UNSPOKEN CONVERSATIONS...RE-POSTED

Editor's Note: In the new post following this one, Rita Grimaldi writes about a uniquely personal experience she had to the song Autumn Leaves as performed with voice and harp in this month's Peterborough Storytellers meeting. Rita had an unspoken conversation with the song and performance. Originally posted on this blog on September 12, 2012, this article talks about my awareness of the relationship between unspoken conversations and the tale/teller experience.

By Don Herald

For the past couple of years, I have been working at trying to become a more skilled, confident and versatile storyteller. When I was working as a corporate trainer and consultant, one of the hallmarks of my style was telling real life stories about the people I had met who were experiencing personal, professional and organizational change. Based on the feedback I got, it would seem that most folks felt I was good at it.

When I retired, I joined a local storytelling group in my city. At my first meeting, I unexpectedly found myself telling an anecdotal story from my work life that listeners found entertaining. But as a teller now in a non-business environment, I experienced it differently. I couldn’t really put my finger on what was exactly different about the experience. 

Over time I began to realize that not only was I a teller at each of the meetings, but more importantly, I was now an active, engaged listener to told stories. And my colleagues in the group are very good tellers and performers. I realized that I was actively learning from each of them and trying out some of the lessons in my own telling. Some of the techniques worked nicely for me; others didn’t suit. For me now, our meetings are sometimes more about the listening and less so about the telling.

I have now told many times in my local venue. I have taken a creative storytelling course by the ocean near Cape Cod. There, I watched two master storytellers at work, enthusiastically sharing the skills of their craft but also being wonderful coaches to nine aspiring storytellers. I am starting to branch out a bit, taking more risks in the types of stories I tell and the audiences that come to listen. I am now doing more self-reflection and critiquing of my stories and performances than I ever did when I was in the corporate world. But, in spite of all of this gradual, welcome growth, I still felt as if there was still a piece that I was missing to the art of storytelling. Until today.

I was watching a video by the American motivational speaker and storyteller, Les Brown. He mentioned ‘the unspoken conversations’ that go on between the storyteller and each listener in his or her audience. It was one of those ‘ah ha’, ‘the light suddenly goes on’ moments for me.

As a listener, I realized that I was indeed having unspoken conversations with the teller during their story. I was having unshared expectations about what the story was going to offer and do for me. I was having unshared emotional reactions to the story and to the teller. Sometimes I find myself having unspoken conversations with the story’s characters. Other times, I was resisting the urge to interrupt the teller and talk with her about the complex, layered experience her telling was creating for me.

As a teller, I realized that I am also having unspoken conversations with each of my listeners. There are as many conversations going on in the room as there are listeners and tellers. Up until today, I haven’t really thought much about having unspoken conversations with my listeners. Whether I am telling a story well or not so well, the unspoken conversations always happen and shape the experience for all of us.

Now I have to figure out how to effectively use this ‘ah ha’ realization in my storytelling. This could be difficult as it’s really a new skill territory for me and to do it well will certainly push me out beyond my current comfort zone. But I am game to try.

Since I am a social worker by training and by nature, interested in what makes people tick, today’s ‘ah ha’ has also encouraged me to think about the role of ‘unspoken conversations’ in other aspects of my life. Intellectually, it makes lots of sense to put words to those silent conversations and voice them to others. 

But, further thinking on that will have to wait for another time and perhaps another blog post.

And what about your ‘unspoken conversations’?

THE STORY OF AUTUMN LEAVES

By Rita Grimaldi

    

I am sitting at our October storytelling gathering in the library auditorium. Angie is playing Autumn Leaves on her harp. All of a sudden I remember that this song was one of my mother’s favorite songs. Now I listen to it differently. I listen to it remembering my mother. Now Angie is singing the words - first in English and then in French.

This morning I think of the song again. In my mind, I’m hearing Angie’s voice singing. I remember being eleven years old and it being spring. I am taking the Bathurst bus up and down the hills to St. Clair Avenue. I am going to the record store on St. Clair to buy my mother a birthday present. A recording of the song Autumn Leaves sung in French by Maurice Chevalier.

It is a long way to go on my own. I get off the bus and walk to the record store.

Inside there are rows and rows of record display counters. The LPs are in cardboard covers and the singles are in brown paper sleeves. There are small booths on the right hand wall with turntables in them so that people can listen to the records before buying them. One day I played a record in one of these booths but I don’t remember if it was that day.

I buy a single of Autumn Leaves. I take it home and give it to my mother on her birthday. It is the month of May. She accepts it in her self-contained way. She always had the feeling of not asking for anything - of just accepting what was given and looking after herself. Always giving out but not expecting anything in return.

As I listen to Angie play the harp and sing the words, I remember that it was October when my mother died. The autumn leaves were falling.

I wonder to myself if, somewhere in her heart, my mother knew that she would die in the autumn only a few years later. 

And I wonder if, when she sang the song in her mind and came to the words ‘I’ll miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall’, she was able to see forward past her death and know that even then she would miss my father and his love for her. When the autumn leaves began to fall.