Joseph Brodsky, the Russian poet who was awarded the 1987 Nobel Prize in Literature, came to Istanbul in 1980s and had this to say:

“I came to Istanbul to look at the past, not at the future — since the latter doesn’t exist here: Here there is only an unenviable, third-rate present of the people, industrious yet plundered by the intensity of the local history. Nothing will happen here anymore, apart perhaps from street disorders or an earthquake.”

Once in a while I go back to this comment, and try to make a sense of it. What did he mean?

Once I was in St. Petersburg and looked for his house, which was to be turned into a museum. It wasn’t there, and no one knew anything about it. Yet, within a few hundreds meters, there was Pushkin’s house, his books, his chairs .. so on. Revered as ever.

Russians knew of Brodsky but they didn’t seem to care. I wish he were alive, and I could ask.

Once in a while I get depressed in Istanbul, and feel how he felt about it too, forever gnawed by “the third-rate present of people” — just like the Italians of 70s & 80s. Maybe it’s the curse of Roman Empire we both are buckled under.