Byen uden Navn # 2
All pictures & texts by Omar Ingerslev
( unless other sources are mentioned )
*
Other parts of “Byen uden navn”
( replace ∆ with . )
Byen uden Navn # 1 :
https://www∆nedersteetage.com/byen-uden-navn/
Byen uden navn # 3 :
https://www∆nedersteetage.com/byen-uden-navn-3/
Konstantinopel Byzantium Istanbul …
byen ved Bosporus
byen uden navn
færgelejet
vandet
Imperier kommer og går,
klamrer sig til stedet, med egne navne, for en tid
– vandet skiller og samler alt,
byen skyller sig ren dagligt,
ryster imperier og navne af sig,
efterladt som slagger og aflejringer
langs bredder
Byens evolution :
1 etage over jorden ~ (nutiden/fremtiden)
Ground 0 ~ (nutiden)
etage ÷ 1 ? ~ (hemmeligheden/fortielsen)
9 underjordiske etager ~ (fortidens skiftende epoker/imperier)
Grand Mecidiye Mosque (Ortaköy Mosque)
Bosporus
mågernes verden
er hævet over menneskene
hævet over kultur kejsere og imperier
over kirketårnes klokker og minareters kald
*
himlen over Rom og Istanbul
og mågernes skrig
er mere virkelig
end byer hver for sig,
*
skrig af gru og instinkt,
af kald og parring,
sult og nød,
*
skrig
fulde af utilsløret
og frimodig latter
*
skrig
så grænseløse
at selv de værste trafikbøller i disse byer
trods nok så mange ccm og vredladne gashåndtag,
ikke kan overgå mågernes skrig
*
mens kejsere til hest, i øst og vest
selvhævdende og hoverende
kyser og kuer sine undersåtter,
skider mågerne disse afguder op og ned af
harniskklædte rygstykker og laurbærkransbærende hoveder,
*
overskidte magtsymboler tæres op af mågernes mavesyre
som dårligt ænser de skiftende imperier der hærger verden under dem
Bosporus, færge, bro
*
*
*
The world is
open spheres in all sizes,
from the subatomar to the galactic… below and beyond,
every place, regardless the size, represents
an almost insignificant satelite and an almost absolute center of a world of its own,
no more, no less
*
only people, foolishly enough, try to circumvent or even change this fact,
by imposing imaginary borders and other illusions,
less real than fatamorganas in the desert,
not able to fullfill the heart´s longing
or an empty stomac
This city is such a place
– like any other place in its own right –
people from all places and all times are here,
some fighting eachother,
some falling in love,
some working,
together building a whole civilization
– even if they don´t realize it
*
In this city there are billions of living spheres
plants, animals and people
centres, districts, quarters, villages
streets, squares and temples…
all created with a unique heart
a dream, and a purpose of it´s own
– perhaps unknown,
*
The city itself has also a heart of its own,
too big and sophisticated to be seen with the eyes only,
a heart of bridges, waters and streets
running like veins
*
If you know a face
or a smile,
if you hear a call in the street,
from a cat
a playing child
or the simit-man,
or if you look up
and see the seagulls above in the sky
or the heavy and sour smoke from the chimney,
*
or if you see the mother
reaching out of the vindow
hanging newwashed clothes to dry
and calling for dinner …
*
or if you know only a single district
– like your own village
and you know the neigbours
– like your own familiy
*
or if you only know a single street
or go regularly to a single place
for food and tea
and company
*
– then you know all the other
people, districts and streets of this city
*
and thereby will be lead to the heart of the city itself
… and if you know this heart
then you know this city, any city
and the rest of the the world …
I met an old man,
and requested him :
” please, tell me everything about this city …
I wanna know it all ….”
*
The old man leaned towards me
and said with a certain blend of inner strength …
and with some tiredness :
*
” nobody knows this city … “
*
– the place doesn´t even know itself or what it once was ..
or vill become tomorrow
it just knows what is … is …
– maybe not even so
*
it doesn´t even have to,
it doesn´t even tie to the same name
… it existed before names … and after …
then was named “Byzantium” by the greeks,
then “Constantinople ” by the romans
… and now named Istanbul ..
