in: Illustrations of the Poetry of Endre Ady at the Beginning of the Twentieth Century. György Leszkovszky’s Illustrations of Endre Ady’s Poem To Cry, To Cry, To Cry.  In: Keserü, Katalin- Szegedy-Maszák, Zsuzsanna (Szerk.): Text and Image in the 19-20th Century Art of Central Europe. Eötvös University Press, Budapest, 2010.79-91.

 

In my presentation I am going to discuss a relatively unknown illustration of a poem by famous Hungarian poet, Endre Ady. The illustrator was painter György Leszkovszky (1891-1968), a follower of the artists of the Gödöllő Artists Colony, the art nouveau centre of Hungary in the first decades of the 20th century. Among the works of György Leszkovszky’s rich oeuvre, his illustration series of Endre Ady’s poem To Cry, To Cry, To Cry merits particular attention. The series contains twelve watercolour paintings (eleven completed illustrations and one study), and it was exhibited at the National Salon in 1922, at the second exhibition of the Cennini Society, which was founded by Leszkovszky himself in 1920.(Cennini Society, 1922. Cat.no.: 91-94, 129-140.)

Ady was born in 1877 and started writing early, but his cult did not really begin to flower until 1906, with the publication of New Verses. He was an archetypal poet and his persona divided public opinion. Perceptions of him as a romantic, a revolutionary, and an opponent of the Second World War were all part of a conscious image-creating machinery in operation. There are also several myths in literature related to Endre Ady, as well as rumours concerning his drinking and epic womanizing. In the early 20th century Nyugat was the mainstream periodical, and from the moment of the publication of New Verses until his death Ady, as one of the leading figures of Nyugat, was undeniably a “prince of poets” with a definite poetical mission (Kappanyos, 2007). Following his death in 1919 a fight began for the monopolization of his intellectual heritage, and he was soon elevated into the national pantheon (Serf, 2009, pp.40-42). It is therefore perhaps not surprising that an artist searching for (or coming across by chance) poetic inspiration in the early 1920s thought first and foremost of Ady (Kovalovszky, 1985, p.45.).

It is also worth considering why György Leszkovszky chose to illustrate one of Ady’s less widely known poems, To Cry, To Cry, To Cry. His decision may have been related to tragic events in his life at the time. In 1920 both Leszkovszky’s brother and his beloved master at the Gödöllő Artists’ Colony, Aladár Körösfői-Kriesch, died. Their deaths may well have prompted the creation of the illustrations.

Ady had manifold connections with the world of visual arts. Besides his poems and prose works he wrote numerous critical writings about the fine arts as well. His interest in the fine arts was an intellectual awareness. He dealt with some of the old masters, but he preferred contemporary French and Hungarian art. When he visited Paris he also encountered works by Rodin and Gauguin, for which he held great admiration. Among the Hungarian artists he had high regard for the work of Mednyánszky, Iványi Grünwald, and Ferenczy, and he was also a friend of Károly Kernstok and József Rippl-Rónai, who were all in contact with the Parisian art scene and whose works he greatly appreciated (J.Varga, 1977, pp.7-19.). Ady had some ties to the artists of the Gödöllő Artists’ Colony, and it was Sándor Nagy, one of the leading figures of the colony, who illustrated Ady’s epoch-making poems New Verses in 1906. One of the drawings was done at Ady’s request, and he was quite pleased with the final product.[1] Also many artists illustrated his poems in the early 20th century, including Lajos Kozma in a Beardsley-like style and Álmos Jaschik, who brooded over his illustrations for quite a long time (Németh, 1977,  pp.97-106.).

