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#istanbul – @ukdamo on Tumblr
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Damian: posts feature the pen and the pixel

@ukdamo / ukdamo.tumblr.com

Gay guy in England's north west. Retired Forensic Learning Disability nurse. Travel: Photography: Music: Literature
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Tell Me About İstanbul

Nâzım Hikmet

Stop! Let the water of the coffee boil, Tell me about İstanbul, how was it? Tell me about Bosphorus, how was it? June is washed by the runaway rains with vibrations, Would that seven hills get dried by Such a hot sun like a mother’s care…

Tell me people laughed there, In trains, ferries, buses. I like it even if it’s a lie, say it. Always agony, always agony, always agony Had enough…

Stop! Let it stay, don’t turn the TV on Tell me about İstanbul, how was it? Tell me about the city of cities, how was it? While looking in my forbidden eyes from the hills of Beyoglu, Make compliments about bridges, Sarayburnu, minarets, and Haliç. Could you say a hello, secretly…

Tell me people laughed there, In trains, ferries, buses. I like it even if it’s a lie, say it. Always agony, always agony, always agony Had enough…

Stop! Leave it, don’t move stay like that, please Your scent is like İstanbul, and your eyes like İstanbul nights. Now come and hug, hug me the one with henna. Under the sky, just there together The dream of starting over by saying thanks to god Is like a river in the desert of your longing.

Tell me people laughed there, In trains, ferries, buses. I like it even if it’s a lie, say it. Always agony, always agony, always agony Had enough…

Posted before, but simply too good to pass over

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Blue Mosque

James Frederick William Rowe

Upon fire wings

The seagulls soared--

     Lit by light

     Which burnt wing tips

     Red hot against

     A sapphire starscape

     Abud with evening stars

     Glistening through the

     Transparent haze

     Of wind-wisped clouds

--Gliding aloft on currents of

Chill, November air

Buffeted by the dome

Of Sultan Ahmet

     The Blue Mosque

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Love Istanbul

Ayhan Inal

Her lover for years,

I love Istanbul.

Beylerbeyi, Küçükyali,

I love Istanbul.

I love Istanbul

With her sweet accent,

Her poverty, her sufferings,

Her Kumburgaz and her Sile.

Sultanahmet, Dolmabahçe,

From inside

To outside,

Are like lace work on canvas.

Visitors wear out the threshold

Of mosques where the Qur’an is recited.

Its corners are sacred.

I love Istanbul.

Our best ornament.

We’re grateful to Him,

Our heaven on earth,

I love Istanbul.

The Bosphorus has no equal, the Golden Horn is blue,

Let’s walk in the moonlight in Küçüksu.

How can we tire of this city?

I love Istanbul…

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My Dear Istanbul

Necip Fazil Kisakurek

They have melted my soul and  frozen it in a mould;

They have named it Istanbul, and put it on earth.

There’s something smoking inside me; air, colour, grace, and climate;

That’s my beloved who came from beyond time and place.

Its flowers are golden stars, its water is sweet;

The moon and the sun have always been Istanbulian.

The sea and the earth have reached their union in her

And the dreams have turned to reality in her.

                          Istanbul is my life;

                          my motherland…

                                 Istanbul,

                                 Istanbul…

History has eyes, the riddles on ancient walls;

Cypresses, cypresses are of fine stature, they’re the curtains

                             of two worlds…

A steed rears up on the clouds;

Diamond domes, perhaps there are billions of steeds…

The minarets are index fingers pointing to the sky.

In every embroidery a meaning: we must die.                                                        

Death is more alive than life, mercy is greater than sin;

When Beyoğlu is drowning in worldly pleasures,

                               Karacaahmet weeps…

                           Seek the meaning, find it!

                           Find it in Istanbul!

                                      Istanbul,

                                       Istanbul…

The Bosphorus, the silver brazier of the Bosphorus, boils the coolness;

The depths of heaven on earth are in Çamlica.

Playful waters are the guests in the basement of the sea-side house;

A photo of the sad face of a former diplomat hangs on the wall.

Every evening flames on the windows in Üsküdar,

A haunted house, big as the city…

A song from the Ud or the Tanbour?

It sings “Katibim” behind the bay-windows…

              Its women are like sharp knives,

              Warm like fresh blood,

                         Istanbul,

                         Istanbul…

Time on the seven hills embroiders

Seven colours, seven voices, endless manifestation…!

Eyüp is an orphan, Kadiköy is dressed up, Moda is haughty,

Wind in the Island plays tricks with the girls.

Each dawn, the arrows fly from their bows.

Cries come from Topkapi Palace still.

The mothers are the best of sweethearts, Istanbul is the best of places;

Never mind the cheerful crowd, those who cry are happier.   

Its night smells hyacinth, Its Turkish the nightingale’s voice.

                                       Istanbul,

                                       Istanbul…

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