Letter from Smyrna.

A few years ago while visiting Izmit [historic Smyrna, Turkey], I became for some reason overwhelmed with emotion. Whether it was because people were identifying me as Armenian is hard to say, I had always felt that I looked fairly international in appearance without any particular racial trait. Little did I imagine that one day I would visit the ancient city of Smyrna, a city filled with all sorts of horror stories from the not so distance past. Memories kept alive by its former Greek and Armenian citizens. A city that witnessed the final expulsion of its cosmopolitan population whose residency stretched back thousands of years to Ancient Greece.

During my travels I fill many sketch books with drawing rather than taking photos, and occasionally am moved to write a short poem or prose impression about a location or experience. Last week I re found the following piece in my cupboard, and on reading it again felt I would like to share it with you.


Armenian letter from Smyrna.


Like any other day,
Seconds draw into minutes,
Minutes into hours,
Mahmud's voice, clear above the minaret's cries
Across echoing stones.
"All are now welcome George".

Armenian, Greek, Turkish blood now congealed in
Creaks around harden knuckles.
My room is white.
White titled floor and walls,
Unstained by history
Still gleaming in half light.

The world turns full circle
Smyrna now filled with youthful laughter.
Girl and boy walk hand in hand
In search of happiness.
Eyes bright without distance memories
To dim their gaze.

This morning
I passed a freighter moored by the quay,
Rusty earthen tints
Blending one with each other,
Like the rich Smyrna delta,
so often soaked with blood.

The city has been rebuilt,
Still decay makes its presence felt.
Behind the old bazaar
Alleyways spread out tangled webs,
Like life, each intent on catching light,
Waiting for springs' brushful
Of white lime, to begin life anew.