Istanbul Evening

 (second version)

A white, four-masted yacht slips between

dingy barges and trawlers, disappears into

a blue haze on the Sea of Marmara. The call

to prayer's an hour away. Swallows dive

and glide, pigeons prowl, the sun's

about to settle down. 

Below the terrace, lush maples and oaks

sigh and sway, leaning west. Sounds of traffic,

children, and work never cease. Near a mosque's

minaret on the hill, a faded Turkish flag

flutters in slow motion. Now a seagull appears.

It glides in a wide arc, which now becomes 

a large invisible circle. The glide traces

ever smaller concentric circles against 

the backdrop of the sea until the gull 

lands precisely at the point of a rooftop

below. The gull stands,

strong and ready, facing a low sun, and

something in the scene says all is well

this evening, even when it may not be,

especially if it may not be. 

Istanbul

In that city, small shops
formed hives of work and talk
and tradition. Birds whirled,
wheeled in flight, dove above
dusty trees at dusk. Voices
called, young and old. There
was the voice of the boy in
the alley calling for his friend,
"Ahhhhh-maaaad!" There were
the voices of the calls
to prayer. That city was a place

of tough vitality. Ferocity
and beauty shone in dark eyes.
Oh, yes, we recalled that
James Baldwin loved it here.
There was a seduction of breezes
after the sun went down. In that
city, acres of red-tiled
roof-tops accepted light and heat,
and people there accepted
their lives, their condition--
for the time being.



Hans Ostrom 2013

Istanbul Evening

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Istanbul Evening

A white, four-masted yacht slips between
dingy barges and trawlers, disappears into
a blue haze on the Sea of Marmara. The call
to prayer's an hour away. Swallows dive
and glide, pigeons prowl, and the sun's
about to settle down.

Below the terrace, lush maples and oaks
sigh and sway, leaning west. Sounds of traffic,
children, and work never cease. Near a mosque's
minaret on the hill, a faded Turkish flag
flutters in slow motion. Now a seagull appears.

It glides in a wide arc, which now becomes
a large invisible circle. The glide traces
ever smaller concentric circles against
the backdrop of the sea until the gull
lands precisely at the point of a rooftop
below the terrace. The gull stands
authoritatively, facing a low sun, and
something in the scene says all is well

even when it isn't. 

Copyright 2010 Hans Ostrom