Monday, August 20, 2012

Announcing... Ottoman Beachcomber For Sale

Yes, it's official! Ottoman Beachcomber is available as an ebook for the modest price of $4.99. Simply click on the following link to preview or purchase:

http://vook.com/storefronts/book/ottoman-beachcomber.html#.UDJITqNrVTa

The link above accesses the Vook portal. Vook is the cloud software I use to build and market ebooks. But you can also find Ottoman Beachcomber on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and via iBooks.

It's a great read. Buy it today!

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Ottoman Beachcomber ebook ready

A preview version of my ebook Ottoman Beachcomber is now available! Write to me if you want to download a free copy. Here's the cover image:




Monday, July 16, 2012

Ottoman Beachcomber - 4 images

I'm taking a short break from The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming to complete an ebook version of what I believe is a delightful little history I wrote 30 years ago (gasp!), Ottoman Beachcomber - Travels in the Balkans and Turkey, 1983.

I built the template in Jutoh, a nice, and very affordable ebook builder. Now I'm moving to the cloud to work in Vook, which provides much finer formatting capabilities. It shouldn't take more than 8 hours to put it all together and wrap it up in a sharp little package.

In the meantime, here are 4 notable images, digitized and transformed from slides that Nancy took in 1983. I thought you might enjoy them. Double click any image and they'll all pop up as a little slide show.
 

This one is Dancing Tara, an overlay of a photo of Nancy on a temple painting of the goddess Tara, from the chapter, The Goddess Tara Makes an Appearance.



This pastoral scene, entitled Greek Shepherd, was taken just outside of Edirne, and can be found in the chapter Another Meeting with the Goddess.



I love this one, entitled Noble Worker, of a Turkish harvester. The image can be found in the chapter Further Sketches.



And finally, what kind of travelogue of Turkey would this be if I didn't include at least one image of Poppy Fields? You will find this shot in Turkish Valleys and Yellow Brick Roads.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Sleepeeng by Day, Nietmaerz awl Nite

On April 24, 2010 I posted a rewrite of poem in Bouk 6 of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming, Sleepeeng by Day, Nietmaerz awl Nite. With renewed work on Bouk 6, I came across that poem again, and made yet further changes. Here's the first stanza:

Nite and its deth dans. The dog men sirkel,
The tooth men, the slavver men,
The deth skwodz and wield paks.
Heer the skreem, the long traen rumbel.
A berd skreechez and the aer iz torn
By a fether, fluttereeng. Braken ov glass.
Like a razer a flashlite kuts the dark...
 

Tuesday, July 03, 2012

After Immij, After Karnij

This one scene stands as a late poem in Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. The poems in this fragmented narrative pursue a series of recursive rhythms and images. This poem’s title, rhythms, and images all hark back to other poems, including the one I posted on June 7, 2012: Master Immij, Moelten Immij, which begins:

The areyanz kame down like a woolf on the foeld,
    Like a woolf in the koeld
    Lakking trueth in thaer kode.

Of course, Byron’s classic, The Destruction of Sennacherib, provides the original template of rhythm and image.

After Immij, After Karnij

The areyan kame down like a woolf on a foel,
And hiz teeth wer gleemeeng like pawlish koel,
And the foelz muther reerd, fureyus, appawld,
And krusht the woolfs hed, but her chield lay ded.

Saturday, June 30, 2012

Mith Will Not Make Us Morrel

Here is another fragment, as I continue to revise Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. These are the opening stanzas of Mith Will Not Make Us Morrel.

Warevver Elmallah ternd, thare wer throngz.
Behiend him krowdz raezd a mitee din.
Befor him thay rusht, gathereeng in a krush.
Grate lamps and torchez, shaddo and fume.

He touk a deep breth.
Hiz nostrelz bern with the aerz,
Like smoke the oxxajjen choekt him.
The werl infuezd hiz blud.

