Among the many gifts that our spiritual tradition has bequeathed us is acquaintance with some extraordinary human beings who have embodied the adab and wisdom of this path of beauty and love. One such was Niyazi Sayin, a neyzen, who revolutionized Turkish classical Sufi music. As a friend recently said, “There is a before Niyazi Sayin and an after Niyazi Sayin.” Our friend Hakan Talu, himself an accomplished Tanbur player and a proficient archivist of Mevlevi tradition and culture, recently shared some words about Niyazi, and recommended one sample of his music.
Niyazi Sayın
“Touching Life”
Today is November 2, the 37th anniversary of my marriage. If we count two years of roaming about and two years of engagement, it makes 41 years.
It is not easy: forty-one years ago, two conservatory students were building a life from scratch. One of the cornerstones of that life for me was the great master we lost last month—Niyazi Sayın, a master not only of the instrument but of the heart.
Hoca touched the lives of many people. Tirelessly, patiently, he tried to convey the values of what it means to be truly human.
I first met him in November 1980, in that legendary house in Beylerbeyi which he rented from Mualla Hanım. Years passed; I stayed overnight in that house for many years. We talked until dawn, shared simple meals, played backgammon, made pickles, listened to records. Sometimes Vecdi Seyhun, Nezih Ağabey, Erol Deran, or Avni Arbaş would come, and the house would take on a different spirit. We fished, caught birds, took photographs, painted. We sat at the table of his sister Tekbire Hanım in the family home in Doğancılar, spoke of his mother Necmiye Hanım with reverence, wandered through Istanbul, and so much more. Hoca performed my engagement ceremony and was a witness at my wedding. On an April day in 1987, the first day I began at Istanbul Radio, he took me to the station. At the beginning of that long corridor, he whispered something in my ear about himself and Mesut Bey—words that have always been a lesson for me, and that I have never forgotten.
And then the day came; the trust was delivered. Hoca is now in another realm, together with those he loved so much: Abdülkadir Belhi, Tanburi Cemil, Halil Dikmen, Mesut Bey, Necmettin Efendi, Ali Dede, Nafiz Efendi, Şevket Efendi, Eşref Efendi, Mustafa Düzgünman, and Feridun Özgören.
What can I say? On November 2, these are what came to my mind. In truth, for a month now, every day has brought a memory of him—a word, a moment, something else. I won’t even begin to speak of the music: a level and a refinement beyond measure.
Yes, Hoca said what he had to say and departed. Those who could, received it. His debt can never be repaid; we will always remain indebted to him. May God grant him abundant mercy; may his resting place be filled with light.