László Kürti

I was born on 29 November 1976 in Vásárosnamény, but only yesterday my mother reminded me that I committed suicide when I was four years old. Four-year-olds reflect on death and the strangeness of life with a clearer objectivity and more accurate insight than any concerned, responsible parent. I snuck out to the kitchen, considered all the facts, and with a cold mind committed the assassination: I stabbed myself in the stomach. I stabbed myself in the stomach with a butter knife. Since then, my failures have been incessantly pouring down on me, and I have been forced to learn a few incidental but unavoidable life lessons in order to take seriously what is left of me, or what is still worth laughing at.

I went to a few schools, but I didn’t really learn anything important that I didn’t already know in my worldly life. I do have a few rare people, horses, to thank: careful listening, obedience.

Thus, my mistakes, my schools, my official roles, my usefulness, my social perception can only be registered as a fact of life: I graduated as a philosopher at the University of Debrecen, where I am currently a PhD student at the Institute of Philosophy. I am currently a PhD student in philosophy at the University of Debrecen, where I am currently working as a PhD student. I have been free since I was eleven.

I have a daughter with whom we are going on an interstellar trip as she turns eighteen. I gaze with deep admiration at the hopeless people and horses, but for now I try to offer a helping hand only to those who are willing to lose their destiny for the sake of awareness. I have a teaching qualification in ethics and morals from Kodolányi College in BP, a teaching qualification in physical education and physical education from Semmelweis University in BP and Esterházy College in Eger. I teach in a rural high school. Otherwise I write. Mainly poems.

Previously, I was the editor of the poetry section of the literary, art and public affairs magazine Partium; from 2010 to 2019, I was its editor-in-chief. Since autumn 2014, I have been editing the fiction column of the journal The Red Stagecoach. I believe in hopeless horses, frivolous people and the unfading brilliance of lifeless butter knives.