit. Images], Napló [lit. Diary], Följegyzés [A Memo], Rekviem I–II. [lit. Requiem I–II.], Emlékvers [lit. Poem of Remembrance]), together with the pain born of a broken and now irretrievably closed relationship with her father (Hiányos tánc [lit. Incomplete Dance]).
In the cycle Választás (lit. Choice), the poetic language is often still highly coded, yet the central questions preoccupying the poet are clearly discernible. The monotony of everyday life (Két véletlen [lit. Two Coincidences], Reggel [Early Morning]) and its futile struggles (Küzdelem [lit. Struggle], Töredékek az „Ördög politikájá”-ból [lit. Fragments from “The Devil’s Politics”]) fill her with a deep pessimism (Kezdet és vég [lit. Beginning and End]). This sense of futility is reinforced by her bleak view of her professional prospects: “we grind and creak like stones in a mill, / like shells in a nut-grinder” (Jövő [lit. Future]), for in her view one can only reach anywhere with a “pre-paid ticket” (Eszme futtatás [lit. Running an Idea]). Her attitude towards politics is permeated by revulsion. She is deeply unsettled by the awareness of being watched by the system: “It will come to light about me / that I suffer / from persecution mania. / What will come to light / about them – / I tremble even / to imagine.” (Üldözési mánia [lit. Persecution Mania])
Given Hungary’s long historical tradition of being condemned to failure (A folyamszabályozó [lit. The River Regulator]), even survival itself seems uncertain to her under the prevailing circumstances (Fennmaradás [lit. Survival]). As someone responsible for caring for her family, she sees her personality, her time and her strength in a state of perpetual division. Her days are permeated by the anxiety of never having enough time, by the awareness of omissions, by the many oppressive threats inherent in social existence, and by the vulnerability of relationships of love (Naplótöredék [lit. Diary Fragment], Választás [lit. Choice], Türelmetlenség borít el [lit. Overcome by Impatience], Két egymást követő perc között a szakadék [lit. The Abyss Between Two Consecutive Minutes], Reggel a kertben [lit. Morning in the Garden], Mégis [lit. And Yet], Anteusz ébred [lit. Antaeus Awakes]). The multitude of demands placed upon her leads to both physical and emotional exhaustion: “I can no longer bear my burden, Lord. / Laden richly with other lives / I pray to you. // Stepchild / of money, fame, success, / my abilities lie scattered before you.” (Nem tudom vinni már [lit. I Can No Longer Bear It])
The motif of her father’s death runs throughout Katalin Mezey’s second volume. These texts are inspired not only by the pain of grief: for the poet, her father had been the measure of all things, his system of values had seeped into her thinking, and she identified deeply with him: “As long as I live, you live within me, / as long as I live. / Your round, stubborn head / and the stony, ailing vessels of your blood.” (Ameddig élek [lit. As Long As I Live])
Katalin Mezey’s first prose volume, Zöld vadon (lit. Green Wilderness), appeared in 1979. It contains a two-part short novel (Két kudarc [lit. Two Failures]) and a short story (Búcsú [lit. Farewell]). The former explores the theme of education and educability by following two parallel storylines: the everyday life of a primary school and the experiences of a young mother raising her first child. The protagonist of Búcsú is a young woman who begins working in a factory in the country. Removed from the protective cocoon of her family, she gradually becomes aware of the contours of her own personality, her vulnerability, and her responsibility for herself.
Her first collection of children’s stories, Csutkajutka meséi (lit. The Tales of Csutkajutka), was published in 1983 by Móra Publishing House. The humorous animal fables contained in the volume are reminiscent of the Aesopian tradition. Set in a rural environment, Csutkajutka’s stories recount the adventures of imaginative child protagonists. The book also features tales about the author’s own children and the family’s beloved animals, as well as a selection of her poems for children.
Mezey’s first – and to date only – full-length novel, Élőfilm (lit. Live Film), was published in 1984 by Szépirodalmi Publishing House. It transports the reader into the provincial Hungary of the 1970s. The protagonist is a 21-year-old young woman who, after finishing secondary school, begins working as a seamstress in a small-town workshop. The novel depicts the social backdrop of the socialist period, modelling a corrupt system. The protagonist searches for her place and for companionship while trying to break free from an environment that offers nothing but a future of monotonous routine. In her youth she is vulnerable to those who abuse their power; her life is marked by the disintegration of her family, she cannot become the master of her own fate, and as she drifts along she inevitably encounters life situations that run counter to her will and convictions.