Álmos Jaschik, who himself did eight drawings for Ady’s poems, wrote about Ady illustrations in Nyugat, expressing his view that it was both a rewarding and a demanding task, since Ady’s poems are visual in themselves, entwined with the colourfulness and richness of his symbolism. According to Jaschik, Ady did not want the illustrator to follow his thoughts submissively, nor did he want him to make them profane for the sake of clarity. He writes: “Ady cannot bear a word-for-word graphical transposition, and he does not need a graphical explanation or creation of a painterly atmosphere either, and above all he does not need an individualistic artist who merely indulges one of the seemingly important periods of his artistic development on the pretext of illustrating [his work].” For Jaschik it was not enough to read and understand Ady, one had to unify oneself with him. The good Ady-illustrations prolong the effects of the poem. In Jaschik’s words: “A graphic, when it comes to Ady, must not give more than Ady himself has given, and if he reduces it, he will lose the inner relationship with the poet, and his illustration will be a simple picture, inspired by the unique impression of Ady.”(Jaschik, 1920, p.566.). The contemporary critic Artúr Elek also wrote about the difficulties of illustrating Ady: “the majority of the poems are so pictorially imagined, so concretely envisioned, that the illustrator cannot add anything to them. To summarize, Ady’s works are rather unsuitable for illustration.” (Elek, 1920, pp.391-392.)

It is a recognized fact that translating a work of literature from one language to another is exceedingly complex. The loyal, word-for-word translation of a literary – not liturgical or professional - text is a vain pretension, since the latent meaning often falls prey to the striving to preserve original meaning. As Yves Bonneyfoy puts it, “words are untranslatable, though ideas are universal”. (Bonneyfoy 2000, p.48).[2] These universal ideas, embodied in other types of works of art, such as music or the visual arts, may be more accessible to common understanding. According to Gottfried Benn and Paul Valéry, images, sculptures, sonatas, and symphonies are international, while poems are untranslatable (Valéry, 1987, p.153.)[3]

Many critics have remarked on the difficulty of translation in reference to Ady’s poems.[4] In the case of To Cry, To Cry, To Cry, as I was unable to find an English translation of the poem, I had to translate it myself. As I am not a professional translator, I ask my reader to be indulgent with respect to my humble effort. I ignored both rhyme scheme and the number of syllables, attempting simply to give a word-for-word translation of the poem in the hopes that it might prove useful in a discussion of Leszkovszky’s illustration, as Leszkovszky did a sort of word-for-word illustration of the literary work.

 

Ady Endre: Sírni, sírni, sírni

Várni, ha éjfélt üt az óra,
Egy közeledő koporsóra.

Nem kérdezni, hogy kit temetnek,
Csengettyűzni a gyászmenetnek.

Ezüst sátrak, fekete leplek
Alatt lóbálni egy keresztet.

Állni gyászban, súlyos ezüstben,
Fuldokolni a fáklyafüstben.

Zörgő árnyakkal harcra kelni,
Fojtott zsolozsmát énekelni.

Hallgatni orgonák búgását,
Síri harangok mély zúgását.

Lépni mély, tart sírokon által
Komor pappal, néma szolgákkal.

Remegve, bújva, lesve lopva
Nézni egy idegen halottra.

Fázni holdas, babonás éjen
Tömjén árban, lihegve mélyen.

Tagadni múltat, mellet verve,
Megbabonázva, térdepelve.

Megbánni mindent. Törve, gyónva
Borulni rá egy koporsóra.

Testamentumot, szörnyűt, írni
És sírni, sírni, sírni, sírni.
 

Endre Ady: To Cry, To Cry, To Cry

To wait when the clock strikes midnight
For an approaching coffin’s sight.

Not to ask who’s being buried,
Ring a hand-bell for the mourners.

To swing a cross under
Silver tents and black dresses,

To stand in mourning, in heavy silver,
To breath in the fume of torches

To struggle with rattling shadows,
To sing a subdued chant.

To listen to the humming organ
And the deep rumbling of the grave bells.

To step over deep, open graves
With silent churchmen and sombre priest

Shaking, hiding, secretly peeping,
To look at an unknown dead man

To feel cold on a superstitious, moonlighted night
In flood of incense, gasping for breath.