*
but for how long ?
history never ends …
and this city is a living
immortal creature of its own
*
– people who think they control it
act like a child who has become insane,
in the lack of contact with reality
*
*
*
*
Balat
Grand Bazaar
Grand Bazaar
Bosporus
Bosporus
Galata Bridge
Galata Bridge
The aquamarins of Bosporus, Galata Bridge
Sultan Ahmet, Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque Blues
Aftenbøn fra Ayasofya og den blå moske
blander sig i kor med mågeskrig,
bønner fra andre moskeer svarer fjernt, som ekko
hver moske sin imam, sin bøn, sin tekst, sin stemme, sin toneart
– men alle på de samme tidspunkter dagen igennem –
*
Halvt lyttende indadtil og udadtil,
halvt døv, halvt overdøvende
samles alt i revner og hvide snit
på indervæggen af mit kranium,
– som et vægtløst ekko
kravler en grøn gekko,
fuld af ukendte harmoniske klange,
ad ukendte hjernevindinger og gange,
der sprænger alle grænser
for sfærernes musik …
Ayasofya
Ayasofya
Chora
Ayasofya
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Blue Mosque
Ayasofya
Hagia Irene
Blue Mosque
Regn over Eyüp
*
*
*
Senere stod jeg i læ
og ventede, mens en regnbyge drev forbi,
imamens toner gjaldede fra minareten,
alt fossede ned over mig, uafviseligt,
de våde fliser spejlede himlen
dråberne slog tilbage fra den lyse marmor
og dannede små åkandeformer
som mundstykker
*
dråberne dansede i rytmer, mønstre og positioner,
og nedfældede imamens toner i den våde marmor,
flydende partiturer
som det ene øjeblik sprang frem,
og i det næste gemte sig bag
himmelspejlende slør..
slør, som blev revet til side
og lod alt smelte sammen
*
og jeg må spørge :
*
kan noget være af så inderlig skønhed,
uden at jeg kan lave et billede af det,
hvis ikke det er væsentligt ?
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp Mosque
Eyüp
Hundreds of thousands of cats roam the metropolis of Istanbul freely. For thousands of years they’ve wandered in and out of people’s lives, becoming an essential part of the communities that make the city so rich. Claiming no owners, these animals live between two worlds, neither wild nor tame – and they bring joy and purpose to those people they choose to adopt. In Istanbul, cats are the mirrors to the people, allowing them to reflect on their lives in ways nothing else could.
” KEDI ” documentary :
https://en∆wikipedia.org/wiki/Kedi_(2016_film)
*
introduction :
https://www∆youtube.com/watch?v=PpG0z-npFIY
https://archive∆org/details/kedi.-2016.720p.-blu-ray.x-264-yts.-am
https://ia801706.us.archive∆org/27/items/kedi.-2016.720p.-blu-ray.x-264-yts.-am/Kedi.2016.720p.BluRay.x264-%5BYTS.AM%5D.mp4
( replace ∆ with . )
Nyt liv vrimler frem under gravsten, Eyüp
Bosporus
Når stilheden griber …
*
*
Hændelse 1 :
– hvorfor spurgte du ikke om jeg elskede dig ?
– hvorfor spurgte du ikke om jeg elskede dig ?
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 2 :
– hvorfor spurgte du ikke om jeg elskede dig ?
– det kan jeg ikke, det må komme som en uopfordret erklæring –
jeg elsker dig
– jeg elsker også dig
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 3 :
– jeg elsker dig
– jeg opfatter dig som en ven, men..
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 4 :
– du er min ven
– du er min ven
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 5 :
– jeg elsker dig
– ja, det gør du
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 6 – version 1 :
– jeg elsker dig
– det synes jeg
*
*
Hændelse 6 – version 2 :
– jeg elsker dig
– jeg elsker også mig
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 7 :
– jeg elsker dig
– det anede jeg ikke
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 8 :
– fremmede mennesker kommer og gnaver mig i ansigtet, jeg kan ikke have det ! ( den feterede )
*
*
Hændelse 9 :
– jeg elsker dig
– jeg elsker dig, svarede spejlet
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 10 :
( ingen ord )
9 måneder senere : barnepludren
*
*
*
Hændelse 11 :
– det betyder noget for pårørende, at gamle venner og bekendte viser interesse og støtte ved at deltage i bisættelsen
– der kom aldrig nogen, da min elskede døde
– netop, der kan du selv se hvad det betyder
( stilhed )
*
*
Hændelse 12 :
– hvordan ser du på, hvem der skal deltage til bisættelsen af din elskede ?
– det kan jeg ikke sige noget om, det må folk selv finde ud af
*
*
*
Bosporus
Bosporus, når stilheden griber…
… og forbinder …. Bosporus
Eminönü
Fatih
Fatih
Syrian wedding, Balat
Istiklal
” … The life of a playwriter is tough
It’s not easy, as some people seem to think
You work hard writing plays, and nobody puts them on
You take up other lines of work to try to make a living
I became an actor
and people don’t hire you.
So you just spend your days doing the errands of your trade
Today I’d had to be up by 10:00 in the morning…
to make some important phone calls.
Then I’d gone to the stationery store to buy envelopes.
Then to the Xerox shop.
There were dozens of things to do.
By 5:00 I’d finally made it to the post office…
and mailed off several copies of my plays…
meanwhile checking constantly with my answering service…
to see if my agent had called with any acting work.
In the morning, the mailbox had just been stuffed with bills.
What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to pay them?
