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Journey to Olympos

1 March 2010

we reached the campsites at Olympos with modern hippies in this place of treehouses and roosters and backpackers MGMT playing on a mobile phone it rained and rained and lightning sheeted over the Med over the Roman ruins on the other side of the river we walked toward the rocks of eternal fire crossed the flowing stream crossing through villages and headscarfed houses in bare feet my feet dangling down away from my own private exodus my own private Egypt on the wet floors of the rocks of the rocks the rocks were grayed out steps with occasional lighting sheets and monsoon like rains as we climbed the stone steps the stones and boulders arranged around the fire heat and oil a place of eternal torches a place of stones and rocks and rain

we were cold
we were cold
it was raining and there were sheets and sheets
of lightning over the Mediterranean
loud slaps from the dark sky
and these torches these torches
among the rocks
these eternal torches among the rocks

we reached the place of ruins
the place of Roman ruins
decayed columns
fallen columns
sinking Roman baths

what conversations did they have among these rocks?
What inner chatter told me of my own forking path
the beginning of the end of a new relationship
amid thorns and forking paths amid frogs amid one chilled out
sunbathing turtle splayed legs leathery head shell slightly cracked
softer softer softer than i had imagined

and the following day after we walked back to the Mediterranean
the Mediterranean
waded in watched others wade further
lost money ate Turkish delight
and we took the bus back up
the winding road up and around and
up and around
and then a nice fresh OJ
and another bus into Antalya

into the clean city full of life
full of life and the sea and the sea
continued its rhythm behind
us as we gunned around looking
for our kamel coach for a midnight
ride back to Ankara and found a
bar with closed curtains and mafia types
and one washed up
Russian prostitute and suited men
watching the room
loud Turkish music almost a tavern without
the friendly
shadows struts and suits and mock turtlenecks

so we bumbled out
a tad more serious in our conversations
and plans
with our strong gin and tonics
wagging our tongues
into the night
shaking our heads at cafes and restaurant owners
saying “Guten Abend
mein friend” and “come come
come for another”

Comments

julia said…
Wonderfully spoken... it evoked all that I felt on the journey... I might be so daring to call it excellence.
postpran said…
thanks Julia
jwg said…
Yes!
Kristy Thomas said…
I love this Marcus. I love the repetition and rhythm - it feels like the tide. And it feels like a glimpse into your world.
postpran said…
thank you so much Krısty!! I thınk you know my world very well!!!!!!!

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