To deny the past, beating your breast
Enchanted, down on your knees

To regret everything. To lay over a coffin
Broken, confessing.

To write a testament, one terrifying
And to cry, to cry, to cry, to cry.

As Emőke Varga observes, “an illustration in some sense repeats, or paraphrases the textual world of the literary work with visual signs, re-writes the verbal narrative with a visual narrative.” (Varga 2004, p.259) In this case Leszkovszky indeed repeats the textual world of Ady’s poem, though he does so slavishly, so much so that his illustration resembles more an explanatory illustration from a children’s book of terms and ideas than a work of art inspired by a poem. His illustration deprives the observer of the joy of free association and independent interpretation, it is not an ekphrastic work but a didactic representation.

In loose terms ekphrasis is the verbal portrayal of visual representation, and ekphrastic poems speak to, for or about works of visual art. In the words of W. J. T. Mitchell, “ekphrastic poetry is the genre is which texts encounter their own semiotic ‘others’, those rival, alien modes of representation called the visual, graphic, plastic, or spatial arts.”(Mitchell 1994, pp.156,159) Leszkovszky turns this process backwards. Here the visual work speaks about or rather literally describes the poem. Unfortunately his enterprise was not a wholly successful one. To quote Lessing, “for poets to employ the same artistic machinery as the painter would be to convert a superior being into a doll.” One cannot help but suspect that this is what befell Ady’s poem via Leszkovszky’s illustration. (Lessing 1969, pp.68-69.)[5]

According to Kristóf Nyíri, “people initially think in terms of images and only later in words.” (Nyíri 2003, p.264.) In this sense, with his slavish imitation Leszkovszky seemingly tried to reconstruct the original mental images of the poet. However, one should not forget that the identification of the author’s original intention is misleading, or rather one cannot always identify this intention unambiguously. We should also take into consideration that interpretation is a constantly changing and continuous practice, which occurs in the mind of an era. Thus the same work of art is not identical in different eras and contexts (Szegedy-Maszák 2007, pp.51-62.). Presumably we do not experience an old work of art in precisely the same manner as our predecessors, since the message of the artwork is a factor of history, and we can only substitute a new understanding for a forgotten one (Szegedy-Maszák 2007, pp.113, 117.). Both literary texts and works of the visual arts usually have several meanings, depending on the reader/viewer and the circumstances, which is not a negative but rather a positive feature. If everyone interprets a poem or a painting differently, this may be an indication of the talent of the artist (Kibédi 2003, p.75.). It is unfortunate that Leszkovszky’s word-for-word illustration narrows down the possible understandings to a single, particular interpretation. Since he presents a young woman in mourning attire, he excludes possible embodiments of the subject of the poem, including men and elderly characters. (Fig.1.)


Fig.1. György Leszkovszky, Study for „To listen to the humming organs/And the deep rumbling of the grave bells”, c. 1921, watercolour on paper, 495 x 400 mm. Gödöllői Municipial Museum, Gödöllő. Inv.No.: K.2007.117. (photo: Zsuzsanna Benkő)

As in other cases when verbal narrative precedes the image, the poem evokes a visual image. The reader, here Leszkovszky, does not create, but rather reacts and translates the verbal narrative to the visual medium. This translation, like any translation, is not without consequences. Just as verbal narration deletes some information (like shades of colour) and introduces others aspects that could not be present in a visual narrative (disjunction, hypothesis), visual portrayal deprives the narrative of several important features. However, the translation from verbal to visual has positive consequences as well. An image includes movement, a contextualised present that is delimited by its own past and future.[6]

Thus the illustration of this poem is a kind of a triple translation of the same idea, in the sense that an idea appears first as a mental image or mental narrative in the poet’s mind, then in verbal/written form, and finally as a visual image or narrative. It is a process of gradual widening of reception and understanding: the mental image inside the poet’s mind becomes accessible to a broader circle of readers or listeners, providing new, subjective interpretations (which can be very different from the artist’s intention), and with a visual representation the confinement of solitary reading gives way to an even wider range of possible interpretations.