Katalin Mezey’s third volume of poetry, Újra meg újra (Again and Again), was published in 1985 by Szépirodalmi Publishing House, accompanied by a laudatory blurb written by Sándor Weöres (poet and experimental stylist): “Even among the greatest poets, it is rare to find one so receptive to the small sensations of everyday life as Katalin Mezey. She has the gift of transforming daily experiences into poems, into poetry itself, in a way that makes us sigh: this is reality, this is authenticity and unadorned sincerity! She would probably be unable to do anything with thunderous, shattering, great events, but the city apartment, nature viewed from within, the family – these provide the poet with inexhaustible surprises. (…) With Mezey there is no abstract ‘humanity’: there are only the human beings who make up her environment, individually or in small groups, with all their pains and their few joys. And around these people hover the many discarded shirts, the unwashed plates, the beloved clutter gathered in the corners of rooms (…) – everything melts into this coexistence, which is all trembling vibration, but in its essence, is pure love.”
For this volume Mezey was awarded the Füst Milán Prize in 1985, which she received from Weöres himself. The collection represents a mature synthesis of her poetry, both formally and thematically. Her family poems – often with the vividness of domestic scenes – bear witness to the struggles and weary contentment of a person who both cares for her family and works for a living, all while continuing her creative life as an artist: “The beds are unmade. / My lair lies among hanging blankets. / I transplant Russian poems into my language. / I only do it to sustain my family. / It’s no secret.” (Nem titok [It’s No Secret, translated by Nicholas Kolumban]).
A series of self-ironic poems address this “small world” (Ha nem is úgy [lit. Even If Not So], Végletek [lit. Extremes], A lélek néha [lit. The Soul Sometimes], Zsoltár [lit. Psalm]). Among these are two experimental pieces in which she playfully compiles a humorous inventory of her life, as if feeding her personal data into the “artificial intelligence” of a computer (Mezey Katalin, a komputer első saját költeménye [The First Self-Generated Poem of the Computer Katalin Mezey]; Mezey Katalin, a komputer második saját költeménye [lit. The Second Self-Generated Poem of the Computer Katalin Mezey]). Poems about her father and mother evoke the absence of her father, who died young, and portray the personality of her mother, deeply rooted in nature and seemingly gifted with intuitive knowledge of the unknowable (Nézem [lit. I Watch], Again and Again, Anyám mindig tud valami újat [Mother Always Knows Something New], Salátamag [lit. Lettuce Seed]).
Another recurring theme in the poems of the volume is the relationship between the individual and society – the tension between the self and the “wider world.” Among these, particular attention is merited by her self-portrait poems, which also convey the suffocating atmosphere of a life deprived of freedom (Azonosítás [To Identify], Ruhák [lit. Clothes], Nagy kérdés [lit. The Great Question]). The sense of threat inherent to modern existence is intensified into a consciousness of vulnerability by the claustrophobic experience of a “strictly controlled” socialist society. Mezey evokes this either through depictions of everyday life or through expressive, visionary images: “For life did not vindicate me, / exiled from myself I live. / I breathe the air of worthless men, / and I shall rot before the grave…” (Honvágy Arany János után [lit. Homesickness, After János Arany]). She harbours no illusions: the world is, to her, an alien environment built upon human frailty rather than moral values or truth – a reality everyone experiences “on their own skin.” (Japánkakasunk halálára [In Homage of Our Deceased Japanese Rooster], Ne tépjétek szét [lit. Do Not Tear It Apart], Védtelen [lit. Defenceless], Úgy halok meg [lit. Thus I Shall Die], Egy régi témára [lit. On an Old Theme]).
She recognises that the development and potential of the individual are shaped – and at times tragically constrained – by the circumstances of the age, by ideologies that shape the course of history, and by the ruthless will to power that cloaks itself in those ideologies (Ha Krisztus még egy esztendőt megér [What Really Happened to Christ], Thus I Shall Die, Apokalipszis [lit. Apocalypse], Régi hibánk [lit. Our Old Mistake], Mentem [lit. I Was Going]). Mezey sees with pain the contingency of even the noblest human aims and values, and society’s cold indifference: “The world’s bright / apple in my hand, / its golden mirror / scratched not at all / by my broken tooth.” (Ki hitte volna? [lit. Who Would Have Thought?])
