Gábor Nagy is one of the most versatile artists of his generation: poet, prose writer, critic, literary historian, and teacher. In each of these fields, he ranks among the best of his contemporaries, but in terms of his artistic temperament, he is primarily a poet. Therefore, we must speak first and foremost about his poetry.
The Poet
Gábor Nagy did not shape himself into a poet through sweat and toil; he was born a poet. Poetic speech is his mother tongue, and he claims to have mastered prosody before grammar. Children's magazines published his poems, primarily Kincskereső (Treasure Seeker). He owed to the Szeged journal not only his early publicity, but also his friendship with the poet István Baka. Baka guided his career with fatherly love, taught him the tricks of the trade, and set an example of intellectual poise. Baka did not live to see the publication of Gábor Nagy's first book of poems, Farkasverem (Wolf Pit) (1996), but his influence is palpable in the volume. And not merely in the way that the opening poem, preceding the cycles (Elkésett levél (Late Letter)), evokes his figure. Baka is generally regarded as an innovator of Hungarian role-playing lyric poetry, and in this, Gábor Nagy is a worthy follower of his master. In Farkasverem, role-playing lyric poetry dominates. The poet dons various masks, slips into the skin of various characters, and speaks through their mouths. These characters are not real people, but have come to the pages of Farkasverem from books, primarily from the works of Latin American writers: Mario and Julia from Vargas Llosa’s Aunt Julia and the scriptwriter; Ursula Iguarán from Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude; and the Patriarch, Manuela Sánchez, and Leticia Nazareno from The Autumn of the Patriarch. The poem Macsigenga ima (Machiguenga Prayer) was also inspired by a Vargas Llosa work, The Storyteller. Farkasverem is a veritable South American cultural mini-dictionary, revealed not only by the volume's cycle titles – Mario szerelme (Mario's Love), Üzenet Macondóból (Message from Macondo) – but much more by the exotic “articles”: the tamarind tree, the malanga, Tasurinchi, etc.. It should be noted that the title has nothing to do with Albert Wass's novel of the same name, but is the invention of the poet, who calls himself a wolf cub. (Is it a coincidence that István Baka also has a “wolf” volume, Farkasok órája (Hour of Wolves)?).
Further sources of inspiration for Gábor Nagy's poetry are Greek culture (Akropolisz) and the myths of the Bible, manifested by the first human couple and the Angel Gabriel. However, mentions of the Bible should not mislead us, as there are no religious poems in the volume. Gábor Nagy steps out of his roles and becomes personal and direct mainly when he writes love poems: sensual, emotional lyricism constitutes the other major theme of the volume. In his first volume, Gábor Nagy already proved himself to be an excellent master of form; during the postmodern exuberance, he spoke in classical verse forms, mainly sonnets. (By his own admission, he read the monumental prosody book by Szepes-Szerdahelyi as others read novels.) Confident craftsmanship and the myriad reading experiences left their mark on his first volume: among the many brilliant, astonishing, original images and metaphors, an occasional affectation slips in: “your dream ignites into buds”, “star-sweating evening is crocheted”. He makes only one concession to the passions of the age, or one might say to fashion: now and then the “compulsory” obscenity slips from his pen.
Gábor Nagy's second volume, the 1999 Lélekvesztő (Desolation of the Soul), is an organic continuation of Farkasverem on a higher artistic level. The characters we meet in the first volume – Aunt Julia, Mario, Angel Gabriel – reappear on the pages of Lélekvesztő; a cycle title is reused as a poem title, and the poem Julia néni lázbeszéde és a fekete hó hull fekete (Aunt Julia's Delirium and Black Snow Falls Black) – under a new title and dedicated to István Baka – was transferred in its entirety to the second volume. Gábor Nagy continues the role-playing lyricism by involving new characters of South American origin – he adopts the scriptwriter from Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter and Pantaleón Pantoja from another Vargas Llosa novel, Captain Pantoja and the Special Service – and once again proves his mastery of every trick of the poetic trade. He experiments with the sestina, a favourite in medieval Provençal poetry, but rare in Hungarian literature. The sestina (“six”) is a verse structure consisting of six stanzas of six rhymeless lines each, closed by a three-line appendix, the so-called commiato or tornado, making a total of 39 lines. The essence of the refined structure is that the end-words of the first stanza are repeated in a strict order in the following stanzas. However, Gábor Nagy is not content with the already overly refined structure but expands the 39 lines into a structure consisting of 39 poems, and then – and this is typical of Gábor Nagy in general – he “damages”, or in this case scrambles the carefully established order. Thus, astonishingly, the poem Júdás imája (Judas's Prayer) is followed by Nagyapám diófája (My Grandfather's Walnut Tree). He flouts the prescriptions of poetic textbooks, according to which the lines of a sestina must be rhymeless: he lavishly decorates his poems with “barbaric jewellery” (Goethe), rhyme. He mostly prefers cross rhyme.
