It was a money-making job that touched my life.
I expected to find vegetarians,
peaceful folks with no apparent strife.
Some had taken up arms in Ottoman wars.
Sunni, Shia, Alevi, Circassians,
remnants of Greeks, Laz on the Black Sea’s shores,
Azeri in Tabriz, Iran’s Armenians.
What is it like to live one hundred years?
At twenty-one, I bound up stairs
but feel the weight of time,
a love slips by me,
out of my hands,
she lives one-thousand five hundred kilometers away
twists of fate, like an earthquake
shifting the ground
beneath me.
One-hundredth of a second
freezes time’s flight
captures me
on the hilltop overlooking Rize.
Suited up and focused,
toting a shiny black briefcase, balancing
my camera draped over my neck,
I stand straight and look out far
capturing myself in a 10-second delayed shutter
hoping I’m not overexposed.
And I really didn’t know what I had snapped
until I emerged in the darkroom, composed and mapped.
No one plans to live for a century.
Day-to-day is plenty intense,
Is yogurt the key?
Walking everywhere?
A settled life style?
A solid marriage?
Or being overlooked by pashas
and imperialist troops?
My old people live under a nuclear umbrella–
the missiles based here in Erzurum,–
and they don’t even know it.
Their Russian samovars
remind us who ruled here once
and may once again.
These Turks don’t like the Russians,
those atheistic Communists.
They much prefer Americans,
who engrave “In God We Trust”
on their green money.
Believing in Isa Pegamber–
Jesus– way better than no God at all.
A yes, now you see a sample of our research,
their lives uncatalogued,
now remembered by you,
my audience.
Ömer’s Tale:
Centenarians– A Photo Essay
For his talk, Ömer chose to present this photo essay.
On the hilltop over Rize in eastern Turkey,
I dress for success.
Photography kit, business suit,
looking for subjects and landscapes.
Enjoy my top three compositions.
Hafız Ali, 102
A bearded hadji
a shining face
Nur yüzlü
The light of holiness emanating from his face
Also, a Hafız
one who has memorized the entire Quran
as a personal and collective memory.
Fatima, 110
Keenly, she asks,“Where are you from?
Who are you related to?
Here:
Would you care for some chay?
A co0kie?”
Buyrun.
Make yourself at home.
Help yourself!
Hasan, 105
“The owner lets me sit in the candy store.
I don’t wrestle anymore.
Just beware of my cane!”
How To Make Things Happen: Baksheesh
In Tabriz, Iran,
my Turkish faltered.
They speak Azerbaijani,
only partially intelligible.
So I spoke English,
assisted by British Pounds.
As a Turk in Armenia,
I felt very conspicuous.
It was touch-and-go.
My British boss did all the talking.
The English are cheap,
bad tippers.
I told him, “More.”
Back at the Turkish border
near Mt. Ararat,
customs confiscated my film.
That time I spoke with American dollars,
folded in a white envelope
together with my Turkish passport.
I retrieved my film rolls
after paying the appropriate “Duty.”
My boss billed his publisher
for our unexpected Administrative Expenses.
How to Succeed In My Profession.
1) Always ask permission
before any photographing.
(We are not in London.)
Especially in sensitive military zones
like Mt. Ararat.
2) Greet first, snap later.
selamünaleyküm
“Peace be with you.”
3) Make a small donation
to the subject’s favorite charity.
4) Never make a quick exit.
Linger over chay and sweets.
5) Say a proper goodbye.
(said by the departing party)
“I entrust you to God.”
Goodbye.
6) When you can,
protect your subject.
Defend the little scamps
begging for a handout.
Stand between your subject and the ruffians
hitting the scruffy little boys.
Almsgiving is a sacred duty in Islam.
