Colours you bleed
Poets and writers bleed words but don't realize they are also painters, actual wizards. Words have power, they are spells.
They say that what is written holds immense weight (as well as what you speak). Words are powerful tools; maybe we should be reminded of that more often. Some books linger in forgotten corners, while some step into the spotlight. Which one's found a home in your childhood? Those hold a special memory in our hearts, like the music we listened to in our teenage years. The lyrics still stick, right?
I’ve always enjoyed painting imagery in my poetry. What I found the most fun was that everyone saw and felt that picture differently. In high school when we had our final exams, I wrote an essay, it really went with the flow. I got extra points for it. I only remember I wrote about empathy and how even in death, we are able to give new life to another through body parts donation. How maybe we could give sight to a blind man through eye transplantation. And amongst these lines, my heart has always bled.
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What maybe I didn’t notice before, is how much of our colours we leave behind in written words. The reader can feel a certain essence of the author. Have you ever noticed that? I love reading Haruki Murakami’s books, and you can feel who wrote them. They hold a certain feeling, no matter the time they are read. We may feel so unseen and unheard behind our words, but we never know who might find them and what will awaken in another's eyes, another's mind.
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How much of this do we appreciate at this time? Do books still hold the same meaning as they did in the past?
Storytelling has been with us since the dawn of time so to speak. Everyone writes a different tale, but through shared wisdom of words we connect. We open new doors for the reader, new ideas are thus born, and a different light falls on the picture. So leave behind the most authentic image you can create.
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So, when you think of your childhood, is there a particular book or a tale that springs to mind even now?
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For me, Little Match Girl still stands out, with its bittersweet ending, when she is lovingly carried by her grandmother into another world.
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“We weave stories
Not to teach, but to share
The light that has guided us
Giving an opportunity
To open new gates
In the mind of the reader
Everyone has different challenges
Yet we nurture connections
Through the wisdom of our words”
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Natasek
It's a fascinating thing to think about, Nataša.
I write my Poetry for myself, and for my wonderful partner Meg, but I also hope that it communicates more widely - even though I ceased publication for a very long period of time.
Now that I'm sharing my work more widely again - this time on Substack - I'm receiving comment again from other readers; people whom I do not know, in places far far from my home in Australia. It delights me that they find meaning and substance in my words and images, and sometimes they find shades of meaning I had not even seen myself. I certainly do feel that my words are suffused with my own soul, but none of us can know ourselves entirely - so we should expect that other readers will see things of which we ourselves were unaware.
Have you ever had the same experience when reading your own work - after a long period of elapsed time? The text of my most recent Post was originally drafted 18 months ago. When I set out to present it here on Substack I realised there was an entire additional layer I had missed at the time. It was there - but mostly hidden, so I redrafted the work to expose it.
It's appropriate that you mention wizards and magic. As a child I adored the fantasy books of the English author, Alan Garner.
Best Wishes from Australia - Dave :)
I totally agree. My poetry includess a lot of imagery. The Black Stallion is a book I remember from my childhood.
I am currently reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I love the way he escorts you into his world with his detailed imagery in each novel he writes. Thank you for this post!💓🙏💕