6/4/2010 6:41:52 AM
Istanbul City of Dreams 2

5/22/2010 4:30:15 AM
Istanbul City of Dreams 1

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5/22/2010 4:30:15 AM ---- Updated 6/4/2010 6:51:32 AM

Istanbul City of Dreams 1
I love to fish, fishing has become my passion not so much as the thrill of seeing the flash of the bonito pursuing its prey but rather the stories shared alone at night far from land under the starlight skies of the vast southern ocean. Stories such of those told by my friend, who has traveled so far, only to end up fishing with me out of port Lincoln on the tuna run. We both arrived here not so much as refugees from the fear and violence of western life but rather as flotsam and jetsam, washed up, relics connected in some way to a past and violent trauma, waiting for the beachcomber to find us and give us meaning,

My friend speaks of many cities he has visited in Europe and Asia, from the sprawling techno desserts of Beijing and Tokyo to the pretentious might of London and Berlin. It is though of one city that he returns to with tales of mystery and imagination, Istanbul the city of dreams


There is no doubt Istanbul is a mighty city of 20 million people connecting Europe with Asia across the marrow of Bospherous,
it is also mighty in culture, the European capital of culture for 2010.

He speaks of coffee shops where on can only buy the cheapest instant coffee, here one sits and listens to the song from the wicker cage of the proprietors canary, while Turks talk and smoke,

He speaks of the silent dogs of Istanbul for some reason they never bark, they sit silently like wolves watching waiting for a signal which when silently received they move on to partake of there mysterious business. The silent dogs of Istanbul are survivors in a city of intense and sudden violence, where police carry submachine guns, where families that struggle to raise children while living on the street, pay protection to as mafia so ruthless that even the feared red mafia stays well clear.

He speaks of a city where the water is supplied by the original Roman aqueducts that
flow
still after 20 centuries

this is the flow of life in Istanbul, in the markets of the thousand spices. Life flows in the vast bazaars, the countless parks and grotto’s. Life flows in the palaces of the Roman, Byzantium and Ottoman conquerors of both Europa and the mighty kingdoms of the East.

In the vast tiled tombs of the sultans.


In the timeless temples of Apollo, that became Christ’s church to become Mohamed’s mosque. No concern to trouble a god I am sure who is beyond mans petty labels, but does rejoice surely in the labor of the countless artists seeking to return to the deity the inspiration this wonderful city will bless it creators itinerant or indigenous.

Sadly he speaks of the love he found there, if only for a few days, before it was tragically lost in a traffic accident. He came to Istanbul by accident, merely a stopover when traveling from Sydney to London. When in the grand bazaar he felt compelled to enter a dark and musty antique shop. This was when he net her, Kismet, beautiful mysterious Kismet. The attraction was immediate and compelling. She laughed at his Aussie drawl. She was fluent in many languages but not English. The story of their relationship was long and complex yet contained within just a few days.

Many nights under the southern stars I learnt of Kismet. I can picture her now. Ancient and new, not Greek yet Greek, not Persian yet Persian, not Russian yet Russian she was everything of where east meets west, Kismet was the heart and soul of civilization, where it begins and ends. He asked her later after their relationship developed to accompany him to the old city, it was there while walking she was struck by a car the details not important.

That day he lost everything meaningful in his life. He lost his soul. He told of how he lost himself in sorrow, of begging the silent dogs to speak to him, to tell him how to escape his pain. Of the strange old man he met in the Jewish quarter, who danced and played the flute as if in an attempt to distract him from his loss.

He spoke of standing on the ancient Galatia tower giving his anger and grief to a metropolis so vast in population, time and culture. He speaks of wandering lost and alone only to find himself in his Nicaea
How much time had passed since he lost Kismet he does not know. Of how and why he came to Nicaea he does not recall, he speaks of those days as living in the surreally transcendent life of dreams, of then finding himself in reality again in winter on the shores of the Sea of Marmara


He is lost cold and alone. He finds himself standing next to a lemon tree. It is winter and there is a single lonely fruit, pale yellow green. He bites into the rind and his mouth is filled with the bitter sweetness. It is then he realizes the true gift of Istanbul. Dreams, that always this time of love, learning and spiritual growth, so brief and fleeting, transitory and haunting, will be forever timeless and sustaining in his dreams



Kismet Story written for the European Capital of Culture 2010

5/22/2010 7:37:09 PM

Amazing story.

