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    Tell Me Another Story: Poems of You and Me
    Tell Me Another Story: Poems of You and Me
    Tell Me Another Story: Poems of You and Me
    Ebook174 pages48 minutes

    Tell Me Another Story: Poems of You and Me

    By Emmy Marucci

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    About this ebook

    In Tell Me Another Story, Marucci examines those closest to her—her grandfather, nephew, and husband—as well as those she hardly knows—the women sitting at the next table in the diner; the roofer she meets on the train. Part 1: Me, is comprised of Emmy's own story—raw and personal—while Part 2: You tells the stories of others. With genuine curiosity and tenderness, Marucci asks of herself, her loved ones, and perfect strangers the child's perennial question: "Will you tell me a story?"
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAndrews McMeel Publishing
    Release dateOct 8, 2019
    ISBN9781524858988

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    • 4/5
      This poetry is mournful , evocative, and nostalgic. I liked the simplicity of it, and the feeling.
    • 3/5
      Overall this was an OK read and exactly what I was expecting having read the synopsis: poetry about familial bonds and strangers. The poems about the loss of the poet's grandfather especially touched me. I'm close to my grandad and struggle enough as it is to see him withering away in old age. He made me so much of who I am today. I'll be devastated when his time comes to leave us so those poems were extremely relatable to me.

    Book preview

    Tell Me Another Story - Emmy Marucci

    we are, as a species, addicted to story. even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories.

    —jonathan gottschall

    for my buddy

    preface

    the time was around christmas. i was young, probably 5. i fell asleep on the carpet of my grandmother’s house, a new toy beside me and a furnace-warmed blanket over me. on the walls were paintings of a snowy scene, old-fashioned cars and an old man, wrinkles and circles under his eyes. on the floor was a trumpet beside a reclining chair.

    i remember opening and closing my eyes and catching glimpses of people standing around my grandfather. he was wearing a brightly colored polo sweater, a cap, a ring on his pinky finger. his hands danced—up and down and clasped and high in the air and on the table and over people’s shoulders and grasping at their hands. all eyes were intently focused on him. no interruptions. just the faint sound of music in the background and the smell of linguine with clams wafting in from the kitchen. the most striking thing, really, all these years later, remains the insanely beautiful feeling in the room. big. enormous. in my gut. stuck in my heart. i don’t know if he was telling a joke or a story. it was always one or the other. but what he was doing was an act to be taken seriously. a performance. like singing a song. you should listen and learn and feel. you should live in the moment for as long as possible.

    my mom has always said that i was born a storyteller. i suppose i was. our family revolves around the giving, the telling, and the sharing. the extending of our voices, the championing of our words. my grandfather, buddy, or pop, passed away while i was writing this book. to me, he was everybody and everything i have ever known. and because of that, much of this book is about the pain of losing him—an experiment in truly and honestly listening to myself. but it also consists of my interpretations of other people’s stories—an experiment in listening to those who surround me.

    the title of this book reminds me of what a child might ask of his mother at bedtime, to avoid having to go to sleep. it reminds me of how you feel when someone you love is dying—the wanting to know more. the wanting them to stay and tell you everything, again and again. the wanting to remember all the stories you fear you might forget.

    if one thing is true, it’s that storytelling is universal. we hear our first story when we’re in the womb, a quiet witness to it all. as we grow, we yearn for more—more once-upon-a-times, fairy tales, and folk stories. storytelling exists throughout our lives. steady. like a heartbeat. we become hunters and gatherers, passing down information. some stories

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