    “O how mennee ajez sins I knu Yur Prezzens?
    “How mennee jenneratenz tu retern?
    “O, louk at my werk, my eddiffis of Soel
    “Koyeld in kaos; Yur Hows, it bernz.

    “I went ammung them
    “Tu glorraffy Yur Name.
    “I passt thru thaer mist
    “Tu rowz thaer Soelz.

    “The krowdz wake up.
    “Thaer breth kwik and akrid.
    “Frum thaer dreemee deziyerz,
    “Naeshenz, thay stampeed.

    “Frum thaer dreemee vizhenz
    “Mith bekumz rellijjen.
    “Wut ar theze illuzhenz
    “Devolven frum the Trueth?

    “Wut ar theze miths?
    “Katheedralz bilt uppon them.
    “But tennamments for justis,
    “And mersee haz no hoem.”
 

Thursday, June 07, 2012

Master Immij, Moelten Immij

The following poem is part of a long narrative, written as a collection of short, lyrical, semi-discontinuous image/moments. It is taken from Bouk 6 ov The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. Bouk 6 is the story of a Jewish woman’s attempts to escape the net of European nazism during the Shoah. Altho many of the images and ideas in this 36 line poem are connected to previous scenes and images in the 5 prior books, I hope it can still be read and appreciated on its own.

This poem presented particular difficulties to me because of its technical requirements. I am trying to capture the fluid, morphic nature of thought thru the fluid, morphic semi-rhyming of the poem. In the course of arriving at this stage in the poem, I have written enough stanzas, and versions of phrases, to easily quadruple its length. In this post I am presenting only the poem, itself. In my next post I will pull back the curtain, and show some of the phases of the poem’s aural, visual, and conceptual development.

As always, your critical feedback will be of great value to me.

Master Immij, Moelten Immij
    Devowwerd.
The areyanz kame down like a woolf on the foeld,
    Like a woolf in the koeld
    Lakking trueth in thaer kode.
And thay bernd owwer bouks and thay bernd owwer marterz.
    How thay glorreed in thaer fiyer.
    How thay glowwerd and thay merderd.
This land wuz goedless and I, I dident kno it,
    And I, I shoud hav fled it,
    And now insted I feed it.

    Hu ar theze spekterz?
A long-horn ram iz lasht tu a log .
    He chaenjez tu a man,
    Chaend tu my hand.
A preest undressez me in hiz rume;
    So plezzent, I swune.
    Like a beest. Unkleen.
A temptress deklaerz, "faeth will be restord."
    Swaerz she iz an empress.
    A raeth, she faedz.

    Owtlawz stok me intu my dreemz.
My Soel haz rooten deep in this soyel;
    By degreez I abzorbd it.
    Deeplee I am soyeld.
Beests and goests rize owt ov the grownd,
    Poke at my chest,
    Kroek in my throet.
I am shatterd, a meerer, a fase in eech frag.
    Sum point and akkuze.
    Sum faent with abbuse.

    Wuended by hope.
Ar yu areyan woryerz, godless and wield?
    Yur handz ar not bluddee.
    Yur glans iz not brutish.
Torn by my oen remors and disgrase,
    I kan taest my teerz
    Az I choke on my feerz.
Yu glare like a kween and deklare az I kowwer:
    ‘Servile no mor,
    ‘Yu serven ov the Lor.'

Tuesday, June 05, 2012

Old caravanserai in Beysehir, Turkey

Working on a fair copy of a poem in book 6 of The Song ov Elmallahz Kumming. The poem is fairly short, 36 lines, but because of some technical complexities, it has gone thru untold numbers of revisions. I'm closing in, and will publish it here, soon, with a peek behind the surface, to some of the discarded and unrevised lines. In the meantime...

I continue to work on digitizing and restoring slides of Turkey taken in 1983 and 1986. I intend to use some of them for my ebook, Ottoman Beachcomber. Yesterday I came across this image, which allowed for some surprising results. Here's the original, a shot of a ruins of a rather grand caravanserai (pre-industrial truck stop; caravan resting place) in Beyşehir (pronounced BAY-sha-heer), a small town in south central Turkey.


