I’m not a poet, I’m a storyteller. Here are my words:
It would be elegant to begin this presentation – one of my craft – by praising the stories written by Raymond Carver, Chekhov, Babel, or even the unsuspected letters of van Gogh to his brother Theo. However, fate willed that I first embrace a piece of advice and a practice dictated by a departed soul: Brás Cubas.
It is his advice that introductions should be short or delivered in an obscure and truncated manner. It is also his practice to seek arguments from other authors; he cites Stendhal, I seek from his posthumous memoirs.
In truth, I also borrow from the deceased a fearless approach to confessions, that strange practice favored by distance, time, intimacy, or the hope of forgiveness: my stories, all of them without a defined style, daughters of a time when no one has time, almost all crafted and scattered to the winds, were written without method and without owner, only with the inks of astonishment. Forgive me.
In their content, prudent, I fled from known plots and people who pay taxes; imprudent, I forgot that life tries, with all its might, to resemble a well-told story. This post, for example, began to be written with one eye on the unlikely advice from beyond, while the other, foolishly dancing over the waters, went to seek shelter in islands of confessions, presumably real.
And so, fellow writer, hand in hand with the imponderable, hearing voices, pacing steps, and squinting towards those who come into my stories, I extend to you the best welcome I can: writing is good; being read is better.
Best regards,
Vitor Bertini
*Brás Cubas is the name of the main character in the book The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis, a Brazilian writer.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Vitor. Your reflections on storytelling and the art of writing are deeply appreciated. Your approach to crafting stories with a blend of introspection and honesty is inspiring. Writing indeed holds great value, and being read affirms that value. Your welcome is received warmly.
Below is a comment on your latest poem "beginning"
In just a few beautiful lines, you explore the tension between creative flow and the need for stability, and you give us a glimpse into the human condition. I love how your poem gives the reader space to think and ponder, inviting them on a journey with you through gentle, open-ended questions.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read it and then to share these thoughtful comments -- my first comment feedback on one of my poems on Substack, yay :) I'm very grateful.
I love the moon, as you can tell and I once heard that there is a love story between these two. To sums it up, one day the moon decided to go for a walk and visit all the planets till it was the turn of the earth and when she did she fell for him but they couldn't stay together and so from that day on, the moon decided that she would come out every day and visit the earth, even if from a distance... Silly perhaps, but it’s sums up what does it mean to love and not have sometimes.
So, I decided to write something that portrays this story and the beauty and sadness I find in it.
Aleida, thank you for sharing this reflection on longing from afar. Your poem captures so poignantly the intricate dance of proximity and remove that defines so many relationships.
Your imagery flows with subtle grace, like the celestial bodies that inspire it.
Please keep sharing your explorations with us - works like this are why many turn to poetry in the first place. Thank you.
Dear Cecilia, your poem evokes the depths and mysteries of the water's enduring pull. I appreciate you sharing these thoughtful words - they offer much to ponder in gentle, meaningful ways.
I’m not a poet, I’m a storyteller. Here are my words:
It would be elegant to begin this presentation – one of my craft – by praising the stories written by Raymond Carver, Chekhov, Babel, or even the unsuspected letters of van Gogh to his brother Theo. However, fate willed that I first embrace a piece of advice and a practice dictated by a departed soul: Brás Cubas.
It is his advice that introductions should be short or delivered in an obscure and truncated manner. It is also his practice to seek arguments from other authors; he cites Stendhal, I seek from his posthumous memoirs.
In truth, I also borrow from the deceased a fearless approach to confessions, that strange practice favored by distance, time, intimacy, or the hope of forgiveness: my stories, all of them without a defined style, daughters of a time when no one has time, almost all crafted and scattered to the winds, were written without method and without owner, only with the inks of astonishment. Forgive me.
In their content, prudent, I fled from known plots and people who pay taxes; imprudent, I forgot that life tries, with all its might, to resemble a well-told story. This post, for example, began to be written with one eye on the unlikely advice from beyond, while the other, foolishly dancing over the waters, went to seek shelter in islands of confessions, presumably real.
And so, fellow writer, hand in hand with the imponderable, hearing voices, pacing steps, and squinting towards those who come into my stories, I extend to you the best welcome I can: writing is good; being read is better.
Best regards,
Vitor Bertini
*Brás Cubas is the name of the main character in the book The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas by Machado de Assis, a Brazilian writer.
PS: https://bybertini.substack.com
Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Vitor. Your reflections on storytelling and the art of writing are deeply appreciated. Your approach to crafting stories with a blend of introspection and honesty is inspiring. Writing indeed holds great value, and being read affirms that value. Your welcome is received warmly.
Best regards,
Augmented Man
Morning Aug. I occasionally will take part in the haiku prompts from Honeygloom, which does a prompt every day.
