Story-telling is in our bones. It rises through us like sap through roots and leaves into the air. It began when galaxies spun star-dust into the atoms that spin still through our bodies, reminding us that the stories of our births go back eons and stretch far away into a future we are spinning still.
The poem below by Lisel Mueller says it all, and inspired this post.
Why We Tell Stories
I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground
and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers
and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened
and learned to speak
2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us
and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees
3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them
and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and …
Lisel Mueller, Alive Together: New and Selected Poems. (LSU Press October 1, 1996)
Deborah J. Brasket 
Another delightful post, Deborah. This part of Lisel Mueller’s poem says it all for me:
Because the story of our life
becomes our life
Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently
and none of us tells it
the same way twice
Thanks, Ken. Yes, I love that part too. But you know, strangely, and I’m not sure why, the image of the painted scarf floating through the scenery of dreams really speaks to me. Maybe because of the times I swam through coral reefs, in a dreamlike place that I felt strangely at home in.
Given your mystical take on life it makes perfect sense. Maybe you were a mermaid in a past life. 😉
Your posting this poem on storytelling my Lisel Mueller has inspired me to start writing down my own stories, maybe as a collection of short stories from my life.
Here is another beautiful poem by Lisel Mueller—one on Monet’s failing eyesight—I may have shared with you: https://theuncarvedblog.com/2016/07/30/failing-eyesight-or-spiritual-insight-a-poets-interpretation-of-a-master-artists-vision/.
Yes, I love that poem of hers too. I’m pretty sure I blogged about it too. I’ll have to check. I did use a line from it in my first novel. I’m looking forward to reading more of her poetry.
You wrote a novel!? Did you blog about it? Please include a link.
I did. Alas, it’s not found a home yet. but you can read about it here if you want. https://deborahbrasket.wordpress.com/2018/05/23/pinch-me-writers-house-accepts-my-novel/
Just read it. You wrote an excellent query letter. You really put a lot into writing your novel! It also takes persistence to find someone who believes in you to want to publish your book. Even though it can also be a lot of work, there always is the route of self-publishing. Some now successful writers took that step. I did that for a friend and colleague, Norman Zierold, who wrote his memoir, That Reminds Me, late in life. https://theuncarvedblog.com/2013/01/10/that-reminds-me-a-conversational-memoir-by-hollywood-biographer-norman-zierold-is-now-out/ Norman had been a successful published author in the earlier part of his life, but his publisher wouldn’t publish it, saying he couldn’t find a niche for it. The profit margins for publishers are so thin these days they only publish authors with known track records. But many novelists who self-publish end up with more of the pie. You still have to promote yourself, something publishers do less of these days. A second friend also self-published his novel. And a third friend not only self-published her book, she also found where to get it printed overseas. In all three cases I helped line up interviews for them with journalists and podcasters. You have to blow your own horn if no one else will. It helps to have friends who are willing to assist you in the various processes depending on their skills and connections. Then again, having gone through the process of having written the book obviously did a lot for you. You have another book in you? Maybe a personal memoir/travelog?
I love this…such truth. Thanks for sharing.
You are so welcome. It does my heart good to know that others were moved by this poem as I was.
Love this! And your magical description–those words sing:).
Your words make me smile. Thank you so much.
…and…
A pause joining then with now colored with hope.
BTW: I have the poetry collection you reference in this post!
You do? I’m not surprised. She’s a wonderful poet.
Storytelling is all about how we create our reality. Every moment, every day, every year.
Yes, and reflecting on a story is how we create our art. I remember making up a bedtime story for my children. We were enthralled by how it came out. I spontaneously reflected on that magical process in two long sentences, and then wrote them down as a two-stanza poem called Storytelling. Years later I decided to share it on my blog. https://theuncarvedblog.com/2011/02/27/storytelling%e2%80%94a-poem-on-the-storytelling-process/