There wasn't much I could do with this to enhance it while remaining true to its realism. But then again, as I see it, realism is just the surface of things. With not much effort, I found a lot of color lurking behind the surface. First this:


Which quickly revealed this:


Then this:


And then finally, taking some color away, this:


Who knew there were all those gemstones in the matrix of stone and the mortar mix? In 1983 when we first came across this site, this last picture approximates what I saw. The image prior to the last one is what I speculate Nancy saw when she clicked the shutter.

Friday, May 25, 2012

multi-threaded nature of thought, 2

In the distant past, almost two months ago, I posted a little essay about the superimposing layers of thought going on in the mind at any given moment. I noted that I would post a draft of a scene in The Atternen Jewz Talen that explores this idea directly, that is phenomenologically. Finally, here it is...

Written 3/29/12, 6 Nisson 5772; week ov Tzav
Edited 5/25/12, 4 Sivan 5772, week ov Bamidbar

Like a maed az she step frum a steemee bath,
The beedz a sparkel on brest and cheek,
An she run a kome thru her glissen a hair,
Awl kleen an strate an silver a sheen,
So awl the thred an the braken strand
In my theenk untaengelz in a shivver a lite.

Nayomeez in thaer, her haer streem down
Like a milkee way, awl fiyerree faent;
An the Surah* street in a mobeyus not,
                 * Jewish sittee on the Ewfrateez till about 1000 CE
                    The Atternen Jew livd thaer mennee a yeer
Ov me an a thowzen alleez an dorz.
I wonder like a chiel lost in forlorn,
An in thoze streeten, the krush a shops,
An in them shop, mennee the fase,
An Nayomee an Ellijah a peerenz owt
Ov them straenjerren staers and fammilleyen iyz.

Them fasen like sitteez I wonder thru.
How much iz me-in-them that I see
An how much them that shine thru me?

Surah, Dammask, Allexxandreya...
Ah, Yerrushallaem, yur wawl an yur dung,
An the boyel a worz, the klatter an kry.
Menz awl werkt up, awl God insane.
An them pagen speerz stoken inflame,
Thaer fiyeree feengerz grippen my kor,
That Addom overheeten inside my braen.
An Addom, him kryen for Edenz re-bertht;
Eve in her berth thro; him plow the erth.

Thats the embroiderz a kuller it awl.
But the worpen thredz an weften kord
Az hoel it tugether in a moeshennel feel:
Deziyer - Nayomee in a silkee gown,
An sarroez - me sleepen in a foxxen den.
Despaerz a plunnee - my tatterz a faeth,
An sumhow, wunder twisten in -
The lite a-slant thru a braken dor
On a gerl-chiel tokken tu her raggee dol.
An plunnee a aengerz an thaer feerz an joyz.
Multappel korden a randem arraed,
Shapen eech theenk az it kum unmade.
Shapen me intu thaer atternen taelz
Beneeth my brokaden memmorree.

Well, thats a mor detalen skech a my theenks
Than I ment tu say ov my travvellenz eest.

Friday, May 04, 2012

Restoring the color of the past, 2

In late March of this year, I posted an image recovered from my wife's slide archive, showing the Sultan Beyazit Cami (mosque) in Amasya. I then showed my progressive restoration of the image. (Well, really, some may argue it was not restoration so much as transformation, re-creation.)

Below are a few more notable images recently digitized and then restored/transformed by me. Some or all of these will end up in my ebook, Ottoman Beachcomber (which has also been previewed in this blog)....

Food market in Bergama, original:


Bergama market, newly alive:


Divrigi, dawn, almost:


Divrigi, dawn, really:


This is a cool pic. Nancy climbed the minaret of the Uc Serefeli Cami (mosque) in Edirne, and took a picture across town of the Selimiye Cami. First the original long shot:


Here's the Selimiye close-up (cropped from the original):


Now, here's 3 more of the Selimiye, transformed (definitely NOT simply restored):




Way down yonder in southeast Turkey is Mardin, an ancient town high up on the plateau overlooking Syria. Here's the original, a shot of some people (almost) and the Syrian plain in the background:


Now we can see the people, too. HEY, that's me, with some pals!


