Occasionally, a member of the Boulevard staff wishes to celebrate particular aspects of a piece we’ve published and share their reflections with our readers, in hopes of giving some insight into our editorial considerations when selecting new work. We are calling this feature “Literature Is Good.”

by Havilah Barnett, Intern

Alpay Ulku’s prose poem, “Bouillabaisse”—the name of a seasoned fish soup—is just that: a mix of poetic craft and technique stewed together to create a flavorful piece. I was immediately reeled into the poem by Ulku’s purposeful sentence structure, vocabulary, and tone that elicit powerful images and emotions. Ulku takes a balanced approach, simultaneously establishing a mysterious mood while satisfying readers' curiosity.

A strange question hovers at the beginning of the poem: If the lighthouse is “automated now” why won't the “old man leave”? I’m instantly intrigued and want to know more—an important part of writing in any genre. Each sentence contributes something to the piece, leaving out unnecessary lines that may blur the significance of the images and metaphors used. While the mood remains mysterious, Ulku uses enough detail to produce a comprehensible story, along with solid imagery that remains consistent each time the poem is read. For example, instead of just plunging into the water when entering the ocean, the speaker “plunge[s] in up to [their] shin.” The precise word shin, in this case, paints a more memorable picture than a broader, less specific word might.

Ulku continues this clear setting when he shows the un-moving man staring “through the [lighthouse’s] boarded windows, confused by the trawlers bright with radar, by the vast spools of optic cable dragged across the ocean floor.” The descriptive imagery (“boarded windows” or “spools of optic cable”) lets readers partake in a sensory experience while engaging with the story. “Bouillabaisse” lured me in with interest, then hit with a twist: “I need to get back.” This switched point of view is alarming, yet offers a growing intimacy. I’m now on a beach next to the lighthouse—a clear setting in my mind—alongside the speaker, whose urgency contrasts the first man’s lackadaisical depiction.