Three Tales of Istanbul
In The Pleasures of Empty Lots: Scenes of Istanbul 2015–2016 (above left, BWolves 2021, cover painting by Can Aytekin), poet, historian, and translator Efe Murad, in a chapter on camaraderie, writes:
“There was a period when my friend and fellow poet Sevinç Çalhanoğlu was living in an apartment in Kadıköy. The apartment had a balcony covered in flowering vines. Concealed from view, it overlooked a sad playground. The swings had no seats for the children. I remember Sevinç sitting on the floor just inside the balcony door and editing her poems. She found this dark corner a soothing refuge, especially at a time when she was on the verge of making some major life decisions.”
Sevinç, who originally introduced me to Efe, would shortly thereafter move to Brooklyn, New York, where she began developing A Promenade at Home (center, BW 2021, cover painting by Ürün Ünal), a work of investigative-performative poetic catharsis set in her childhood home in Istanbul. Returning to her old rooms in spirit, Sevinç retrospectively summed up the conundrum faced by her past self:
“I myself am like an institution. Where could I go with all my institutionalism? With all these objects. Is it possible to find a mover who will carry me outside without leaving behind my past? No, nothing can lure me away.”
And yet! Efe’s diorama in time offers a just-inside-the-balcony-door peek at Sevinç on the cusp of tremendous traversal {…}
Sevinç has since become the third bored wolf, collaborating with us in the roles of poet, artist, graphic designer, and editor.
There is a subsequent dusking scene in Empty Lots, when Efe, on one of the many walks from which his narrative is woven, recalls:
“One summer night, while restlessly wandering the streets of Moda, I crossed paths with my fellow poet Selcan Peksan, in the shadow of the walls of Lycée Saint-Joseph. Selcan, who lives nearby, was out walking her soulful German shepherd, Maya. Selcan and Maya joined me on my wander.”
A meander which included Efe impromptu out-loud translating from the original Persian a volume of the fourteenth-century mystic poet Hafez’s collected ghazals, which he happened to have in his pocket, culminating in a “delirious binge of comparative linguistics.”
While editing this scene with Efe, I wrote to Selcan to, by way of introduction, spellcheck Maya the German shepherd’s name. M-A-Y-A, said Selcan. MAYA! And believe it or not, this loopingly led to the third book above, on the right, Slippage (BW 2022, cover and interior art by Maja Daneková, translated from the Turkish by Anna Wood), Selcan’s post-apocalyptic narrative poem that begins an hour into the first Istanbul lockdown when a water pipe in her apartment bursts.
“As we gather our wet belongings / to move to the front room / I say MAYA / MAYA I say / if you weren’t here / I never would have lasted this long. / She wags our tail.”
May every book we publish have such a wagable snagable tail.