Finally, a beautiful shot of the Ishak Pasha Saray (palace), which needs little or no attention:


Buuuut... I gave it some attention anyway. Here's 2 new ways to see Ishak Pasha:



Click on any image to zoom it, and/or to see a slide show of all the images in this post.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

Educational tours of the USHMM

Yesterday I led a group of nineteen 8th graders through the US Holocaust Memorial Museum, on a rigorous educational tour. What a great group of students!

One of the exhibits is a room full of shoes with a 5 line poem on the wall written by Moishe Shulstein. The poem, written from the point of view of the shoes, stands as the primary documentation for the exhibit. To counterpoint the poem as a way of making it stand out, and as an exercise in helping the students filter through the vast number of images they had seen so far, I had them each write a poem, written from the point of view of an animal. They had 5 minutes to write something.

The following students gave me permission to publish their poems on my blog. Here they are, unedited. Given the short amount of time they had, perhaps you might be inclined to change a word here or there, but still, I think you’ll be as blown away as I am.

I fly over them,
they are treated so awfully
why do they cry
all I can do is watch
because I am JUST
a bird and they are
JUST Jews.
- - - Daniel Benzikri

BEE
I am a bee
I buzz and I sting
I cause so much pain
I hunt prey
I stand by letting people fall below
I am powerless
It is custom for me to cause pain,
but, is it right?
I am a bee,
I am a Nazi.
- - - Ophir Mizrahi

I have seen things no one
else should ever see. I have
seen only bad things for
the last 6 years. I have
seen bodies fall to the
ground after a loud shot.
I have also seen how
bodies have been thrown
into pits. Nearby, I
always see black smoke
coming out. today there
is no more of that.
I can hear celebrating.
There is freedom after all.
- - - Moses Goodman

Sparrow
As I fly
as free as can be
I look down,
and see a terrible thing
As I move through the ocean breeze
It troubles me what I see
I see children dying,
people crying
As the smoke flies up
to me.
I cry, for those who
can’t.
- - - Gilana Pikover

I fly over the camps
Most disgusting thing I ever saw
How can people be so mean?
- - - Tamir

I am a fox
I was spared because
of my weakness (?) and
my intelligence
I have not been killed
because of my uselessness.
- - - Matthew Levy

Monday, April 02, 2012

multi-threaded nature of thought

My reading, reflecting my interests, spans a wide range of topics. However, the subject of thought – what it is and how we experience it - is almost entirely unexplored (with the exception of some lame and poorly written philosophical treatises on "mind"). It appears that, in large measure, most people think of "a thought" as a distinct, precise, and unalloyed unit, not unlike the idea of the "atom" as imagined in the late 19th century.

That late 19th century "atom", it turned out, is not the ultimate building block of matter, and indeed will probably end up being seen as a fictional unit altogether, discarded from scientific discourse. So too, it is becoming clear that our thoughts are not singular, fundamental units of consciousness, but are complex fabrics woven of many strands and fragments. Or to use another analogy, our thoughts are like symphonic compositions, with multiple instruments playing independent but related, or semi-related consonant and dissonant melodies, tones, and percussive beats.

This understanding of thought is derived from my direct experience, and emerges from the comprehensively documented observations of the highly superimposed nature of consciousness. To use a computing metaphor, human consciousness is a multi-tasking system, and each task is multi-threaded. At any given moment, consciousness is composed of multiple sensations, emotions, thoughts, and higher-order impressions and operations (these latter being beyond the threshold of common awareness), and each sensation, emotion, and thought is multi-threaded.

