Bázis – Hungarian Association of Literature and Arts in Slovakia is an association for autunomous, independent literature, art and science in Slovakia.

Mónika Dánél’s study, Chapter 9 Poetical and Institutional Nomadism: Figures of In-betweenness in the Hungarian Neo-Avant-Garde, has been published in the Brill volume A Hundred Years of Avant-Gardes. For more information: https://brill.com/display/title/71958.

[My darling is a weary traveler] My darling is a weary traveler. Able to bloomin the most unexpected moments, and when she does,she sheds her tepid petals, her swirling seeds,her wispy fluffs. She can’t keep up with me.At such times, she sucks out my fear, poison from a wound.Nutrients and spiritual photosynthesis.She suspects where I’ll […]

A creative game, truly three-dimensional,and we can run in the fresh air while we play it.We walk around the woods and gather upevery sturdy piece in a sack, and then we decidewhere this or that piece of flesh can go.The severed torso is already a good start.We can stick a left arm to it,then a […]

You can see everything you need from the rise of the bathtub. The ventilation window is ajar, just enough for the excesssteam to escape, to keep the breathing from tending to critical.The bathroom mirror, in it you see the door, not me.The eye can sweep boldly over the square tiles,nothing starts on them, the view […]

András Gerevich‘s short story Generational Cycles, translated by Cassidy Baker, has been published on Hungarian Literature Online. The full text can be read on the HLO website.

For Ádám Nádasdy, at 75 What if the sole lamp burns out,and by morning this splendid palace of darknessis just a burnt-out factory building?What if the slender sonnet begins to swell,and its own inertiaeats away at the paper’s integrity,and the insatiable material eventually tears?What if the body finds its way backto the old footprints, but […]

The crocodile sleeps with a yawning mouth.Between his teeth, one can see into the deep, into the abdominal cavity.The otter, as if entering a wet cave, swims into it.The jaws are made of stone, a solid opening.One which never closes, which is kept open by surprise.The otter doesn’t need a lamp, a cable, a rivet, […]

From: Book of Colors (A little Hungarian Jarman)[1] [1] This cycle’s overall pattern was inspired by the oeuvre of Derek Jarman, particularly his work entitled Chroma. The cycle of poems contains citations and motifs of his work. We launched this project with the support of the Kult Minor – Fund for the Support of National Minority Culture. […]

You think you’ve seen it all. The desert is sizeable, anything can turn up,baby hair, mining camps,sunscreen, breastfed mutants,literally, a projected sunset,beach chairs forgotten outside,et cetera. How far away is that toothless gas jockey,the one who foretold your wailing loneliness.It was written all over his stupid face,close up.But you, at this crucial turning point,couldn’t bear […]

They lost the key to the bedroom, and thus, they barricade the door so the kids won’t peer in. At first, they pull away sleepily. Then one hand travels, searching beneath the sheets, and both bodies quiver like a harp before they fall into each other greedily. They tear at each other now too, twenty […]

Off goes Little Red, off into the forest, red her bouncing cape, red her cap atop her curls, crossdressing Little Red’s lipstick, the little boy’s lipstick by his mama’s mirror, and the unisex wolf always just flicks its red tongue, the red of the sunset masking the red of the blood, causing the eyes to […]

Perhaps when I got married, I was just collecting newer parts of a sentence for some kind of imaginary phrase. A bigger step to a deeper intake of breath. I was longing for a long-term profession. Perhaps also when I was expecting. I needed two subjects who would crouch in the folds of bunched-up thoughts. […]

I.Our confrontation is written down,the dramaturgy only seems to be foreign. If you only look at the style, the grand totality,the stretched-out perspectivethat dangles over my housing-sized head like a swing,the Manhattan baroque,the eye can easily take you in.Logical, you’ll see nothing more in methan a new sort of King Kong. And to give it […]

Death is an elegant stag. Death is a clumsy, stocky animal. Death is a plant masking as an animal. A neck of tree branches, a head of a stump. Feet made of stakes. Skin of bark. Ears water-lilies. Galls peer from its eyes. Tendons are blades of grass. Hedgerows scale its back. A bush in […]