Her major philosophical poems of the mid-1980s wrestle with the attempt to resolve the contradiction between the finitude of material existence and the deeply rooted human longing for the absolute: “To be but a single link in the chain, / and yet – knowing, feeling – like God, / whose handprint alone is easy to find, / but all else seems to whisper: He does not exist.” She recognises that the eternal questions of ontology are an inevitable consequence of our condition as “thinking reeds” (a reference to Blaise Pascal): “Is there a crueller trap than consciousness? / Is there a wound deeper than that of being and not-being, / for which you would seek a better cure / than existence – the only thing that exists?” (Credo). The “enlightened” scientific approach, which stalls at the examination of material reality, fosters a kind of nevertheless mentality, whereby the intellect voluntarily relinquishes the attempt to seek answers to its unanswerable questions in metaphysical or spiritual reality (Attól félek [lit. I Am Afraid], Üdvözletek [lit. Greetings]).
As a possible path of escape, Mezey identifies those trails carved out by human goodness, love and fairness: “Perhaps the world was not / as Tömörkény depicted it, / yet it has survived / many fatal ills / through this gentle, heartfelt wilfulness.” (Lehet, nem olyan [lit. Perhaps Not So]).
Mezey also pays deeply moving tribute to her mentor and early supporter, László Nagy, in a poem that commemorates his death: “What now accuses us once only throbbed dully: we squandered the strength of the rock too soon. And illness blew him away, like a feather.” (Nagy László [lit. László Nagy]) These experiences lead her – at this point – only as far as posing questions about metaphysical existence: “O pestilence of the soul, awareness of decay. / Shall we ever find your cure?” (Ez marad [lit. This Remains])
In 1986, her novel Lyukak az osztálykönyvben (lit. Holes in the Class Register) was published by Móra Publishing House. Its protagonists are primary school girls. Using the incident of poor grades being erased from the class register as a starting point, the author explores the relationships between teacher and pupils, the dynamics within the class community, and the spheres of friendship, solidarity, and both child and adult responsibility from multiple angles and perspectives. The everyday life of the school is permeated by the inhuman, suspicious political atmosphere of the 1950s. Subtle character portraits bring the story vividly to life, whose underlying question is whether the family’s worldview and moral stance – opposed to the political system – can offer a solution to the child protagonist’s predicament.
Her novel Levelek haza (lit. Letters Home, 1989, 1990, 2017) unfolds the story of a teenage girl protagonist who fled abroad with her mother during the 1956 Revolution, told through a series of letters written to a friend – but never sent. Letter by letter, the narrative traces the family’s fate from the final years of the Second World War up to the summer of 1957. The series of tragedies that unfold are made bearable only by the family’s enduring sense of solidarity and their capacity for compassionate love. The mother, seeking a new life abroad, is nonetheless unable to undo the wounds and losses inflicted by the war and the political regime that followed it. Yet, even along a path constrained by circumstances, the protagonists ultimately find a way forward and achieve self-realisation. In 1990, Letters Home received the Év Gyermekkönyve-díj (Children’s Book of the Year Award, IBBY Prize).
In 1987, Katalin Mezey published her children’s novel Kivala Palkó Nemlehet-országban (lit. Palkó Kivala in the Land of Noway), which follows the adventures of a world-wandering journeyman, Palkó Kivala, and his loyal companion, Vaskályha (“Iron Stove”), as they travel through a land where war has extinguished almost all forms of life. Their journey culminates on the day when the Good King, who defeated the armoured soldiers responsible for the destruction, returns to his kingdom and rewards the long-suffering survivors – among them Palkó Kivala, Vaskályha, and their new companion, Anna, a spirited girl who has grown up amid hardship.
