It's always the same way with the best writing. As the reader reads, the words reveal not only the writer but the reader to themselves, and the reader shares an emotional space the writer has conjured up that invokes an involuntary recognition of the human condition. I think it happens when a writer is magnificently honest and uncovers a universal truth that is buried in the reader. And when the writer uses language so efficiently that meaning seem to blossom on its own. Your writing does this Fotini. I think you're such a brilliant writer, poetry and prose. I remember your poems, sometimes not the lines themselves but the feeling they invoke and I think, yes I recognise my human condition through your writing. And then I feel like I'm in a tribe, I feel revealed in a way. It's really a pleasure. When I think about how to improve my own writing, and how to be a "better" writer I know I need to be brave enough to push closer to this same thing.
Well, all that blabber and I didn't even mention the poem. Maybe I need to be more concise and to the point as well :) I can't even slice a single line from this perfectly balanced word carving without diminishing the whole. Just brilliant. Thanks.
Jonathan, I am ashamed to say, but I will say it anyway: I read this many days ago and couldn't find the words to reply to you. For someone who is dealing with words on a daily basis, it is unnerving to be in such a position (you know which one, crouching behind the sofa, hiding as usual). And I still haven't found any new words to match yours, so I am going to repeat myself once more. Thank you. With all my heart and in all caps, THANK YOU!
I get it totally. And I know I can be a fool shouting things that should be whispered. But life is short and I've been in the mood for shouting out whispered things, so pop your head out from behind that sofa and just smile. That'll be enough for me :)
There is something disturbing about the last stanza, as if the speaker doesn't believe they can transcend whatever is containing them within these lines.
Little things
Certainly
Are sometimes
Hard to swallow.
Like a pill. 💊
They get bigger.
You forget them.
in case of emergency
it is wise to have
a loving hand
to pat you on the back
to offer you a glass of water
to say to you,
this too shall pass
It's always the same way with the best writing. As the reader reads, the words reveal not only the writer but the reader to themselves, and the reader shares an emotional space the writer has conjured up that invokes an involuntary recognition of the human condition. I think it happens when a writer is magnificently honest and uncovers a universal truth that is buried in the reader. And when the writer uses language so efficiently that meaning seem to blossom on its own. Your writing does this Fotini. I think you're such a brilliant writer, poetry and prose. I remember your poems, sometimes not the lines themselves but the feeling they invoke and I think, yes I recognise my human condition through your writing. And then I feel like I'm in a tribe, I feel revealed in a way. It's really a pleasure. When I think about how to improve my own writing, and how to be a "better" writer I know I need to be brave enough to push closer to this same thing.
Well, all that blabber and I didn't even mention the poem. Maybe I need to be more concise and to the point as well :) I can't even slice a single line from this perfectly balanced word carving without diminishing the whole. Just brilliant. Thanks.
Jonathan, I am ashamed to say, but I will say it anyway: I read this many days ago and couldn't find the words to reply to you. For someone who is dealing with words on a daily basis, it is unnerving to be in such a position (you know which one, crouching behind the sofa, hiding as usual). And I still haven't found any new words to match yours, so I am going to repeat myself once more. Thank you. With all my heart and in all caps, THANK YOU!
I get it totally. And I know I can be a fool shouting things that should be whispered. But life is short and I've been in the mood for shouting out whispered things, so pop your head out from behind that sofa and just smile. That'll be enough for me :)
My grin says it all!!!
Acrostics were one of my favourite things as a child. I wrote soooo many. Yours here serves as a reminder for me to write some more!
That was my first one, and I really enjoyed it! So I guess we will both write some more :)
I listened to this last night and thought of your stone, Fotini - The Stone by Louise Edrich. I'm a lazy reader and love when there's an audio.
“The Stone” | The New Yorker https://share.google/1xCpSAN9FZXvM3C6t
Thank you so much for this, Treasa. I skipped the audio and read it - I am a lazy listener, I guess :)
There is something disturbing about the last stanza, as if the speaker doesn't believe they can transcend whatever is containing them within these lines.
I hope you're doing well, my friend. Take care.
We can't know the future, yet we sing for the sake of it.
I am out of tune lately, but I keep on singing.
Thank you, Mahdi. All my love!
Oh, I love this.
Glad you do! 🙏
Yes!! Oh my goodness Fotini yes, every word and uncertainty too…
Everything Jonathan said…🤍
BIG LOVE, dear Susie!!!
“We can't know the future, yet we sing for the sake of it.
I am out of tune lately, but I keep on singing.”
Me too, thank you for painting the words for me.
Like our vaguely essential lives, yes? So uncertain! Lovelyl......
Thanks Leon :)