Category Archives: Karagöz puppets in dreamland

Breaking out of the glass box: The Karagöz puppets rejoice


Lately, I’ve been immobilized inside a midnight-blue and burnt sienna glass box, with walls so thick that the voices of the puppets have been obscured.   Those Karagöz puppets, They finally plastered a sign onto that imprisoning glass with rose … Continue reading

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Of orchid roots and chilly fingertips by the Bosphorus


It is late at night and the night owl spirit, egged on by Hacıyatmaz  (“hah-juh-yacht-mahz”), the incessant institagor of personal writing, is at it again.  He is rocking and rolling, back and forth, keeping me up way past my bedtime.  … Continue reading

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A strange, (spinning) journey to pink paradise with the Karagöz


Rocketing through the night air, our little engine that could (after 11 years on the road) made its best possible way out to our retreat spot, in Provincetown.  Hacivad Bey annoints the trip with his words: “Rise up nimbly and … Continue reading

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