After all, I was already doing my best.
I’ve lived in this city all my life.
I grew up on the Upper East Side…
and when I was 10 years old I was rich, I was an aristocrat…
riding around in taxis, surrounded by comfort…
and all I thought about was art and music.
Now I’m 36, and all I think about is money ... “
( excerpt from ” My dinner with Andre´ ” – 1981 )
Golden Horn
Næste morgen rejste bønnerne fra moskeerne øst for Bosporus sig inden solen brød igennem,
med de første morgenstråler nåede bønnen frem til moskeen i vort kvarter,
imamen var så gammel at få forstod hvordan han stadig kunne,
men kaldet var stærkt,
dog havde han af træthed glemt at slukke for højttaleranlægget,
alle i kvarteret var vidne til hvordan han under fysisk anstrengelse ankom
lidt for sent,
rodede med nøgler til rummet,
slæbte skoene med små og hastige skridt henover gulvet,
satte sig med et tungt suk i den knirkende stol,
puslede med papirer og knapper ..
og så endelig …
bønnen
alle åndede lettede op, og istemte en ny dag …
jeg lå stadig i sengen, og reflekterede over bønnens synkronicitet med verden
påbegyndelsestidspunktet øst for Bosporus, forskudt ift vest hvorfra jeg lyttede,
skabte i et klangrum mellem jordens lokale egenrotationshastighed på ca 1300 km/t
og lydens hastighed på 300 m/s ( = 1100 km/t ),
bønnen skyllede som en bølge fra øst, henover Bosporus og Det gyldne Horn,
og nåede omtrent frem når bønnen indledtes fra moskeen i vort kvarter.
Den lyttende oplevede de hundrede provinsbyer sammensmelte til Byen uden Navn,
mere end øjne kan samle i et blik
Det metafysiske rum kalder på eftertænksomhed.
De enkelte stemmer og melodier sammensmelter i polyfoniske og polyrytmiske strukturer,
– mere vidtgående end
Ligetis Lux Aeterna, eller Messiaens ” sacrum convivium “,
eller Mozart og Liszts “Ave verum Corpus”.
– fra duetter til kor ad infinitum mellem imamerne fra forskellige moskeer,
når de lytter – eller ikke lytter – til hinanden,
mens de beder, kalder
eller svarer reflekterende tilbage med recitationer,
fra moske til…
måske
Grand Bazaar
*
*
Eminönü
*
Eminönü
Fatih
*
*
Fatih
*
*
Fatih
*
Galata
*
Fatih
*
Fatih, syriske flygtninge
Fatih
*
Fatih, Roma
*
Fatih, Roma
*
Fatih, syriske flygtninge
*
Fatih, syriske ansigter
*
Fatih, syrisk pige
*
Fatih
*
Balat, syriske flygtninge
*
Balat
*
a dream about a home, on a bleak novemberday, Fatih
Fatih, Roma køkken
*
Fatih, Roma køkken
Suleymanye
Fatih, Roma
Fatih, Roma
Fatih, Roma
Galata
Istiklal: et slunkent bjerg af en mand, af overbelagt tabu-
ret ?
Istiklal
Balat
Balat
Balat
Balat
Balat
Ortaküy
Ortaküy
Balat, simitsælger
Karaköy
Karaköy
Karaköy
Karaköy
Balat
Balat
Balat
Balat
Balat
Balat
tynget sofa grubler så den knager, Balat
Balat
Eminönü
Balat
Üzküdar
Üsküdar – whose is this song ?
” In a small nice restaurant in Istanbul I was having dinner with friends from various Balkan countries – a Greek, a Macedonian, a Turk, a Serb, and me, the Bulgarian. There I heard The Song. As soon as it sounded we all started singing it, everyone in his own language. Everyone claimed that the song came from his own country. Then we found ourselves caught in a fierce fight – Whose is this Song? The event in the Istanbul restaurant did not leave my mind at rest. I knew from my childhood that the song was Bulgarian. I wanted to find out why the others also claimed the song was theirs. (…) The situation is in itself rather comic – the fight to prove that no one other than us can create such a beautiful song. At times this fight becomes tragicomic and dramatic, takes twists and springs, surprises with the metamorphoses of the song and the emotions of the participants in the film.