Most of the time most people are entirely unaware of this symphony of processing going on within them, that comprises human mentation. Indeed, we are wont to reduce this welter of processes to single thoughts, or single emotions, or single sensations, or at most, single (mostly) linear narratives. The arts, of course, challenge this kind of simplification. As noted, the symphony with its multiple instruments playing multiple melodies, phrases, and sounds replicates the multi-threaded nature of human consciousness. The novel, with its complex interacting characters and interwoven story lines replicates both the multi-tasking and multi-threading of consciousness. Yet, nowhere in literature, at least to my knowledge, has this exploration of complexity focused down into the multi-threaded functioning of consciousness itself. At most, we have stream-of-consciousness techniques exploring the uppermost level of awareness and its often non-linear narrative trajectory. 

Having introspectively explored my thinking processes for over 40 years, it seems appropriate (perhaps long overdue) that I now take my perspective down into the multiple threads of thought to try to unpack them. Perhaps the subject may seem more appropriate for a psychological essay or a phenomenological tract. But those forms lack both aesthetic richness and narrative ordering principles, and aesthetics and narrative are core components of consciousness. Therefore I am exploring these horizons of consciousness through a poetic lens, hoping, through a sort of stop-frame process, to expose a more accurate and nuanced representation of human mentation.

In my next post will you will be able to read (and critique) a first draft of just such an exploration.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Restoring the color of the past

I am in the process of digitizing my wife Nancy's slides of Turkey from 1983. They are the pics she took while we traveled around the country, she working on her dissertation, and I writing scenes for Ottoman Beachcomber (to see previous posts on this topic, CLICK HERE). Due to the age of the slides, and perhaps less than favorable photographic conditions at the time, the slides are rather washed out, and they seem to have drifted into the purple registers. For example, here's a picture of the Sultan Beyazit Cami in Amasya:


It's a nice enough picture, but, I think you'll agree, it lacks pizazz. So I started working on it, using Gimp. Step 1:


Not a big change. You may not even notice it: telephone wires gone. Step 2:


Now, that's more like it. This is a beautiful mosque made of gorgeous stone. Step 3:


The mountain in the background recovers some of its fire. And notice, the wagon's delightful paint job is now visible. On to step 4:


Do you see the change?? The boy vanishes! Now step 5 is perhaps a little much, but bear with me:


Is the sky over-bright? Maybe, but I'm not done yet. Now we get to the fun part, making this a visionary experience:

































And still one step further:

































This is what the world feels like and seems like when you're traveling out on the edge, having the time of your life. The camera may only see that drab first image, but that's not the truth when you're traveling almost-out-of-body!

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Book of the Dead, a scene

I am working on a new story, part of my book, Transmigrant Journals. This story, The Book of the Dead, Frayed Ends of a Broken Thread, is made up of a number of short, interwoven but non-linear scenes. Here is one:

Reading Akutagawa’s The Story of a Head that Fell Off. When I nod off, I dream I am Xiao-er. I am lying in mud by the edge of a gentle stream. Willow leaves tremble above my head. I dream I am dying, no, that I am dead and I have washed up on an unknown bank. Realizing this, I am struck by a bolt of panic, and I jolt awake.

Swallowed in grief, I look about me and see I have been lost in a reverie. This moment is too piercing. I am at graveside, and the casket has just been lowered. The shovel is lifted by person after person, each struggling to drive its blade into the wet clay and rock, to lift it, to shake its load into the grave, to drive its blade back into the clotted earth.

I pull the shovel out of the muck, then drive it back in with a violent shove. As I lift and throw, I see the casket is open. Horrified, I drop the shovel and it clatters into the open pit .

Swallowed in shock, I open my eyes. I am lying in mud by a gentle stream.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Ottoman Beachcomber: an Afterword

The following text is the afterword to my latest little ebook, Ottoman Beachcomber. Of course, in the ebook there are images, links, and jumps to other parts of the text, which I left out here. The original text was written in 1983, when I traveled from Beograd, Yugoslavia to Edirne, Turkey to meet my wife. We then traveled together for 4 months around Turkey. 