In Leszkovszky’s visual translation of Ady’s poem, from the semantic point of view, from the standpoint of referring, expressing intentions and provoking response in a reader/viewer, there is no essential semantic difference between the text and the image. As W. J. T. Mitchell puts it, “language can stand in for depiction and depiction can stand in for language because communicative, expressive acts, narration, argument, description, exposition and other so-called ‘speech acts’ are not medium specific, are not ‘proper’ to some medium or other,” although “there are important differences between visual and verbal media at the level of sign-types, forms, materials of representation, and institutional traditions.”(Mitchell 1994, pp.160-161.)

The poem Leszkovszky illustrated is in the book Blood and Gold, published in 1907. The book consists of seven cycles, and To Cry, To Cry, To Cry is the seventeenth poem in the second cycle, Kinsman of Death. However, from the point of view of poetic development Blood and Gold can be regarded as part of the same unit as New Verses, though it has more sombre hues. The subject of the opening cycle, Kinsman of Death, is the intermingling of the fear of death with love for the excitement of living. “Once the thought has risen to the surface, death is thereafter recognized as the never plumbed depth of the unconscious,” writes Anton Nyerges (Nyerges 1969, p.31). Thus the cycle’s poems are replete with Freudian symbols and allegories, as well as religious mysteries (Nyerges 1969, pp.11-56.).

To Cry, To Cry, To Cry is tragic in its emotional content and frightening in its atmosphere. But in addition to fear, the reader might sense another kind of disturbance, some uncertainty concerning the persona of the speaker. This question - who is crying - is not answered. The poem does not have a subject and the verbs are all in the infinitive. The poem does not refer to a specific time or place. It is dreamlike and mysterious, and this indefiniteness adds to its meanings. According to Leszkovszky’s illustration, the temporal setting is his era, the physical setting includes several sites (a chapel, a cemetery, a room in a house etc.), and the subject is a young woman. Without the text of the poem, viewer might have several guesses regarding the subject of the poem. For example, the young woman could be a “professional” mourner, or some female relative or helper of one of the clerics. If one observes the series one by one, the list of possible identifications grows even longer. She might be a character of one of the ghost stories popular at the turn of the century, or a grief-stricken young widow, or a mourner informing someone in a letter about the death of a beloved. (Fig.2-3.) The list is virtually endless. According to Aladár Komlós the subject is Ady himself, and the poem is not about the inconsolable grief of some loss, but rather the regret over his wasted life, and the role of the infinitives is to hide this truth (Komlós 2007, pp.15-20). However, this constitutes the first instance when the observer might notice the differences caused simply by the differences between the two media, text and image. In the poem the reader is not told exactly who the subject is. He or she can freely associate and meditate on the possibilities, or even identify himself or herself with the subject, thus providing endless variations of understanding. Conversely, in the case of the image, the viewer is faced with a definite identification, and given less freedom to construe.


Fig.2. György Leszkovszky, “To wait when the clock strikes midnight/For an approaching coffin’s sight.” c. 1921, watercolour on paper, 520 x 415 mm. Gödöllői Municipial Museum, Gödöllő. Inv.No.: K.2007.121. (photo: Zsuzsanna Benkő)