Her volume of selected and new poems, Szárazföldi tél (Continental Winter, 1991), was published by Széphalom Publishing House. The book includes three new poetic cycles, in which the central themes of Mezey’s poetry reappear. In poems born from the tension between the individual and the community, there is an audible tone of detachment. By juxtaposing images of past and present, the poet herself traces – much like a sequence of photographs capturing the phases of movement – the direction and characteristics of change (Járnék a házban [lit. I Would Walk Through the House], Azelőtt és most [lit. Before and Now], Fiatalasszony mondja [The Confessions of a Newly-Wed], Ahhoz [lit. To That], Sanzon [lit. Chanson], Sors jelentés [lit. Report of Fate], Hunyadi László [lit. László Hunyadi], A körön kívül [lit. Outside the Circle]). The individual’s relationship with the external world is defined by the indifference of the powerful towards life itself – and by the resulting sense of vulnerability and disorientation (Szentivánéji álom [lit. A Midsummer Night’s Dream], Vándor dalok [lit. Wanderer Songs]). Searching for the roots of this condition, Mezey also turns the gaze inward, making herself – as a representative of those defeated in social and historical conflicts – an object of examination: “…who suddenly realises / that it is his own future descending into the grave. / No longer an heir to the throne. Considered / a bastard instead. Improperly superfluous…” (Hamlet-változatok [lit. Hamlet Variations]). This introspection leads her to recognise the contradictions inherent in the self – contradictions born of fidelity to an internalised moral code and of the refusal to renounce oneself (Önvizsgálat [lit. Self-Examination], Kínai vers [lit. Chinese Poem]).
Her dramatic volume A két egyforma királyfi (lit. The Two Identical Princes, 1994), published by KÉZirat Kiadó (lit. MANUscript Publishing House), contains five plays. The absurd one-act piece Hely és idő játékai (lit. The Games of Place and Time), written in 1969, was first staged by amateur actors in 1970 and then performed in 1971 by the Universitas Együttes (Universitas Theatre Ensemble, a significant Hungarian university-based company; dir. Sándor Bodnár). In 2010–2011, it was revived to great success by the Transylvanian-Hungarian Kőrösi Csoma Sándor Student Theatre in Covasna (Romania), directed by János Molnár, and was also performed at several theatre festivals in Hungary.
The title play, The Two Identical Princes, is a two-part, lyrical-philosophical ‘slow play’ (‘lassújáték’ – a deliberately paced, meditative dramatic form) based on a Hungarian folktale of the same name. Her one-act play Család (lit. Family) was adapted as a radio drama and broadcast in 2001 by the Radio Theatre of Hungarian Radio (dir. Katalin Kőváry). Guiscardus és Gismunda (lit. Guiscardus and Gismunda), meanwhile, is a two-part verse drama based on a Renaissance ‘széphistória’ (a Hungarian prose adaptation of medieval chivalric tales) of the same title. The volume also includes a stage adaptation of Toldi, János Arany’s celebrated epic poem.
Among Mezey’s other dramatic works is A lángon ördög ül (lit. A Devil Sits on the Flame), a radio play about King János Szapolyai [r. 1526–1540], broadcast in 1996 (dir. Katalin Kőváry); the stage adaptation of Palkó Kivala in the Land of Noway, produced as a children’s play in 2002 (dir. Katalin Kőváry); and Az őrangyal csípése (lit. The Sting of the Guardian Angel), a radio play first broadcast in 2003 (dir. Mónika Bognár). In 2015, her short novel Ismernek téged (lit. They Know You) was also presented as a radio adaptation by the Radio Theatre. Her further dramatic works include Nemigen bujdosása (lit. The Wanderings of Not-Really, a two-act fairy-tale play, unpublished manuscript) and Sándor Petőfi: János vitéz (John the Valiant, a verse play adaptation of Sándor Petőfi’s classic poem, unpublished manuscript).