My biggest collection, though, is the Words of a Physicist series, of which the first installment was published back in 2021. It's not in print now, but it is available on my substack if you want to take a look - https://theautisticmuse.substack.com/p/the-words-of-a-physicist-part-1-poem?r=1v3058
Thank you, Dylan! I’ll definitely check it out.
Good morning, Aug. I’m not a poet — but gladly state that reading today’s column nudged me to participate.
Perhaps this poem will encourage young poets to submit their work and help promote your vision.
Title: Whimsy
Woke this morning feeling great
Wanted to write a poem
But my damned little brother pissed me off
Hey RGomez,
Thanks for the smile this morning! Your poem adds a fun twist to the day. Encouraging others is what it’s all about.
Thanks for this - looking forward to reading here more. My substack - https://tonihurford.substack.com
Dear Toni,
Below is a comment on your latest poem "beginning"
In just a few beautiful lines, you explore the tension between creative flow and the need for stability, and you give us a glimpse into the human condition. I love how your poem gives the reader space to think and ponder, inviting them on a journey with you through gentle, open-ended questions.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read it and then to share these thoughtful comments -- my first comment feedback on one of my poems on Substack, yay :) I'm very grateful.
Thanks for allowing this share https://rolandoandrade.substack.com/p/home
https://conniecasellaihave.substack.com/archive
https://open.substack.com/pub/thevestedleopard/p/eternity?r=n1lxc&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
thanks for allowing this share: https://lauradanielswriter.wordpress.com
https://www.facebook.com/groups/399191694738673
https://open.substack.com/pub/arielcastle/p/when-is-and-ally-no-longer-an-ally?r=2xokt7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
https://mmadill0.medium.com/job-searching-but-make-it-poetic-b3a1679b131f
https://mmadill0.medium.com/in-between-the-lines-311989ca82cb
https://mmadill0.medium.com/the-scent-of-flowers-e4b9ef6f21dc
https://mmadill0.medium.com/everyone-has-been-scared-before-its-okay-80de68050223
https://mmadill0.medium.com/where-are-my-night-people-at-28439bc0f810
Check out some of my poetry!
Like the moon and the earth.
Like the moon and the earth,
That's how I feel, every time
I pause upon your fences.
Like the moon and the earth,
That's how I feel, every time
I remember your face, and
Decide to pay you a visit.
Like the moon and the earth,
That's how I feel, every time
I stop by;
Admiring from a distance.
Like the moon, who feel for the earth,
That's how I feel, most nights;
So close and so far,
So filled with longing,
So filled with love and life.
Like the moon and the earth,
That's how I feel, as
I take the last glance;
Done for the night, but
Missing you already.
Like the moon and the earth.
About this poem:
I love the moon, as you can tell and I once heard that there is a love story between these two. To sums it up, one day the moon decided to go for a walk and visit all the planets till it was the turn of the earth and when she did she fell for him but they couldn't stay together and so from that day on, the moon decided that she would come out every day and visit the earth, even if from a distance... Silly perhaps, but it’s sums up what does it mean to love and not have sometimes.
So, I decided to write something that portrays this story and the beauty and sadness I find in it.
Aleida, thank you for sharing this reflection on longing from afar. Your poem captures so poignantly the intricate dance of proximity and remove that defines so many relationships.
Your imagery flows with subtle grace, like the celestial bodies that inspire it.
Please keep sharing your explorations with us - works like this are why many turn to poetry in the first place. Thank you.
Thank you for your encouraging words. It means a lot. And I will share more.
A poem "Water"
Why do you tease and taunt me?
Come into shore and back out again?
Waves carrying stories and souls and untold dreams?
Surrounding me-very nobly, you of the Greatest of lakes?
Michigan's treasures-calm and dangerous; peaceful and treacherous
sometimes bright and cheerful; sometimes cold and dark
I thank you for being a place where I can bring my happiest of days and the
saddest ones I have ever lived to your shores
Dear Cecilia, your poem evokes the depths and mysteries of the water's enduring pull. I appreciate you sharing these thoughtful words - they offer much to ponder in gentle, meaningful ways.
Memories?
Years ago, I lost a grandparent to it.
Today, I'm losing a parent
The losses start out small, tiny pebbles of forgetfulness
Now, mountains of memory have been claimed
In response to a nurse's query, he does give her his address. She does not know it is to a house that he hasn't seen in seventy years.
This morning, when asked if he had children
—he said "no". So, I show up this afternoon... one of his four non-existent "kids".
My dad is 93. I am 60. He knows who I am.
For now. He once was a master speaker. Now, he responds with a word or two. We laugh a little, he smiles. He's happy and that's all that matters.
Most of everything is forgotten. Except love.
Except love.
https://medium.com/@ceci2you
https://medium.com/@lindsaykgrant
https://medium.com/@claudiacanhotouk/beyond-the-storm-8262f7f32da9
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