In the 29 years that have transpired since then...

Much has changed since these stories were written, in matters of appearances and accessibility, as well as in politics and cultural awareness.

Yugoslavia, the model conglomerate state, has been shattered into recriminating pieces. Turkey, seemingly content and proudly secular, looks longingly back to its religious past, with idylls of the caliphate and imperialism. Prizren, Skopje, Edirne, Bergama, Izmir – largely unknown when these stories were written, are now on the itineraries of all the hipster travel guides. Greece, once a magnet for hipsters and vagabonds, now implodes beneath the weight of its own political and social vagabondism. And yet, I wonder if I would still be followed by a gang of affectionate, laughing kids, walking around Tokat. I’m inclined to think I would.

I decided to embed the text with links, to help provide a little intellectual fill-in (eg, Wikipedia articles), and to enrich it with accessible public images (beyond Nancy’s photos). How often I laughed out loud, seeing exactly the object or building or valley that appeared before my eyes 25 years ago, unchanged, except by the embellishments of my, perhaps, over-active imagination. Or I would groan, or just sag back in my chair, seeing other places modernized into oblivion.

A few salient examples may help you appreciate how ephemeral both time and place may be. Often, all that remains are the descriptive and literary reconstructions of it, shaped by the author’s interests, sensitivities, and transient emotions.

My first epiphany was in II. Moving Fast, when I wondered if there were any images of Kraljevo online. HA! There was even a video put out by the Turist Hotel, featuring in its opening scene the “larger than life statue” I mentioned. Talk about a long, delightful chuckle with oneself!

In IV. Saloniki, Almost, I explored dozens of websites trying to find and verify images of the caravanserai I explored. In the process I hit upon a photo of the Ottoman bath cum art gallery, almost a perfect replica of the drawing I had done of that very place. I immediately scanned the drawing from my notebook, and embedded it and the link to its online counterpart into the chapter. That was really gratifying.

I also lucked out in V. A Typical Border in a Typical Daydream, and found a picture of the customs house and surrounding landscape just south of Gevgelija. You may not be able to see the  exotic people, party and sunrise in that picture, but it flooded my mind for over an hour with reveries.

In IX. Turkish Valleys and Yellow Brick Roads, I had little hope of finding a picture to illustrate the stunning hill of olive trees with retaining walls, but I literally jumped up and shouted jubilantly (startling my wife out of sleep with many a grumble) when I came across the one I linked to at “grove on the steep hillside”. It seems someone else has a sensibility similar to mine.

I experienced a few notable disappointments. Back in the early 80's the ferries that plowed the Bosporus genuinely belched smoke and sparks in thick abundance, but thanks to environmental concerns, all those ferries have been converted to cleaner fuel. Am I complaining? Nonetheless, I couldn’t find a single image of those cinder belchers. I’m sure they were widely photographed, and no doubt, they may be well documented in online archives (and more certainly, they languish and fade in boxes in a thousand households full of old, forgotten snapshots) but no such images are to be found in easily accessible sites. I had to settle for an unconvincing and uninspired shot (“belch from the smoke stacks” in X. Fishermen and Their Wharves) that doesn’t do justice to history.

Another disappointment occurred in XI. The Izmir Fish Market. It seems, the central fish market on the Izmir harbor pier doesn’t exist anymore. I had to settle for some “it was kinda like this” images. Tempus fugsus.

Finally, Turkey’s change over the last 25 years was, for me, most dramatically displayed as I searched for images of the town of Divrigi (XII. Oases and Caravanserais). When Nancy and I explored it, it was a mud brick village, which seemed almost prehistoric in our romanticism. I tried to convey that through a link to an historic photo, but that destitute town seems to have gotten a professional facelift. Looking at it now, you might think you were in some out of the way place in Tuscany. Not bad, but not my Divrigi.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge the remarkable photo archives at www.pbase.com, which I linked into the text a number of times. They will jump out at you as you come across them, and you may find yourself diverted from my little history for more time than I had intended.