Well, I stepped

The sky is black velvet, just look at it - writes the poet, and what do we associate it with? We have something to associate. And yet we cannot think of a black veil that happens to be spread over us, no way, because the poet says: let's see starlings and draw the sky full of pictures! What a love of life, what a love of life! Then what comes next? An oncology waiting room, a visit to a cemetery, a passing summer that we didn't think would end so suddenly. We shudder. It's not about...? No, it can't be that, because the storm is coming, but in the meantime a ball rose is hiding in our lap, how much love for life, what love for life, why should we think about the bad? Let's not say what! It's good to love Big Betti, even though she's a cat with claws. He also likes to love by clawing. He admits it, he says it, but it's a fact: he lets it out through his teeth that the world is beautiful, and we only realize several times that this is not hissing, but the greatest serenity. After all, the world is bad - and yet, still, it's still good to live, be happy, have children, write poetry, do things, and stare at Lake Balaton. Betti Nagy's poetry, which does not change the basics, but deepens, is interesting precisely because it does not in the least want to lie about the filthiness of the world. After all, we die because we scream, we are brutes, we make mistakes, we have problems with pennies, we applaud the joy of the rich at handover ceremonies. The poet is not angry here, he just states: yes, that's how it is. Then it moves on to a better place. And where you can barely see the lake from the sky-high holiday homes. "On the Badacsony mountain, they no longer / harvest, they only hold a festival / for non-harvests" - what is stronger in it, the playfulness, the humor, the serenity or the puffiness? Betti Nagy shrugs and says: so what? Then he simply goes on, really goes on, and looks up at the sky. He refuses not to enjoy life. He who loves in spite of himself can love very well. Balázs Szálinger