Sailing along the Bosphorous,
Listening to the seagulls cry,
I close my eyes and smell the sea.
The unique water stretch
Hath witnessed many wars.
Civilizations,
All fighting for,
To conquer,
To hold power.
Like a man were the mortals,
And the maiden was she.
In history,
A victory,
T'was to own this sea.
Byzantiniums, Ottomans,
All died for thee.
This love for
The Bosphorous,
Dividing the two continents,
Asia from Europe,
East from West,
Oriental from Occidental,
Hath survived.
An inheritance,
Of obsessive passion,
For every soul upon
Sighting Istanbul,
Hath been struck
By a mesmerizing beauty.
NOW AVAILABLE!
This book is a limited edition, and copies are hand numbered. It will NOT be available through Amazon or other distributors. You must purchase it directly from the author or from this site. It is hard-back (not the spiral bind seen
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
Share
Print
Save
Follow