Though a series is usually easier to interpret if the parts are joined together, in the case of Leszkovszky’s illustration the opposite is the case. The observer is free to associate freely when viewing the paintings individually, but when they are united, interpretation is restricted. While the viewer could doubtlessly identify the young woman in every painting as the same person, the narrative nonetheless does not seem to form a complete, logical whole. The scenes are apparently independent of one another, as if they were portrayals of equally important events. And this is indeed the case. There are several structures that have crucial importance in the text, one of them is repetition. Syntactically, repetition is the tool of co-ordination, and it can pinpoint the things lined up one-by-one, each of which is given equal stress because of the repetitive grammatical structures (Kibédi 2003, p.80). Thus repetition represents a significant difference between the verbal and the visual representation: while in the poem repetition adds to the atmosphere of the text, increasing the tension, in the illustrations repetition causes confusion, since it deprives the observer of the inherent desire for (chronological or other) order in narration. Consequently the illustration cannot convey the “message”; it cannot exist without the poem. Luckily (perhaps because he foresaw this problem, or perhaps as part of deliberate adherence to the tradition of Körösfői, who often wrote explanatory titles on his pictures) the painter included the explanatory two lines in the illustration itself. The quoted and visually depicted lines are at the bottom of each painting, which is the “normal” relation (narrative explanation is generally located in the margins of the image, in a position understood to be “outside” the present moment of depicted action, following a more traditional formula involving the clear subordination of one medium to the other)(Mitchell 1994, pp.91-92).


Fig.3. György Leszkovszky, „To look at an unknown dead man/Shaking, hiding, peeping, secretly.” c. 1921, watercolour on paper, 495 x 400 mm. Gödöllői Municipial Museum, Gödöllő. Inv.No.: K.2007.114. (photo: Zsuzsanna Benkő)

In addition to the extremely rich and intense visual impressions conveyed by Ady’s poem, Leszkovszky used other sources in the creation of his work. On the one hand there is the verbal inspiration of the poem, on the other hand the whole “storehouse” of visual tradition. Related to the question of probable sources, I would refer to Arthur Koestler’s work (The Act of Creation, 1964) on the genre of illustration and the terms for the creation of artworks by Emőke Varga. Koestler states that whatever claims one might venture concerning the identity of the system of verbal codes/signs for the illustrator and the observer, no such contentions can be made in the case of visual codes/signs. The illustrator chooses from the elements of visual tradition (including previous illustrations of the given literary work, and the codes/signs of his own world), but for the observer these elements become duplicated information. The observer sees the common visual tradition through the concrete illustration, via the illustrator’s interpretation and choice, (Varga 2005) and thus “the reader evidently becomes a viewer, too, who familiarizes himself with a duplicated virtual world.” (Varga 2003, p.238).

The illustrator is inspired by the text itself, previous illustrations, and other visual predecessors. Since there was no earlier illustration of the poem To Cry, To Cry, To Cry, visual inspiration lay elsewhere. (Fig.4.) The painter may have known the work of Sándor Nagy from 1906, but there is no significant similarity between the two pictures. However, Leszkovszky’s illustration bears considerable resemblances with the female figures of Aladár Körösfői-Kriesch. This is not surprising, as Leszkovszky slavishly imitated the style of his master. To take only one example, there is a striking similarity to the features of the tapestry of Körösfői-Kriesch, Sitting Woman with Roses (around 1906). Contemporary critics emphasised the similarity of the painting to Pre-Raphaelite works of art as well, and indeed one can find several common features of the mourning woman of Leszkovszky’s illustration and the figures of his personal favourite Pre-Raphaelite artist, Edward Burne-Jones (The Marriage of Psyche, 1895). His gothic S-shaped female figures also evoke the works of several symbolist artists, for example the kneeling, painfully waving characters of Belgian Georges Minne (Crying Mother, 1890) or the enervated, living corpse-like women of Netherlander Jan Toorop (Fatalism, 1893). In this sense Leszkovszky’s illustration “wins over” the text, since while the poem awakens the observer’s own mental images, the picture also works as an evocation of images of the common, inherited visual tradition. This also refers to more abstract subjects, such as rage, fear, and amazement, and their depiction, including for instance portrayals found in various model books and even in the code system of baroque art theory, which categorised human affects and emotions. (Varga 2003, p.241)