It is likely unprecedented for a book to have two tables of contents, and even more unprecedented for the two not to be identical. One follows the actual sequence of poems page by page, while the other restores the order of the poems separated by the sestina structure. Moreover, in the sestina's table of contents, chapter titles have been placed before the six cycles, whereas in the other, they are marked only by numbers. (The poet's mysterious portrait on the back cover, which recalls Giorgione's portrait in the Szépművészeti Múzeum (Museum of Fine Arts) in Budapest, also evokes the Middle Ages.)
In Lélekvesztő, the Latin American cultural dictionary was further expanded with such “entries” – bufeo, cocobolo, viborachado – that the poet did not dare leave the reader to be lost in a jungle of exoticisms, and placed footnote-crutches in their hands. Although János Arany also used this occasionally, it is still a rarity in poetry collections!
Lélekvesztő is primarily a book of lush erotica and carnal love, as foreshadowed by Modigliani's sparklingly sensual Reclining Nude on the front cover, and we could safely choose a line from Mario rapszódiája (Mario's Rhapsody) as its motto: “eternity / exists only in the stupefied moments / when the little girl chewing her fist / hiccoughs in little screams”. However, the voice of intimate love also makes an appearance in the volume, perhaps most beautifully in the poem Napszakok (Times of Day). The Greek theme also lives on in Lélekvesztő, but much more emphatic are the poems evoking the poet's childhood and the figure of his grandfather.
In this volume too, Gábor Nagy writes in classical verse forms, but – as in the case of the sestina – he simultaneously breaks the form, with his fondness for “damaging” classical forms. Often, he consciously omits punctuation marks, and consequently, one sometimes has to search for the beginning and end of a poetic sentence or thought, which also means the lines can be segmented and interpreted in multiple ways. He uses enjambement frequently, at times recklessly. It happens that he separates the linking sound “e” from the word and carries it over to a new verse line, or even a new stanza. This implies that although he is an artistic, playful poet (poeta ludens), his poems are not light reading. Reading is made difficult by his use of rare or even self-coined words: eléjszakátlanodtam (I became nightless), otthonabb (more at home – taken from Baka), “Can the zakatak (clatter) still hear the music”, etc.. He creates the words hozzámiglan (until-me), hozzádiglan (until-you) on the pattern of holtomiglan-holtodiglan (until death do us part).
Previously, he mainly wrote poems about moods and feelings, but in Lélekvesztő, philosophical poems also appear. He rephrases the saying “to cast pearls before swine” remarkably aptly: “I painted a rainbow for the blind!”.
With Lélekvesztő, the era of role-playing lyricism in Gábor Nagy's poetry concluded, and in his volume Átok, balzsam (Curse, Balm), published in 2003, he presented a completely new side of himself. He no longer plays hide-and-seek; without masks or disguises, he reveals and accepts himself laid bare. Even his political views! If his first two volumes were of the private sphere, primarily love, in the third, community and public life issues also play a role. Átok, balzsam is a unique lyrical diary. Unique because it is in verse, and because, unlike a prose diary, thematic rather than chronological order prevails here. He dedicates the volume's first poem, thus placed in an emphatic position (Képeslap, odaátra (Postcard, to the Other Side)), to István Baka, just as in Farkasverem. Thus, he commemorates Baka in all three of his volumes. His attraction to Greek culture remains but becomes more natural because the fictitious figures of Greek mythology – Sisyphus, Ampelos, Semele, etc. – are replaced by ordinary, flesh-and-blood Greek little people whom he met in Pefki, a village on the island of Evia. The Greek cycle shows a powerful change in another respect: a shift towards prose. Some of his “Greek” poems – for example, Olajfák (Olive Trees), in which he expertly describes the process of making olive oil – are closer to prose than to verse. He identifies with the Greek world to such an extent that he indicates the title, place, and time of origin of the prose poems written in Pefki in Greek language and Greek letters. Another obvious reason for using Greek letters is that the external, visual appearance of the poem is important to him.
The love poems have also changed dramatically. The erotic tone has been replaced by the serious voice of a mature man who has arrived in port, found a home, and appreciates the warmth of the family hearth and the intimacy of conjugal love. He feels the insufficiency of the word, and his desire is to: “somehow to say without words: I love you”. The importance of family ties is reported in the children's poems and the poem dedicated to the memory of his grandfather.