Katalin Mezey’s fifth volume of poetry, Párbeszéd (lit. Dialogue, 1991–2002), was published by Felsőmagyarország Publishing House. As literary critic Imre Weéry observed, in this collection “the childlike stands close to the playful, while also evoking the Christian meaning of the word – that state of Innocence in which the senses sleep. That Mezey’s Dialogue is a dialogue addressed to God, turned toward God, is convincingly demonstrated by the poems Párbeszéd (lit. Dialogue), Fohász (lit. Supplication), or Adj uram némaságot (lit. Grant Me Silence, Lord) at the opening of the volume, as well as by Uram, aki (lit. Lord, Who), Visszatérés (lit. Return), Az imádság fonala (lit. The Thread of Prayer), Ahogy fény-ezredéveket (lit. As Light-Millennia), Isten a pusztulásra gondol (lit. God Thinks of Destruction), or Az Isten, mint egy megunt feleség (lit. God Like a Forsaken Wife) near the end of the volume. From this dialogue resound such powerful lines as: ‘Like rusty knives, / God sharpens us / against one another.’ (Akár a rozsdás késeket [lit. Like Rusty Knives])”
A second key theme of the volume is once again historical time, now shaped by the political and economic transformation known in Hungary as the ‘rendszerváltozás’ (“system change”, the transition from socialism to democracy in 1989–1990) – the interplay of change and continuity that shook the entire Hungarian society (Dal a véletlenről [lit. Song of Chance], Helyzetdal [lit. Situation Song], A bukott ember [lit. The Fallen Man], Történet [lit. Story], Egy ember ül [lit. A Man Sits], Újra lejátszódik [lit. It Plays Out Again], Álarcos álarcos [lit. Disguised Disguised], Utazás [lit. Journey]). Every transformation, Mezey suggests, is also a moment of truth, when one must seek ways to continue life under new conditions. The uncertainty of the future generates tension, raising the stakes to an “all or nothing” question: “A great card debt, / that’s what this little country is. / Someone staked it / on a hand – and lost… / And so, diminished and poor, / we sit atop our bundles / and wait for the end, / the roll of the drums…” (1996). Historical time is at the same time our personal time, and time as transience claims an increasingly central place among Mezey’s lyrical concerns (Bizonytalan [lit. Uncertain], Két őszi strófa [lit. Two Autumn Stanzas], Aki most észrevétlenül [lit. The One Who Now Unnoticed], Jeleket vélhetnénk [lit. We Might Think There Are Signs], Negyven felé [lit. Approaching Forty], Koszta Rozália [lit. Rozália Koszta]).
The cycle Like Rusty Knives is the most affecting section of the volume. Everyday objects here act as “survivors,” conjuring the memory of Mezey’s long-deceased father (Emlékek ingei [lit. Shirts of Memory]). The bond with her mother – fraught with conflict – is re-evaluated through shared dependence, illness, death, and mourning. With a mixture of empathy and anguish, Mezey depicts the disintegration of body and, with it, of personality, as well as the state of grief that heralds the onset of a new phase of life (Játszunk anyámmal [lit. Playing with My Mother], Születésnapi labdarózsák [lit. Birthday Guelder Roses], Like Rusty Knives, Új este ez, mindenben új [lit. A New Evening, New in Everything], A gyászeset [lit. The Bereavement]).
A kidöntött kerítés (lit. The Fallen Fence, 2003), published by Széphalom Publishing House, is a cycle of short stories centred on childhood memories. Like much of Mezey’s work, this volume is an attempt to preserve, through writing, what has otherwise vanished without a trace by transporting it into a new temporal dimension. In these stories – told from a child’s perspective – fragmentary knowledge is counterbalanced by the imaginative power of childhood. The absurdities of the 1950s [the early period of the socialist regime in Hungary] thus sometimes take on a comic tone, while love lends a sense of intimacy even to situations of oppression and fear.
Holdének (lit. Moon Song, 2007), also published by Széphalom Publishing House, brings together Mezey’s poems for children. Both in theme and versification, these poems display remarkable diversity: from ballad-like, rhythmically structured pieces (Madarak repülése [lit. Flight of Birds], Hej, legények [lit. Hey, Lads], Áprilisban [lit. In April]), to sequences presenting aspects of the world (Járművek [lit. Vehicles]), to humorous or serious vignettes (Anyák napja az óvodában [lit. Mother’s Day in the Kindergarten], A Mindent Leejtő néni [lit. The Lady Who Drops Everything], Ó, a macska [lit. Oh, the Cat], Amikor én autózom [lit. When I Drive], Túl sok a lyukas zokni odaát [lit. Too Many Holey Socks Over There]). Playfulness of form, explorations of poetic expression, and the evocation of childhood as one of humanity’s archetypal conditions – imaginative yet vulnerable – all feature prominently in this beautifully illustrated volume (illustrations by Katalin Oláh and Mátyás László Oláh).