Story being romance story ... and a lot of it makes no sense.

"Long and complex yet contained within just a few days?" How cliche.

You left out the heaving bosoms that were run over in the traffic accident.

Over written drama (pronounced w/ a hard a) ... amusing, yet bereft of honest intent ...

Find better fishing buddies ... this guy is too serious, long and complex, and yet contained in a container.

5/22/2010 7:39:11 PM

I forgot. Kismet?

Really? Ha.

I'll give you well written ... for it was ... but you should have hinted that you were bluffing somewhere w/in.

5/22/2010 8:02:05 PM ---- Updated 5/22/2010 9:00:00 PM

Kevin
I am passionate about fishing
also I like the new image, good to see you decided to shave
now cliche, ouch
as they say in the east

life is precious, things get damaged easily

5/22/2010 11:18:10 PM

Nigels,
I live where there's 1,000 miles of water ways and sloughs containing bass, black bass, catfish, and some of the largest stergion you'll ever see. You're welcome to come and try your luck anytime dude!
Antioch.... two major rivers meet the SF Bay.

Fishin'............. I'm ready

D.

5/22/2010 11:41:05 PM

Thanks D

San Francisco Bay?
This is California yes?
I have heard catfish sandwich's are good

5/23/2010 2:13:16 AM ---- Updated 5/23/2010 2:16:44 AM

@ Kevin,

"I forgot. Kismet?"

It would be great if the "kismet" never bypasses us
as this word means "luck", also "fate, fortune, happiness" or just "fluke"....

I like the story standing behind despite the sadness
no one is insured against the tricks of fortune

Who we are to judge
It takes all sorts to make a world...

5/23/2010 2:27:56 AM

Blagodaria Mila

5/23/2010 6:25:42 AM ---- Updated 5/23/2010 6:31:31 AM

Istanbul looks like a beautiful city, Nigel.

What is your connection to it?


@Mila - I do know what kismet is, M. ... but do you not see the forced irony in someone named Kismet accidentally getting run over by a car? It's part of why the piece struck me as slightly "romance novel-esque" and made the heaving bosom comment ... but as I did say, I thought it generally well written.

... and ... I've had enough people be honest w/ me about my music to know that when an artist puts something out there; be it prose, poetry, music or fine art, it will solicit comment w/ personal perspectives attached. No personal judgement on Nigel or his obvious talent as a writer ... only editorial comment on the piece he put forward.

My comments above, if taken from a musical comparison ... would be akin to me observing that the guitars are mixed too loud ... and the singer went out of tune in a couple spots ... for it's just my two based on what strikes me, and I speak forthright ... because the creator at least deserves honesty.

The creator can then refine based on or dismiss the observations ... for they are, ultimately, the one who must be served.

5/23/2010 7:53:15 AM ---- Updated 5/23/2010 7:56:26 AM

You are right
about everything you said
except one
I do not think there is a
personal judgement on Nigel

This is a story shared by a Nigel's friend.
He might be "too serious, long and complex, and yet contained in a container."
That was I meant when I said
Who we are to judge

Things just happen
whatever we do, think or expect...

As about the music
why do I think this is a dulcimer?

5/23/2010 8:18:50 AM

Ah ... I was just kidding and used the word play to highlight the point ... but such is the deficiency of not being able to see the smile and wink behind the delivery.

Dulcimer? Must be all the hammering. :)

K-

5/23/2010 1:09:43 PM ---- Updated 5/23/2010 1:09:57 PM

I like stories. off the wall ones especially, our life we live are stories. write about the things you have done ,my mom did for 60 plus years. she kept a massive library of her life in journals,,books and books of them, we too should do that, yes the things we sometimes do and the people we meet, well some is stranger then fiction.....but then again we are doing journals already, in song. our journeys are embedded in song I guess
Bryon.

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