Fig.4. György Leszkovszky György, „To listen to the humming organs/And the deep rumbling of the grave bells”, c. 1921, watercolour on paper, 495 x 400 mm. Gödöllői Municipial Museum, Gödöllő. Inv.No.: K.2007.113. (photo: Zsuzsanna Benkő)

On examining the relationship between György Leszkovszky’s illustration and Endre Ady’s poem one finds several differences that have less to do with the characteristics of the two media (text and image) than one might have anticipated. To quote W.J.T. Mitchell, “the real question to ask when confronted with these kinds of image-text relations is not ‘what is the difference (or similarity) between the words and the images,’ but ‘what difference do the differences (and similarities) make?’” (Mitchell 1994, p.91.) In this case the viewer is confronted with issues of interpretation, whether the verbal or the visual representation of the given poem offers more opportunities for understanding. In some cases the text proves to be more fertile, for instance in the realisation of the narrative; while in other cases the image is more inspiring, as it revives the store of the visual tradition.

 

Bibliography

Ady Endre összes versei. Budapest: Anno Kiadó, 2003. (Reprint. Atheneum, 1930)

Elek, Artúr, 1920. Jaschik Álmos Ady-illusztrációi. Nyugat, 1920/7-8., pp.391-392.

Gellér, Katalin, 1997. A szecessziós könyvillusztráció Magyarországon (1895-1925). Miskolc: Miskolci Galéria. A Miskolci Galéria Könyvei 11.

Gellér, Katalin,1977. Nagy Sándor versillusztrációiról. Művészettörténeti Értesítő, 1977/1., pp.21-23.

Gellér, Katalin – Keserü, Katalin 1987. A gödöllői művésztelep. Budapest: Corvina.

G. Merva, Mária, 2007. Írók és múzsák Gödöllőn. Gödöllő:Gödöllői Városi Múzeum.

Jaschik, Álmos, 1920. “Ady-illusztrációk” Nyugat 1920/ 7-8. p.566.

Kappanyos, Balázs, 2007. “Az irodalomtörténet mítoszai”. Alföld, 2007. October.  [Online]. Available at: https://www.alfoldfolyoirat.hu/?q=node/66 [Accessed 25 August 2009].

Kibédi Varga, Áron, 2003. A jelen. Irodalom és művészet a századfordulón. Pozsony: Kalligram Kiadó.

Komlós, Aladár, 2007. Ady Endre Sírni, sírni, sírni című versének elemzése. In: Híres Magyar költők verseinek elemzése. Nyíregyháza. pp.15-20.

Kovalovszky, Miklós, 1985. Jaschik Álmos és az Ady-illusztrációk. Új Tükör, 1985/17., p.45.

Mitchell, W.J.T., 1994. Picture Theory. Chicago&London: The University of Chicago Press.

Németh, Lajos, 1977. Utószó. In:  Varga. József (Intr. and ed.): Az élet szobra. Ady Endre képzőművészeti írásai. Budapest: Corvina. pp. 97-106.

Nyerges, Anton N. 1969, (intr. and transl. ): Poems of Endre Ady. Buffalo, New York: Hungarian Cultural Foundation.

Nyíri, Kristóf, 2003. A gondolkodás képelmélete. In: Neumer, Katalin (Ed.) Kép, beszéd, írás. Budapest: Gondolat. Pp.264-277.

Somlyó, György, 1941. Ady – angolul, René Bonnerjea fordítása. Nyugat, 1941/5. Figyelő.p.653.

Serf, András, 2009. Volt képe hozzá: Az Ady kultusz kezdetei. HVG, 2009. Jan.31., pp.40-42.

Szegedy-Maszák, Mihály, 2007. Szó, kép, zene. A művészetek összehasonlító vizsgálata. Pozsony: Kalligram Kiadó.

