One fall day we went to a county fair And saw an amazing stand: There sat many dolls, so strangely fair, As if from enchanted land. The lady seller then told me: “Hon, I see how you like my dolls – You may take two for the price of one, Just take good care of both. This here's Alice, ribbons in ginger hair, And pale one is called Mavette.
This is such a well structured poem, I love how the story unfolds, how the rhymes give it a sound of unavoidable doom. There's nothing idiotic about it, Chen, quite the opposite.
oh. "thank you" doesn't begin to cover it. and for the restack too
(especially as one fifth of subscribers still don't get my emails, it's been a few months and the support team here is of no help. I wanted even to restack it myself, against my own rules, but decided it's too idiotic)
Chen, once I had eleven stuffed animals that bore the test of time. Got me through troubles and nightmares to leave their comfort, pass them to younger generation to enjoy quiet conversations and be passed on with a history lesson never to know how helpful they were to live in times of woe. You got two gifts for price of one. But now your gifts multiply with a single story told.
Your poem sounds like a fearful ballad. And it reminded me that once I left my grandchildren to sleep in my TV room with a lot of Russian dolls, young girls for the small teapots and big ones for big pots for boiling water. In the morning, I entered the room. All my dolls were covered by a blanket. My darlings told me they were afraid of my dolls. But your poetic style is amazing.
Thank you so much, Larisa -it means a lot. And yes, it is a ballad..an attempt at one. Not sure about amazing, but -as I said it means a lot you like it🪄
Dolls can be very scary for kids, true.
These I tell about are really ...step up from "normal" dolls, in a sense they're made by an artist, and I was indeed under impression I was -surprizingly-not scared.
I inherited a rag doll that people praise as if she was made of marble stone, and piss on her at every chance as if she was to blame for every petty word they utter to each other.
Can we turn our back to our dolls? I guess that is my question for you, Chen.
I think it depends who are we...to me, it's currently obvious that turning my back to them requires much more courage, than getting them in the first place.
Now, if it'd be only courage, I;d deal with it, because courage, I have (not physical, but otherwise)
But I've real problems with hurting, or whatever I interpret as hurting, which frankly makes no sense. Yet still.
One of my most violent acts was tearing somebody's doodles on a piece of paper.
More than hitting someone, in response, I remember me tearing up that paper with doodles she angrily drew 5 minutes before.
She was very not easy, granted. Still I felt like a murderer.
I don’t know how I feel about dolls. I never had one, let alone two. But I never had a GI Joe, either, and by the time action figures of any kind came around, I was just too old to play with or enjoy them.
Laughter, luck, and misery have knocked on my door, plague, too, and war…but I met each of them alone. Maybe it would have helped if I had a doll?
This additional one(Mavette) did come with a scary fairy-tale. It was so good, the fairy tale, that I asked naively, who wrote it, and the lady seller who happenned to be the artist, told me she thought it up herself. I was in awe.
The name is also telling. The lady was Russian and didn't know where the stress in the word "death" in Hebrew goes. So the name sounded French. But it meant "death" nevertheless.
I started being into artistic dolls when we visited some gallery in New Orleans, they were spooky as hell itself, and i never though I'll ever bring something like them home. But it was hard to leave the store too.
Chen, this feels like a brilliant social critique. Those of us who aren’t affected by the atrocities around us resemble lifeless dolls—some evil at that—circulated in a world of soulless transactions.
This ballad is fantastic... in both senses of the word: the slang sense of being really very good, and of course also a wonderful fantasy.
My mother used to make me dolls, but she also--very literally--hated me.. Anyway, oddly enough, I just got rid of the last few dolls a few days ago. I had felt bad about doing it, because it always seemed like they were, somehow, "beings' in their own right. But enough was enough! I now have only a couple from my grandmother, who was a different (and very sweet) person altogether!
I think I would like to ask you this: how do you find the courage to write in a new/different language? I don't speak any language but English, really, just little fragments of other languages, but sometimes those fragments try to shape themselves into little poems and images in my mind, so...
...unbelievable, I wrote such a long albeit at times stupid answer and it all disappeared!
Now I don't know whether to resurrect it somehow from memory, or is it a sign.
Thank you so much dear Sunny-it means a lot❤️
I've...not me specifically...but kinda hits home, the family story. No, not exactly the same-but hurts so much.
yes..so hard to get rid of. Everything becomes too alive...
I thought of opening a separate thread, might still do that, but I'll answer here, maybe copy-paste it there if I'll open it?
The answer I guess is, -the writing itself doesn't take courage, showing it to the world is new though, poems for sure, and is either courage-or unbelievable stupidity on my part.
I hate most of what I write.
Here I must say that my Russian also transformed severely and shows some "poverty of speech" and my strange unwillingness to change it, or maybe inability.
My daughter recently called my language "flowery" and I started laughing. well, she wasn't born where I was born. I think it's as far removed from flowery now as can be. Much to my chagrin, or maybe not.
But. a different language comes with its own magic. Everything is illuminated differently. Letters can have different colors. I'm not one to pass on magic, just let it slip, I'm too little or too bonkers for that, maybe both.
Now, I'll try to post it again and hope it doesn't gets swallowed.
This is such a well structured poem, I love how the story unfolds, how the rhymes give it a sound of unavoidable doom. There's nothing idiotic about it, Chen, quite the opposite.
oh. "thank you" doesn't begin to cover it. and for the restack too
(especially as one fifth of subscribers still don't get my emails, it's been a few months and the support team here is of no help. I wanted even to restack it myself, against my own rules, but decided it's too idiotic)
with gratitude and admiration ❤️
Chen, once I had eleven stuffed animals that bore the test of time. Got me through troubles and nightmares to leave their comfort, pass them to younger generation to enjoy quiet conversations and be passed on with a history lesson never to know how helpful they were to live in times of woe. You got two gifts for price of one. But now your gifts multiply with a single story told.