“Whose is this song?” is a film which treats with a sense of humour some typical Balkan traits including our constant strife to usurp somebody else’s possession and at the same time keep what is ours to ourselves. In addition to this, “Whose is this song” is a film about a song and the transformations it underwent on its travels along the roads of the Balkans: in the different countries it has different faces and exists as a love song, a military march meant to scare the enemy off, a Muslim religious song, a revolutionary song, an anthem of the right nationalists, etc. Could a song change people’s destinies? Could a song bring lovers together and then arouse blind jealousy? Could a song haunt a man for his whole life and even beyond? Could a song give rise to ethnic hatred or to revenge by hanging? “
In the medieval age in Europe, the troubadours travelled from place to place, singing poetry, and sometimes combatting, trying to win the favour of a much-admired local young woman – a combat of music and poetry, settled by the young womans choice – without bloodshed or killing.
https://www∆youtube.com/watch?v=3yEPuC41PFs
&
https://www∆youtube.com/watch?v=ag0D16-y0to
https://www∆youtube.com/watch?v=e4a162Zfi-w
( replace ∆ with . )
Eminönü
Eminönü
Galata
Galata
Eminönü
Eminönü
Tulipa of Ortaküy (Mosque)
tu
et tu, ‘lipa
*
two lips,
a lonely heart,
and two more,
two hearts, united in a kiss,
to kiss more, amore,
‘lipa, my dearest Philipa
tu tu pan-pan …
Top Kapi, Harem
Top Kapi, Harem
Top Kapi, Harem
*
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
den gamles yngre skygge rækker hånden frem til den unges ældre skygge, Fatih
3 generationers fælles fartøj på vej …, Fatih
En underfundig skæbne havde låst den unge mand i en invaliderende stilling, der kun lod ham se mosqueen mens han i rullestolen blev kørt mod solen og lysets vandring. Hver dag kom solen ham således i møde adskillige gange, lige så ofte som den ældre kvinde orkede at køre ham rundt. Hver gang blev den unge mand oplyst af solen og dens genskær fra det vægtløse hvide marmor. Intet fyldte ham med en større fred og lykke – intet kunne gøre den ældre kvinde mere lettet, end at se ham sådan – levende som han er, fanget i sin krop.
syriske børn, Fatih
Fatih
Grand Bazaar
kalkering af dansende slibespor i marmor, Fatih
Electric Sufi
*
*
These patterns
are hidden in the marblefloor
of the square encircling Fatih Mosque
*
With a remote resemblance
to the whirls of a dancing sufi,
they were created by other sources
380 volts and 3000 RPM
dancing towards God
dancing with God
dancing in God
…. and comming back
*
working towards marble, overcome it´s resistance,
working with marble
working in marble
…. and knock off work
*
– these patterns … made by a hardworking electric sufi ?
*
the stranger
were kneeling at the square encircling the mosque,
tracing the trails after hard work in the marble
and transferring them to paper with graphite,
enchanted by their surpricing beauty
people, passing by, became aware of this
some curiously offering the kneeling stranger some help
fullfilling this surpricing call,
it was comming to the imams attention
and he arrived in humble discretion and silence,
after watching the situation a while
he kneeled down, holding the paper waving in the wind
so the stranger could concentrate about drawing,
the eyes met, and lead to these words:
“The mosque is beautiful for the eyes“, said the stranger
The imam continued :
” ..what happens inside is even more beautiful .. “
the stranger silently agreed, and continued :
” .. beauty is in the apparantly invisible … like these patterns
in the marble, which noone have noticed before... “
the imam, smiling :
” .. that is true .. ” ( there was a recognizing silence between them ),
the imam continued :
” man walk, partly without knowing whats under his feet … ”
( people who gathered aorund, silently listening, were now smilling )
” ..more beautiful than what cannot be seen with the eye, is the unfathomable,
… walking with senses open, following the heart and feet …
in a pervasive invisible… like God, holding the answers man is seeking … “
” .. if you never go, you’ ll never know … “, the stranger confirmed
” … or if you never bow … “, the imam continued …
*
the stranger continued the voyage identifying new visual wonders,
sometimes the stranger and the imam crossed their ways and discretely noticed eachother, and sometimes the imam, followed by his young disciples, took a hold in distance, to watch the stranger, and sharing with his disciples why beauty and it´s secret powers matters …
( it all happened, but with fewer words and much more reality, so to speak … )
Galata
*
Fatih
Fatih
Fatih
Eminönü
Galata
Galata
Eminönü
Eminönü
trofast relation, med tiden skåret ind til benet, Eminönü
Eminönü
Eminönü
Galata
Eminönü
Eminönü
Eminönü
Eminönü
Eminönü
Grand Bazaar
Karaköy
Eminönü
Eminönü
Fatih
Balat
Fatih
Eminönü
Fener
tilfældighedens uafviselige tilstedeværelse, Balat
5 coincidences
Balat
Eminönü
Balat
Fatih
Balat
» Hver gang den rejsende kommer til en ny by, genfinder han en del af sin fortid, som han ikke vidste han ejede mere; fremmedheden ved det du ikke er længere, eller det du ikke ejer længere, venter dig og overrumpler dig på fremmede og ubesiddende steder «
Italo Calvino
Chora
Chora
Chora
Chora
Chora
Ayasofya
Chora
*
Ayasofya
– aldrig begyndt, aldrig afsluttet
*
*
*
*
