Magyar Hírek, 1987 (40. évfolyam, 1-23. szám)
1987-07-25 / 15. szám
ABOUT THIS ISSUE AND THE PREVIOUS ONE The two issues of our journal on which I now report contained portraits of two writers of outstanding importance: of Frigyes Karinthy in the previous issue, and of András Sütő in the present one. Frigyes Karinthy was born on the 24th of June 1887, a hundred years ago. Allow me, though, to add that Karinthy does not need a centenary to be read. His humorous sketches, parodies and short stories, made him one of the most read, most enjoyed and most quoted writers to this day. There are many poets and writers of the time whose works are almost forgotten but their parodies by Karinthy in his fabulously funny volume Igy irtok ti (This is how you write) live on. Karinthy himself described the writings published in így írtok ti as literary caricatures. In fact he created a new genre with them. These parodies not only use the stylistic, peculiarities and mannerisms of writers for target practice, but also makes tangible their creative mechanism and the literary value of their works. No wonder that this volume is to this very day one of the most popular of Karinthy’s works. His other key text is Tanár úr kérem (Please, sir), in which he recalled school life, with such profound humour and such a power of portraying human beings that the caricatures of schoolboys and teachers serve as a looking-glass in which we can find our own reflection even after two world wars and many social changes. Karinthy became famous and popular as a humorist, but his work as a poet, writer and playwright was also important. He wrote Martinovics, an epic poem about the Hungarian Jacobins, as a young journalist but it could only be published forty years later, after the Second World War, because of its revolutionary message. Later volumes of verse Nem mondhatom el senkinek, (I can’t tell anyone), Üzenet a palackban (Message in the bottle), he attacked racial hatred, terror and repression from I hi' position of humanism. Frigyes Karinthy The philosopher and profound observer of the human situation is always to the fore with Karinthy. He believed in rationality and in the progress of science. He cherished and advocated what look now — I must sadly say - a naive faith that the achievements of science and technology would save humanity from all of its troubles. He was a true successor of the Encyclopaedists, a latter-day Hungarian of the age of enlightment. In keeping with that he regarded the major works of his life as byproducts and was preparing himself to write a New Encyclopaedia, a great work clarifying concepts, a fundamental source of theoretical and practical guidance that would help the man of the century to find b, bearings. It was not given to him to do that. He became ill in 1936. A brain tumour was diagnosed and he was rushed to Stockholm, where professor Olivecrona, the outstanding brain surgeon operated on him. Later he wrote moving account of his illness and of the operation, and recovery “Utazás a koponyám körül” (Journey around my skull) (1937). Unfortunately, even the successful operation could not restore his health. A stroke ended his life in 1938, at his home in Siófok. Hungarian admirers of Karinthy are convinced in their innermost selves that one of the greatest humourists of our time remained unknown to the rest of humanity due to the isolated nature of the Hungarian language. What a revelation it would be if there were translators worthy of Karinthy’s genius. However sincere this belief is, it unfortunately lacks realism. A number of Karinthy’s works were, in fact, translated, but for one reason or another his humour and wit did not travel. It. would be difficult to find an explanation, and I would not hazard a guess, since a number of typical Budapest humourists proved highly successful abroad. Yet, as if fate wanted to offer compensation, Karinthy’s last work Journey around my skull, became a bestseller everywhere. It. was published in many languages and the critics agreed that it was one of the pioneering literary manifestations of depth-psychology. * András Sütő, about whom an article is published in this issue, is sixty. He was born in 1927 in a small Transylvanian village, Pusztakamarás, he attended Nagyenyed College an-i the University of Kolozsvár. Likj most other Hungarian writers ho was also a journalist before he made his name as a writer. First on the staff on the Kolozsvár Világosság, then of Igaz Szó in Marosvásárhely. That gave him the opportunity to travel all over Transylvania, beyond his home area. The light of direct experience shines through András Sütő’s novels and short stories. Empathy with the destiny of Transylvania makes all he writes moving but also uplifting. He identifies with the people whose fate he accepts and experiences. It is difficult to give English readers a proper notion of Sütő’s crystal Siito's parents clear, beautiful and suggestive Hungarian style. He belongs to the ancient spiritual family of Transylvanian Hungarian writers. One Of his predecessor's was Péter Apor, who wrote Erdély változásai (('hangos in Transylvania) in concise, clear Hungarian in an age when the official language was Latin. Another was Áron Tamási, who set out from Transylvania on his long journey, just like Abel, his hero, the world-roaming Székely. Colours and comparisons taken from the observation of Nature and from peasant life, simplicity and Biblical depth are the characteristics of András Sütő’s style. His volume of short, stories Hajnali Küzdelem (Dawn Struggle) was published in 1949, when Sütő was only twenty-two. After that he published novels and volumes of short, stories in steady succession. His Anyám könnyű álmot ígér (Mother promises easy dreams) — which he defined as notes for a journal — was more than a literary success. It was a soul-shaking experience. By talking about the everyday life, problems, hardships, and small joys of a tiny Székely village it also gave news to the world of the people of a region. Allow me to quote a few lines from the concluding part of the book, in which Sütő tells about his feelings, when revisiting his village: “I have grown used again to this tiny world, as the fish placed in an aquarium; a little fish, a pitcherful of water, some glittering pebbles, imitation rocks, imitation sea; up above somewhere two spans away, where the mighty sky must be, the giant sim is shining yellow: an electric light bulb the size of a hazelnut. Movement in it. is a swing or two, almost oceanic, right up to the glic>s walls, which while miming that they are not start on the eternal renewal protending there is nothing in the way. Even if I gave it up by going away, I would attempt the impossible, just as the fish can’t divest himself of the little water which is his prison, but also his liberty — his life.” The latest work by Sütő we got to know in Hungary is a play. Its title is “Advent on the Hargita.” The action takes piaci! in a hut below the fearsome rocks of the Hargita, where an elderly, weather-beaten Székely tries to hold up tragedies caused by nature and human stupidity. It is a series of dramatic pictures of iife, rather than a tragedy in the Shakespearean sense, yet it is enthralling and moving. When the play was performed at the Budapest National Theatre, there was an empty seat in the first row: For some reason András Sütő had not made it from Transylvania. He could not be present. Flowers were placed on the seat symbolically left empty. They were wild-flowers like those, which bloom in the meadows near Pusztakamarás. ZOLTÁN HALASZ 29
