"My Own Imperfect Air"?

I learned two months ago that in two months I'll be working in Bolu, Turkey at Abant Izzet Baysal University. A number of years ago, I stumbled across Stephen Dunn's "Tangier" in an old copy of Perrine's Sound and Sense, 10th edition (I think. Thank you, Mr. Genest, for assigning this work. My copy's so beat up now that I can't really show it to anyone.). To this particular poem I attribute my having lived in Walla Walla for nine years-- or, rather, my having not run away from Walla Walla in nine years.

So, "Tangier"

There's no salvation in elsewhere;

forget the horizon, the seductive sky.

If nothing's here, nothing's there. 

I know. Once I escaped to Tangier,

took the same face, the same lie.

There's no salvation in elsewhere

when elsewhere has empty rooms, mirrors.

Everywhere: the capital I.

If nothing's here, nothing's there

unless, of course, your motive's secure;

not therapy, but joy,

salvation an idea left behind, elsewhere,

like overweight baggage or yesteryear.

The fundamental things apply.

If nothing's here, nothing's there –

I brought with me my own imperfect air.

The streets were noise. The heart dry.

There was no salvation elsewhere.

I came with nothing, found nothing there.

Stephen Dunn

I hope that this travel log will be a catalog of my experiences in Turkey as well as some of my remembrances of Walla Walla. I take with me what I have-- I cannot expect either Turkey or Walla Walla to provide me with answers that are not already within my self.