Right by the Parliament in Budapest sits a man with a hat, looking lost and sad. This is Attila Jozsef, a Hungarian poet of the 20th Century. A sad figure he was, as he showed signs of schizophrenia and withdrew into his poetry. At the age of 32 he was crushed by a starting train while crawling through the railway tracks. Whether this was an accident or a suicide nobody knows.
| And so I've found my native country, that soil the gravedigger will frame, where they who write the words above me do not for once misspell my name. | ||
— Attila József, And so I've found my native country… (first stanza) | ||
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