Istanbulu Dinliyorum Gozlerim Kapali

Ortakoy was just an old fishing village by the Bosphorus some 50 years ago but with the fast expanding Istanbul, all the fishermen have left and now only the exotic old buldings and clobber stone narrow streets remain a favorite for artists and photographers like Paul Moss. There`s a beautiful old 18th century Ottoman mosque in rokoko style architenture standing witness to the changes and also the many pigeons in the area. Through the years Ortakoy have transformed into a sort of cultural centre frequented by artists, students, lovers, pigeons and photographers. You can see many interesting characters here, intellectual faces, poet face, musician and usually they are truly what they look like. Among them was me because for them I was the interesting one. On Saturdays there would be a flea market open selling various things from antiques, beads, braids, small small cute things girls love, Indian incense stick, old photos, drawings, sea shells and foodstuffs. On Sundays it`s rather quiet with some cafes open and old men fishing at the abandoned dock area. It was on such a beautiful Sunday I got to know Recep Amca a dear old friend who showed me Ortakoy from the ears of it`s resident.
I just had breakfast at one of the cafes with my best friend Yuksel an army captain I knew when he was still a cadet officer. We were sitting by the dock like children with our legs hanging and throwing small pieces of bread into the Bosphorus. Suddenly an old man sitting about 15 feet snorted angrily to us. " If you are going to feed the fishes with bread, then i`m an idiot expecting them to eat my plastic bait".
I was faster than Yuksel in coming up with an answer and immediately replied " Sorry but we are actually feeding the sea gulls".
" Seagulls have sharp vision but not sharp enough to see those breads from a mile away. You might as well say you are feeding the small fishes to lure the big fish here."
So that`s how we got to know Recep Amca a retired teacher who lives in Besiktas not far from Ortakoy. He would be there every Saturday and Sunday morning with his small fishing set and a book and in the afternoon he would be selling books at a small corner lot. He write poems and love telling about how much more beautiful Ortakoy was but what he love most was telling about his experience in the army serving as a airborne commando during the Cyprus war and the daily life in Turkey during the military rule. We became very close friends and through him I came to know some of the interesting characters of Ortakoy.
There was Hakan a spikey haired rocker who runs a rock bar club who talks about music with Yuksel, Kemal Abi sells doner kebab and talks about his village in Adana, Ayse and her friends were theatre students at the prestigious Mimar Sinan fine art University and sells those small small things but talks about ideologies, poet Cemal and his wife Ebru who refused to believe that Malay DNA do not have a poetry band and so tried hard to make me at least acknowledge the existance of difference in understanding clearly and understanding beautifully, Sinan a naive village boy working as a waiter at the cafe we frequent who often got a scolding from Recep Amca for staring at girls and many more.
Ortakoy is a small fishing village almost under the Bosphorus bridge and visible to those who have taken the Bosphorus cruise. From the ferry you`ll see the pigeons, the fishing rods, the small boats docked, the huge Acacia tree in the middle of the square and some cafes. From here, I hear the fishes and pigeons I used to feed, the narrow streets, the public toilet, the street vendors up to the main road behind the old buildings. I can smell the salty air, a slight sourish scent of yougurt and once a while a distant smell of fish grill. I can hear the sea gulls, the leaves from the Acacia tree, the ferry and ships sailing the Bosphorus the clatter from the Backgammon board and the small tulip shaped tea glasses.

"Istanbulu dinliyorum gozlerim kapali. "
That`s what Orhan Veli said in his poem.

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
First a light breeze blows
Leaves on the trees
Quiver gently
Far away, far away
The incessant bells of the water sellers
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
As the birds fly by:
In flocks, crying aloud from above
The nets are being hauled in
A woman's feet touch the water:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
The bazaar is cool:
Mahmutpasa is bustling:
Courtyards full of pigeons
The sound of hammering from docks.
Smells of sweat on the sweet summer breeze:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
Still intoxicated with past revelry
A house on the sea with shadowy boathouses
In the murmuring of a relenting southwesternly
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
A pretty girl walks along the pavement:
Curses, songs, ribaldries
Something falls from her hand:
It must be a rose:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed