About

Introduce yourself – who you are, what you do, and where you are.

This is an example of an about page. Unlike posts, pages are better suited for more timeless content that you want to be easily accessible, like your About or Contact information. Click the Edit link to make changes to this page or add another page.

  • I don’t want to write much here …

Zsuzsanna Peremartoni
(ceramicist and poet)
His full name is Peremartoni Zsuzsanna Nagy.


I graduated in Miskolc and Budapest, Hungary. I wrote my first poems at the age of 16. From the age of 23 I lived in Darmstad, Germany, as a ceramic assistant. I had smaller exhibitions in Helsinki and Vienna.I published my first volume in 2016 with the help of the Black Eagle Publisher. (Hungary, Budapest). So far I have published it in the New Source Literary Magazine.In 2018 I was the producer of a Hungarian and English recording of a jazz poetry CD at Origó Studio. Then I became a manager.The CD includes poetry, translator poems by Gábor Gyukics, featuring famous Hungarian jazz musicians (Béla Ágoston saxophone, Viktor Bori piano, Csaba Pengő bass, Tibor Eichinger guitar, Attila Dóra saxophone). The Hungarian CD is available at the Rózsavölgyi Music Store, the Wave Record Store. (Budapest/Hungary)

The English version of the CD is sold in two locations in Vancouver, Canada (Beatstreets Records, Neptoon Records), and it can also be found in Reykjavik, Iceland. (Lucky Records)

A 6 minute demo of an animated video I made can also be found on YouTube.

  • In safe arbour
    In memory of my father In the feathery blue of a fluffy could that somebody painted in the sky today, I smelled the fume of your tobacco pipe while veiled in lost sentiments. I sneaked out, away fromthe blue mirrorsof your eyes, just like an uninvited guest.But I kept a cloud for myself, a reflection […]
  • They are Marching
    Cold, in a fog getting thicker, in a timelessness gnawed by hunger, they rest their muddy shoes, loaded with the cry of children. Their feet bask on the asphalt of a world thought to be a dream, waiting for awakening, among the naked walls of tribulations. They murmur prayers silently on a garland of  drops of their sweat. Nothing else but […]
  • A Feeling
    Your stare at poppy seed sized people saying farewell while you rule your seatin the power of the fifth gear sinking deep in your senses.There are red clouds on the horizon, reflections in the setting sun. Your trip, your sped up present escape to a certain future followed by white lines road signs, that are […]
  • The Return of the Hermetist
    The scent of citrus trees immerses the rainy night.The summer breeze gets lostamong the dark streets, in the clamour of the pubs,and gets to meet the old stranger.The times of pleasure will be in vain,Chinese men will sell their pizza then.You are waiting to recall the beginningor the end.Try to forget your fearof whereyour path […]
  • On Road 30
    That’s what I needed.Foot brake, parking brake.Shift after stop.The falling sunlighton the car’s bodymakes me dizzy.I sit in dripping sweatThe afternoon is toweringWe turn at the Death Curve. how could you have simply left meinside my memorytelling me meaningless sentencesjourney after journey, maybebecause I’m still youngSometimeson the road aloneneither far nor cloes to each otherWe […]
“Every morning we are born again. What we do today is what matters most.”