"Bálint Solymosi unfolds a large-scale poetic map before us. It takes us to hospital gardens and village houses, to piers and cemeteries, to Budapest, Belfast, Rome, through leap years, with a thoroughness that follows misery. The Queen of the Rosary does not get lost. On the occasion of awakenings, she constantly re-plans, always returning by other paths come. He recognized the once-hopeful illusion of a return home, so the clarity remains his for the waning day nowadays, if we already have the reverberation time for death anyway. And there can hardly be more than this the lesson of a grand tour that cannot be concluded in the end. It continues. Solymosi like this guides us this time as well. Of course, the word gets alienated on the way, pebbles get in the shoes, pebbles under the tongue, which does not promote beautiful pronunciation, but is meant to provoke false self-understanding. Like a rolling stone. But what else could happen to a traveler's mother tongue? After all, this combinatorics, this translation, is perhaps poetry itself: poem places and place drawings on the horizon of language."
Renátó Fehér