The Taming of the Mullet

Denny, Kathy and Clinton
Lunch overlooking the Bosporus

Ok, gang.  I've continued poking through my old papers and have come up with the latest, probably the last, and certainly the least significant of my early works.  In 1994, my 17-year-old nephew Denny, his parents Clinton and Kathy, and I vacationed in Turkey -- primarily with a small group on a wooden gulet sailing along the southwest coast, but also a number of days on our own in Istanbul.  Some of us, at least,  heard for the first time the words "mullah" and -- on menus -- "mullet." 

Puns ensued. 

Shortly after we returned home, I sent the ditty below to my relatives as a humorous [sic] commentary on the good times we'd had.  It's based on Lewis Carroll's "'Tis the Voice of the Lobster" from Alice in Wonderland, which in turn was a parody of a now ignored morality poem for children called "The Sluggard." 

We loved Turkey.  We loved the Turkish people.  We loved hearing the calls to prayer, even when they woke us early in the morning.  Nothing in these verses was intended as an insult to Muslims or to Islam.  Nor is my publishing it now, as an example of my own silliness.  It is no more a criticism of Turkey or of Islam than were Lewis Carroll's works an attempt to ridicule the British Crown (red queen and white queen), or the Royal Coat of Arms (lion and unicorn).
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'Tis the Voice of the Mullet,
I'm bound to declare,
That awakes us from dreams
And calls us to prayer.

'Tis the Cry of the Mullet,
At noon, I opine,
That halts our sightseeing
And demands that we dine.

'Tis the Wail of the Mullet,
From his tower so steep,
That ends the day's doings
And sends us to sleep.

Our days are divided
Into five easy pieces,
By the Amplified Mullet
Whose howl scarcely ceases.

Kaş, Kalkan or Stamboul,
No matter which city,
The Ubiquitous Mullet
Sings his same horrid ditty.

For Iraq and Iran,
So given to bullets,
Have pity -- they're bonkers,
From listening to Mullets.

But a Mullet, not chanting,
Is merely a Fish,
Glaucous eyes staring upward,
From a cold serving dish.

When found thus, mouth open,
At the Merit Antique,
One Mullet was left breathless
By a kiss on its beak.

'Tis the blush of the Mullet,
Shines forth red like a salmon,
That loud-mouthed old fish
Had been smooched by a gamin.

'Tis the croon of the Mullet,
Who (what power love hath!) is
Singing ballads to the city, like
a Turkish Johnny Mathis.
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The Merit Antique was our hotel in Istanbul.  The last verses commemorate the dinner when my nephew spied an intact fish on his dinner plate and gave its lips a smooch.

Note that this was written in 1994. "Mullet" as a hair style dates only from 1996. Also note that the call to prayer is actually given by a "muezzin." But we didn't know that.