The poems Mezey wrote between 2002 and 2010 were collected in Bolygópályák (Planetary Orbits, 2010), also published by Széphalom Publishing House. Here, the poet arranges the key themes of her work into distinct thematic cycles. The section Uram, ha nem vezetnél (lit. Lord, If You Did Not Lead Me) gives voice to her faith, portraying the poet’s approach to God as one shaped by adversity: suffering is seen as a test of faith (9. stáció [lit. Ninth Station], Még mindig tervez [lit. Still Planning], Uram, aki [lit. Lord, Who]). Critic Ferenc Simon writes of the title poem: “It is an excellent example of how theological and aesthetic expectations can be met simultaneously and at a high level:
‘Lord, if you did not lead me / always onto thorny roads, / I would scarcely recognise / your handprint in my fate. /Lord, if you did not lead me, / I would have no one / to answer my struggling, / feverish soul.’” (Eső, Vol. VII, No. 4, Winter 2004). The poem Örökre rab (lit. Forever a Prisoner), meanwhile, appears as a continuation of her earlier piece God Thinks of Destruction), listing humanity’s illusions in its relationship with Satan.
The cycles Nem szerep (lit. Not a Role) and Férfi és nő (lit. Man and Woman) in Planetary Orbits are devoted to poems exploring human relationships. Here, poetry is not a means of self-exposure but rather a way of naming, presenting, and processing phenomena. One of Mezey’s recurrent concerns is fidelity. Various asymmetries of the male–female relationship are often depicted with humour: “They all expect you to praise, enchant, and court them, / they want to believe it’s truly meant for them. / Hypnotise them – they almost demand it, / and lie, lie, lie to them – forever…” (Terített asztal [lit. Laid Table]). She characterises those who exploit human tenderness in a series of ironic monologues: “Let them believe it – until death, / until they close their eyes – / that my love is theirs, each one. // From my painful fidelity, / from the magnetism of my gaze, / from my tormented expression, / from my furrowed brow – / read it! From my silences, / from my bitten-off words / believe, moved to the core: / I am yours alone.” (A fogoly Hermész [lit. Hermes the Prisoner]) “She nestles, clings, caresses, promises, / cries, begs, blackmails, and threatens – / yet still does what you wish, / you easily wind her around your finger…” (Kettős bordícséret [lit. Double Praise of the Wine]) The imperfection of love, the drama of human vulnerability, is expressed with particular poignancy in poems that evoke the state of finality: “How much I had to love, / to be barked at: ‘Get out!’ / How much I had to cry / for my tears to be laughed at…” (Öregasszony mondja – An Old Woman Speaks).
The cycle Október hazalátogat (lit. October Comes Home) deals with the distorted reflections produced by the interaction of history and the individual, history and the human community, the nation – especially in the wake of cataclysmic events. Here we find poems of tragic tone but searing satire: “Freedom, drunk with itself, is dangerous – most of all when it seeks no mercy. / The mob of the spirit is dangerous, it would write history itself. // But the spirit does not return to the grave – it soars free, nothing can bind it. / Once the body’s lock bursts open, it can never again be made a slave…” (Október hazalátogat – October Comes Home). This section gathers some of Mezey’s most important poems on social and historical subjects, including Európai megfigyelő (lit. European Observer), Népdal (lit. Folk Song), Ne hívd vendégül (lit. Do Not Invite), Lelki gyakorlat (lit. Spiritual Exercise), Boldog (lit. Happy), and Előbb ízleltelek (lit. First I Tasted You).
As critic István Kemsei observes in his analysis of Planetary Orbits (Az eszköztelenség eszközei [lit. The Tools of Tool-lessness], Győri Műhely, 2010): “The Mezey poem discovers and connects the most distant points within the semantic field of words. Through this act, it produces a delayed effect and extends the time of reception. This is why the longer poems are so vivid and visually evocative: Elmentek szánkózni (lit. They Went Sledging), A város (lit. The City), Születésnap, ötvenes évek (lit. Birthday in the Fifties), Double Praise of the Wine, Álomversek (lit. Dream Poems), Hermes the Prisoner, Látja Isten (lit. God Sees), Hívtál, hiába nem hallottalak (lit. You Called, in Vain I Did Not Hear You), October Comes Home, Berekfürdői gyászdalok (lit. Berekfürdő Laments), and my personal favourite from the volume, Az arpinói rozmaring (lit. The Rosemary of Arpinum).
Beyond the methods it employs, however, Mezey’s poetry is above all incomparably tender – one might even say maternal. It is protective, embracing in nature, not the poetry of trivialities meant to inflate the ego, nor a kind of ‘lace-making’ that substitutes busywork for life’s essence, but rather the practice of a natural gesture: the acceptance of existence in its entirety.”
