Ten Favorite Stories of R Tsambounieri Talarantas
Illumination Activity.
“For some writing is a form of expression, for myself to write is to bleed through the pen, to share what I write is to amputate my heart — the page is a prosthesis for my soul — but to erase is to deny the inevitable — the slow and torturous death from loss of ink”. — Rigópoula
I have never thought about having favorites, I feel it, I write it. I suppose I feel or believe as a mother would, unconditional love/respect for each piece. In those moments of contemplation, when I am writing, I am in essence hemorrhaging upon the page I’m writing on.
I always write in the traditional fashion, pencil/pen and paper but when you bleed through the ink, it’s as an amputation— they all have a special phantom tie with the self. I also bleed a little more when I share them.
I remember a thought my father shared with me, on the subject of generosity and sharing, he said,
“If something doesn’t hurt don’t give it. Give and share that which you love, that which you value, for what is it worth to give away something you yourself give no importance, value to. Give when you hunger to keep it, therein lies the sacrifice — the character of the soul”.
Father, would always remind me to remember his words and I do always. His words were as onto a compass always guiding me true North, every decision I make he is always there a magnetic force steering me in the right direction. So when I share what I write, it hurts, because they are of great importance to me, if to no one else.
I share many of the tragedies that have visited me and when I write, I relive them, I expose myself to that hunger to keep them to myself, hidden from the world, but I don’t — I share them and no matter how many times I give them away, they always come home to me because they recognize the voice of their creator.
I remember replying to father, “You can teach me but if what you’re tutoring me in isn’t within me, a part of my spirit, it won’t matter will it?
“That I wish I could spare you from. Sadly, you must find out for yourself”, he sighed.
With no further ado, here are ten of my favorite posts; I selected them randomly, not by popularity, as I could not choose. I couldn’t choose because they don’t have a place in my heart, they are my heart — undressed.
If I explained the meaning behind each post it would take far to long, which I feel would be overwhelming, for myself and to the reader. So I’d like to leave them to the interpretation of the reader. I’ll give reference only to the last of the poems I will share because it is prerequisite of many that followed.
(Some of these were not published on Illumination, but I will be doing so).
And the last of the poems I will share, is the shortest and the simplest, for lack of a better word.
I wrote it during a terrible storm that battered us for days and although I should not have been out that day, (I never followed rules very well). I stood on the sea rocks as the winds pummeled me with the force of Poseidon’s rage. It was at a very devastating time of loss. Loss came in consecutive sets of three’s, the final blow being the last. I knew I had come to a crossroads in my life — and as I felt the rage of the sea, there was a moment where I recognized myself in the pain of the storm. I knew then and there no matter what road I chose to take— it would be alone. And that my readers was one the most lonely, heart wrenching moment’s in my life — I denied the death to protect myself from the agony— but I couldn’t deny the storm, I couldn’t deny life, which made the realization of the loss, so ever more powerful. In that moment I met my pain as if for the first time — yet again, we came face to face. This is what came from that moment. It’s very simple but it’s one that made me realize, well — Alas, to the strong… they must go on, even in the eye of the storm.
Thank you, Dr Mehmet Yildiz and the Illumination team for allowing me to feature and shelter my poetry with you.
Copyright ©. R Tsambounieri Talarantas. June 2020. All Rights Reserved.