Varga, Emőke, 2005. “A kód, a matrix, a biszociáció – meg az illusztráció”. In: Pro Philosophia füzetek. Történet és kultúrbölcseleti al-manah. 2005 /3. [Online] Availale at: https://www.c3.hu/~prophil/profi053/varga.html [Accessed 23 August 2009]

Varga, Emőke, 2003. Madách és Kass Mózese. Téma és térképezés. XI. Madách Szimpózium. 2003. szept.6-7. Balassagyarmat-Szügy-Alsósztregova. pp.238-247.

Varga, Emőke, 2004. Nincs elefántcsonttorony. Az illusztrátor Kass János az irodalmi műhelyek vonzásában. Új tendenciák a komparatisztikában IV. Szeged-Amiens: Juhász Gyula Tanárképző Főiskola. pp.256-262.

Varga, József, 1977. Előszó. In: Varga. József (Intr. and ed.). Az élet szobra. Ady Endre képzőművészeti írásai. Budapest: Corvina, pp.7-19.


[1] Endre Ady himself wrote to Léda (Adél Brüll) about Sándor Nagy’s drawing of his poem Our Children, commenting that in his assessment the illustration was magnificent. (G. Merva p.226.; Révész, Béla: Ady és Léda. Budapest, s.a., pp.146,153.) Sándor Nagy mentions in his memoirs that Ady personally asked him to illustrate his book of poems. (G.Merva p.227.) Ady also asked Nagy to illustrate the title page of New Verses, published in 1906, but long after Ady’s death in 1928 Nagy made a new series of illustrations for Ady’s poems which never appeared in public. Still, it shows the continuing influence of the poet. It is generally observed, however, that his illustrations are more the visions of the painter than the poet. Gellér, Katalin. “Nagy Sándor versillusztrációiról”. Művészettörténeti Értesítő, 1977/1.,pp..21-23. Gellér-Keserü 1987, pp..20-23., Nagy, Sándor: “Ady rajzaim”. Magyar Művészet. 1928. pp.607-608.; G.Merva pp.156-158. Elek, Artúr. “Nagy Sándor Ady rajzai”. Nyugat.1928/II.p.566.;

[2] Cited by Szegedy-Maszák, who amongst others refers to the works of Bonneyfoy, Horváth, Neumer and Taruskin. Bonnefoy, Yves La Communauté des traducteurs Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2000; Horváth, Iván. Gépeskönyv. Budapest: Balassi, 2006.; Neumer, Katalin, (ed.) Kép, beszéd, írás, Budapest: Gondolat, 2003; Taruskin, Richard. Text and Act: Essays on Music and Performance. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Szegedy-Maszák pp.121, 123.

[3] Gottfried Benn. Essays und Reden in der Fassung der Erstdrucke. Ed.:Bruno Hillebrand. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 1989.p.518.; Paul Valéry. Zur Theorie der Dichtkunst. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1987.p.153. Cited by Kulcsár Szabó p. 25.

[4] For example, in Nyugat in 1941 György Somlyó reacted quite harshly to a freshly-published English translation of Ady poems by René Bonnerjea. He claimed that the translation is dilettante, mannerist and handles rhyme scheme irresponsibly. Somlyó, György. “Ady-angolul. René Bonnerjea fordítása”. Nyugat. 1941/5. p.432. English translations of Ady’s poems include: Nyerges, Anton.A. A Selection of Poems from the Writings of Endre Ady. Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press., 1946.; Nyerges, Anton A.: Poems of Endre Ady. Buffalo: Hungarian Cultural Foundation, 1969.; Bard, Eugene. Selected Poems, with an introduction. Munich: Hieronymus, 1987.

[5] Lessing, Laocoon (1766), transl. by Edith Frothingham, New York: Noonday Press, 1969, pp.68-69. Cited by Mitchell p.155.

[6] Kibédi p.55., Régis Debray, Vie et mort de l’image – Une histoire du regard en Occident, Gallimard, Paris, 1992, pp.347-348. Cited by Kibédi pp.52-53.