One of the great novelties – and gains – of the volume is that Gábor Nagy stepped out of the narrow private and family sphere and turned his attention to the wider community, the homeland, and to fateful questions for Hungarians, writing what are probably the highest quality political-philosophical, patriotic poems of the post-regime change period. In Magyar nóta (Hungarian Song), he reacts to daily political events, for example, the infamous statement reviling the Holy Right as a carcass, in such a way that aesthetic value is not endangered for even a moment. With great sense, he lifts the poetic bullseye “the centre of the target is the cockade” from István Baka into his own poem. Budapesti triptichon (Budapest Triptych) points out the present-day perversities of the triple slogan of the Great French Revolution – liberty, equality, fraternity – which has ossified into taboo, and updates them with bitter irony, also using quotes from Attila József and Miklós Radnóti. Into Új prédikátor-ének (New Preacher's Song), he excellently inserts the line from the Szózat (Appeal), which Baka adjusted to the challenges of our age: “Here you must not die, here you must survive”. Intelem maradékainknak (Admonition to Our Remnants) is a bitter accusation against Hungarians broken in their values and morals, while Ördögszikla (Devil's Rock), with moods evoking childhood, pledges faith to his homeland: “– always a new marauder of this land comes / who plunders our pantries / ravishes our fields; – and in spite of everything / the hundred-times destroyed / homeland builds within us like the inverted castle of Déva / like a child's secret dream…”.
In this Gábor Nagy volume, poems interrogating existential questions and marvelling at the mystery of existence also make an appearance. Seeing weed sprouting on the rooftop, he marvels at the tenacity of life, at the Ady-esque miracle of how “Life lives and wants to live”. The other great novelty of Átok, balzsam is the volume's last, mysterious Eleve (Predestined) cycle, and its highlighted, volume-closing poem titled Eleve. This word appeared already in Farkasverem – “Is it an exemption from sin that God created it predestined?” – and both there and in Átok, balzsam, it is the call-word of religious feeling, of God. As if it were taboo, he does not name God, but undoubtedly, he quarrels with Him amidst his struggles interrogating the meaning of existence. Existential questions agitate him, and paraphrasing a line by Attila József, he finds resolution thus: “Because man, even if great, is nothing yet, / creates his death in his existence, / until this terrible nothingness confesses / its predestined divine nature”. For Gábor Nagy, a new world is revealing itself: the world of transcendence, metaphysics, religion. He has taken the first and most important step, he is past denial – “today I know this much: You are” – but he has not yet reached institutionalised religion.
The Prose Writer
In Átok, balzsam, Gábor Nagy's most mature poetry volume, the poet's voice simplified and at the same time became more philosophical, and his approach towards prose was observable. Indeed, he continued on this path, debuting as a prose writer in 2008 with his novella Álmatlanok és álmodozók (The Sleepless and the Dreamers). He tells two stories: one, the embedded story, takes place in the Kádár regime in a Hungarian provincial town, where leading party functionaries suffer from pathological insomnia, and near whose residences an unknown perpetrator hangs animal carcasses. Investigating the mysterious crime and the cause of insomnia, we gain insight into the stale, corrupt, depraved, and inhumane petty-bourgeois everyday life of the socialist system. The town doctor states that the insomnia is triggered by psychological factors, and “can only last for this long if you, comrades, are unconscious, and in fact, constantly asleep”. The other plotline takes place in the present day, telling the story of the persecution and self-discovery of a secondary school painter-sculptor art teacher, with the writer creating a connection between the two stories. The authority forces the painter to run the gauntlet because he made a Turul statue, and thereby because his art connects to national traditions. The diagnosis of Gábor Nagy's novel character is alarming and precise: “they played revolution and regime change for us in such a way that they permanently replaced us – that is, the nation”. The painter and his friends realise that the socialism of the past and today's liberalism spring from the same root, driving the nation into the same abyss by different paths and means. At the end of the novel, amidst hopelessness, the painter recognises his task: his place is at home, he must stay at home because: “I see only one way out: to make art”. All of Gábor Nagy's figures are alive, speak their own language, and he characterises them excellently, mainly through their language use and style. His novel has a strong intellectual core, and apart from a few unconvincing scenes – I am thinking mainly of the "Greek" insert – he weaves the plot threads skilfully. Gábor Nagy has successfully established himself as a prose writer and may yet bring much joy to his readers.
Literary Historian, Critic
Gábor Nagy's greatest scholarly undertaking is also linked to his fatherly mentor. In 2001, his monograph processing István Baka's career, titled “…legyek versedben asszonánc” (“…let me be assonance in your verse”), was published, with which he also earned his PhD. Others have written about Baka, but Gábor Nagy is the first to review his entire oeuvre. In his analyses, he excellently blends poetic sensitivity and philological precision. He has undoubtedly written an indispensable piece of Baka literature.
In his 2003 volume Az olvasás tétje (The Stake of Reading), he collected his critiques and studies. His wide range of interests and extensive reading are striking. He moves just as familiarly in the world of contemporary Hungarian lyric and prose as in the South American literature that proved decisive in his career. He writes about a single work with the knowledge of the entire oeuvre behind it.
The ars poetica of his volume is clear, which I feel applies not only to his critiques and studies but to his entire oeuvre: “We read to relive among the lead letters of dead paper our human: communal, national, and spiritual existence believed lost”.