I've a story about stuffed animals, several actually. But yes. Only they were different...
Thank you, Richard 🩵
...thank you for the restack, @EpicGonzo
...thank you so very much for the restack, Rob Woller
✨✨✨
Your poem sounds like a fearful ballad. And it reminded me that once I left my grandchildren to sleep in my TV room with a lot of Russian dolls, young girls for the small teapots and big ones for big pots for boiling water. In the morning, I entered the room. All my dolls were covered by a blanket. My darlings told me they were afraid of my dolls. But your poetic style is amazing.
Thank you so much, Larisa -it means a lot. And yes, it is a ballad..an attempt at one. Not sure about amazing, but -as I said it means a lot you like it🪄
Dolls can be very scary for kids, true.
These I tell about are really ...step up from "normal" dolls, in a sense they're made by an artist, and I was indeed under impression I was -surprizingly-not scared.
PS took me also some time to start being really into portraits, and now there are portraits everwhere, and some, kids and guests are scared of
...thank you so much for the restack, Dave
💫💫💫
I inherited a rag doll that people praise as if she was made of marble stone, and piss on her at every chance as if she was to blame for every petty word they utter to each other.
Can we turn our back to our dolls? I guess that is my question for you, Chen.
I think it depends who are we...to me, it's currently obvious that turning my back to them requires much more courage, than getting them in the first place.
Now, if it'd be only courage, I;d deal with it, because courage, I have (not physical, but otherwise)
But I've real problems with hurting, or whatever I interpret as hurting, which frankly makes no sense. Yet still.
One of my most violent acts was tearing somebody's doodles on a piece of paper.
More than hitting someone, in response, I remember me tearing up that paper with doodles she angrily drew 5 minutes before.
She was very not easy, granted. Still I felt like a murderer.
Thank you, dear Fotini ❤️❤️🪄
It makes perfect sense, Chen. A courageous heart is a caring one. It is only natural that she hurts. 🖤
🩵
I don’t know how I feel about dolls. I never had one, let alone two. But I never had a GI Joe, either, and by the time action figures of any kind came around, I was just too old to play with or enjoy them.
Laughter, luck, and misery have knocked on my door, plague, too, and war…but I met each of them alone. Maybe it would have helped if I had a doll?
Dolls are different. Maybe some would help.
Teddy-bears are our friends. If you ask me.
This additional one(Mavette) did come with a scary fairy-tale. It was so good, the fairy tale, that I asked naively, who wrote it, and the lady seller who happenned to be the artist, told me she thought it up herself. I was in awe.
The name is also telling. The lady was Russian and didn't know where the stress in the word "death" in Hebrew goes. So the name sounded French. But it meant "death" nevertheless.
I started being into artistic dolls when we visited some gallery in New Orleans, they were spooky as hell itself, and i never though I'll ever bring something like them home. But it was hard to leave the store too.
Sometimes it feels awfully alone, yes.
Hugs, and thank you, Paul 🩵
Our daughter had dolls, and stuffed animals, too. Likewise the woman who was my wife. None of them were scary, though.
Chen, this feels like a brilliant social critique. Those of us who aren’t affected by the atrocities around us resemble lifeless dolls—some evil at that—circulated in a world of soulless transactions.
True
I try to remind myself that ...oh if I only could see all the faces up close.
Then it must be overwhelming, to the point of being paralyzed. To really see everything.
Thank you, Mahdi 🤍
This ballad is fantastic... in both senses of the word: the slang sense of being really very good, and of course also a wonderful fantasy.
My mother used to make me dolls, but she also--very literally--hated me.. Anyway, oddly enough, I just got rid of the last few dolls a few days ago. I had felt bad about doing it, because it always seemed like they were, somehow, "beings' in their own right. But enough was enough! I now have only a couple from my grandmother, who was a different (and very sweet) person altogether!
I think I would like to ask you this: how do you find the courage to write in a new/different language? I don't speak any language but English, really, just little fragments of other languages, but sometimes those fragments try to shape themselves into little poems and images in my mind, so...
...unbelievable, I wrote such a long albeit at times stupid answer and it all disappeared!
Now I don't know whether to resurrect it somehow from memory, or is it a sign.
Thank you so much dear Sunny-it means a lot❤️
I've...not me specifically...but kinda hits home, the family story. No, not exactly the same-but hurts so much.
yes..so hard to get rid of. Everything becomes too alive...
I thought of opening a separate thread, might still do that, but I'll answer here, maybe copy-paste it there if I'll open it?
The answer I guess is, -the writing itself doesn't take courage, showing it to the world is new though, poems for sure, and is either courage-or unbelievable stupidity on my part.
I hate most of what I write.
Here I must say that my Russian also transformed severely and shows some "poverty of speech" and my strange unwillingness to change it, or maybe inability.
My daughter recently called my language "flowery" and I started laughing. well, she wasn't born where I was born. I think it's as far removed from flowery now as can be. Much to my chagrin, or maybe not.
But. a different language comes with its own magic. Everything is illuminated differently. Letters can have different colors. I'm not one to pass on magic, just let it slip, I'm too little or too bonkers for that, maybe both.
Now, I'll try to post it again and hope it doesn't gets swallowed.
So happy to have you here💫
big thank you for the restacks, Vanya, Mahdi, Sunny M, Portia, and everybody. It's always baffling and always in a good way, -thank you 💫💫💫