Zoltán Böszörményi

He Set off for the World with the Shirt on His Back

Zoltán Böszörményi arrived in Toronto without the command of the language or any marketable skills and with $25 in his pocket. A few years and a college degree later he was running his own business. But it was not there that he made his first million. by Adam Jakab, RTL Klub Fokusz

Reviews

Something Close Up

In its birthplace, Hungary, this book had an interesting sales curve. The initial rise soon gave way to a drop for a month or two before it took off again to reach bestseller status. Clearly, the best sales force, the word of mouth from the readers, was at work.

Reviews

The Fragrance of Love

“The Golden Tram” and “The Fragrance of Love” contain poems of unexpected force and unexpected turns of phrasing. The force is implied by the tender images of passion that wind around the beloved woman, challenging her to love. It’s not crude eroticism but the hope of attaining desire and joy that arouses the reader’s interest. There’s no one I can compare him to… Besides some of the sonnets, my favorite is the eponymous poem, The Golden Tram: “The Golden Tram comes to life, from the mist / her slender crimson-gold body unfolds, / look, she wants to flee, there’s a sudden jolt, / almost slams the door on my hand and screams.” I must also mention his deft handling of the intricate sonnet form. These two volumes belong on the shelf where I keep my most favorite poems.

Interviews

Zoltán Böszörményi, the Editor-in-Chief of Irodalmi Jelen, Novelist and Poet, Answers Tamás Kerekes’s Questions

Why did you wait twenty-five years with your first published novel? Even as a teenager I already knew I wanted to be a writer. Back then though I approached the craft impulsively and emotionally. The content and ideas appeared to have a secondary role. I did not try to learn from the great classics of Hungarian literature. I read poetry primarily with my soul, not my mind. My thoughts and thus my work were shaped by some kind of a universal agony and despair, and it took me a long time to break out of their spell. I read voraciously, everything I could lay my hands on, especially Tolstoy and Dostoyevski. But I also got acquainted with American, French, Italian, and Spanish literature. But from even those masterpieces it was only the mood, the longing, the bitter taste of tragedy that seeped into my consciousness.