Me and You and a Dog Named Boo

It's been a while since I last read poetry, and I came across Bögre Azúr by Varró Dani (Dániel) in the library, so I said why not. He's one of the brightest and funniest poets of his generation, and one of the few in Hungary who don't bother with being serious. The cover of the book compares him to our great Kosztolányi due to his witticism and virtuoso rhyming and verse. I don't really like this kind of labelling, but there's something in it. Varró has a talent for words, and for combining registers, i.e. profanity with pathos (I don't know the English spelling).
This particular volume was published when he was 21, and that's one of the things I envy of him. Among the poems you can find sonets, limericks and all kinds of classical verses, though the whole thing sounds so down-to-earth and effortless, and most of all playful, that you don't even deal with the form. One of my favorite ones was "Verses levél Mihályffy Zsuzsannának" (Epistle to Zsuzsanna Mihályffy). It's a brilliant example of mixing various tones, and the clash between the genre and the banality of the topics included is quite interesting. I don't know whether the addressed person is a real one, but for me even the name sounds like what you would find in an epistle of Berzsenyi or the like.
My high school lit teacher used to bring in examples of Varró's poetry when we were discussing certain classical genres, and it makes the whole thing more alive, more tangible for high school students, even though at the same time it makes fun of the genre and its pursuers. Other than this kind of parodical poetry I've only heard of him as a writer of children's poetry; though here in Hungary many things are considered to be for children which weren't written for them originally, and have a deeper level (to put it so snobbishly).
I only regret that some examples of poorer quality were also included. Actually some of them made me wonder why. I don't like this attitude of publishers that if you're X, you can get away with, well, shit. Each time I see something of the likes I wonder why I haven't been published. Yet.