Biography of Zoltan Galos
Born in eastern Austria, close to the border of Hungary, he witnessed as a boy the horrors of a nation’s brutal suppression, erupting in the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. He finished his education in art and architecture in Vienna, married and sailed for Africa, an adventure that followed his childhood dreams. He had drawn African animals for his art classes, but the time had come to see them in their natural habitat.
Meeting a varied facet of people and cultures, working as a draughtsman in an Engineering office, as an architect for a cultural centre, as a coordinator with professionals and craftsmen, he made good use of his language skills travelling throughout Southern Africa. During a trip to Lesotho, a native artist showed him rock paintings with their stark palimpsest outlines and typified movements of animals and humans. It made a lasting impression on him and influenced his artistic work.
His vast collection of drawings and slides had been lost during a change of domicile, but further studies about the art of the San people reawakened his dormant artistic longing for expression, filling sketchbooks with drawings and notebooks with prose.
While revisiting the capitals of Europe, he sensed the bond of art being without borders and free, reaching out across continents into the world. During a visit to Greece, he became accepted into a circle of poets and encouraged to further his writing. In South Africa he joined writing and poetry workshops that lead to opened up the floodgates of his creativity.
He decided to travel through Greece and visit its sites of antiquity, read up on Classical mythology and to enjoy translations of Greek poetry and prose.
Zoltan Galos's Works:
Educating Pizzy, Red Lead Press.
The Informer, Trafford Publishing.
Spleen of Love, Trafford Publishing.
The Greek Muse, Strategic Book Group.
Zoltan Galos Poems
You don't wish my young teacher to come here]any longer you say that she has tensions you cannot bear
Try A Sexagenarian
Her face not rested puffed-up cheeks time's come to test her pride her desire
At dusk that colours my pallet Wine red Clouds like purple cotton plants The thicket of dry branches
My Vito's cool metallic body Feels empty As I stretch the last drops Of an excellent ouzo
My World Is Colour
My world My world is colour The artist in me splashed all
Try A Sexagenarian
Her face not rested
puffed-up cheeks time's
come to test her pride
to have another man
even for one night
no reason to fester jealousy
no cause for undue alarm