In 2014, Ismernek téged (lit. They Know You), Katalin Mezey’s new prose volume, was published by Magyar Napló Publishing House. The book comprises two short novels – an expanded version of The Fallen Fence and They Know You – along with several additional short stories. The world of the 1940s and 1950s, narrated through a child’s voice, is followed by stories centred on the events of the 1956 Revolution, and then by a novella set in the 1960s that reflects the lingering, tragic aftershocks of the uprising. The protagonist of They Know You is a young woman whose eyes are gradually opened to the true patterns underlying familiar stories. As she experiences her first disappointments, the naïveté of youth is slowly called into question by a past that remains ever-present and continues to shape the present.
In 2016, Mezey’s collected and new poems were published under the title Ajánlott énekek (lit. Recommended Songs), a 520-page volume issued by Magyar Napló Publishing House. The book encompasses the material of all her previous poetry collections discussed above. Its final section, Tedd jóvá (lit. Make It Right), presents poems written between 2010 and 2016. The theme of mortality – intensified, no doubt, by the serious illness of her husband, János Oláh (poet and editor) – takes on an increasingly prominent role in this cycle (Megszületni [lit. To Be Born], A rajz születése [lit. The Birth of the Drawing], Akinek álom [lit. To Whom It Is a Dream], Év zárul, év nyílik [lit. A Year Ends, a Year Opens], Takács Gyula [lit. Gyula Takács], Megbocsátatlan emlékek [lit. Unforgiven Memories]). Reflecting on her relationship with the younger generations, Mezey writes: “We sense the depth of time, / like a sounding lead we sink into it, / or like an anchor fixing a buoy, / we warn of the reefs.” (Zátonyok [lit. Reefs]).
Yet she is also able to perceive the miracle of life through its smallest details (Egy tányér cseresznyével [lit. With a Plate of Cherries]), and, as a counterpoint to human frailty, she discovers her heroes – those who, with fidelity and unwavering resolve, devoted their lives to their nation, their ideals, and their faith (Mikes Kelemen úton a vezérlő fejedelem szívével Grosbois-ba [lit. Kelemen Mikes on the Road to Grosbois with the Heart of the Exiled Prince], Ami felvitte a hegyre [lit. What Took Him to the Mountain], Megérkezés [lit. Arrival], Viszontlátás [lit. Reunion]). Standing at the threshold between life and death, being and non-being, Mezey writes – in a tone reminiscent of the Book of Revelation – a visionary poem of profound faith about God’s manifestation and timeless presence (Ómega és alfa [lit. Omega and Alpha]).
It is as if she were summing up the balance of her life with these lines: “My life – / as if / it were a sacrifice – / I have offered. / I asked / no mercy, / and none was granted. // A spark / cannot bridge / a vast distance. / It will not leap / across / too far-flung poles. // The sky above me / is starry, / distant, clear. / Even if I never / look up, / I live beneath it.” (Az életemet [lit. My Life]).
Katalin Mezey also works as a literary translator from English, German and Russian, focusing primarily on poetry and children’s literature. Among the poets whose work she has translated into Hungarian are the Americans Robert Bly, Nicholas Kolumban, Denise Levertov and Robert Lowell, as well as German-language poets such as Gottfried Benn, Paul Celan and Reiner Kunze. From the Russian poetry of the early twentieth century, she has translated works by Osip Mandelstam, Maximilian Voloshin, Andrei Bely and others.
She was one of the initiators of the Írók Szakszervezete (Hungarian Writers’ Union), founded in 1987, which in 1989 established its own publishing house, Széphalom Publishing House. Mezey has been its director from the beginning (with only brief interruptions). Over the decades she has edited and prepared for publication hundreds of literary volumes. Among these, the complete editions of the works of Anna Jókai (novelist and essayist), Nándor Várkonyi (writer, intellectual and cultural historian) and Sándor Karácsony (philosopher and educator) are of particular significance.
Her work on the 7,000-page manuscript legacy of Nándor Várkonyi – a writer, intellectual historian and cultural historian silenced by the regime from the 1950s onwards – has been especially important: through her editorial preparation and publication of these texts, the complete oeuvre of a hitherto largely undiscovered genius of Hungarian intellectual history has been made accessible to both scholars and the wider reading public.
[2017]