Our prompt was: โWrite about where you’re from.โ
More details on this session will be posted, so check back!
Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โLeave a Replyโ), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.
Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโre able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!
Where Iโm From
By George Ella Lyon
I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening
it tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
the Dutch elm
whose long gone limbs I remember
as if they were my own.
I am from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I'm from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from perk up and pipe down.
I'm from He restoreth my soul
with cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.
I'm from Artemus and Billie's Branch,
fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.
Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures.
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments --
snapped before I budded --
leaf-fall from the family tree.
ยกGracias a todos los que nos acompaรฑaron en esta sesiรณn! Tuvimos participantes desde Argentina, Colombia, Espaรฑa, y varias partes de los EE. UU.
Nuestro texto fueEL NIรO AL QUE SE LE MURIร EL AMIGOde Ana Marรญa Matute. Dos lectoras leyeron el cuento en voz alta. Inmediatamente la conversaciรณn se enfocรณ en lo que ocurre cuando un niรฑo tiene que enfrentar la muerte, sobre todo cuando su madre no tiene ternura en darle la noticia de la muerte de su amigo. La autora repite los juguetes y objetos con cual juega el niรฑo. ยฟCuรกl es el significado de los objetos? La autora usรณ sรญmbolos para demostrar la transiciรณn por la que tiene que pasar el chico; el cambio que pasa cuando los niรฑos aprenden de la muerte. La madre ordena al chico que olvide a su amigo y entre a cenar, pero el niรฑo no cruza el marco de la puerta. En lugar de eso, se va a buscar a su amigo llevando los objetos con los que jugaban, pero su amigo no aparece. El niรฑo bota los juguetes, incluyendo el reloj que ya no funciona. Una participante notรณ que el reloj que se detuvo significa la muerte. Y cuando el niรฑo regresa a la casa con hambre y sed, esto representa la vida. La madre declara que el niรฑo ha crecido mucho y necesita un traje de hombre. La transiciรณn estรก completa. El texto provocรณ mรบltiples interpretaciones, vivimos las diferentes perspectivas que nos aportรณ.
Para la escritura escogimos โEscribe sobre una puerta.โ Varias participantes compartieron sus escritos, inspirando una rica variedad de respuestas de los oyentes. Como es comรบn, los textos fueron escritos โa la sombra del texto original,โ pero muy curiosamente, tambiรฉn tenรญan como tema la muerte. Una declaraba que hay que tomar la decisiรณn de estar en un lado o el otro de la puerta, pero no quedarse en el marco. Otra exploraba la yuxtaposiciรณn de aspectos de la vida; seรฑalando la lรญnea delgada entre la vida y la muerte. Este tema se siguiรณ en los otros escritos, incluyendo la posibilidad de ver o hablar con Dios.
Se alienta a las/los participantes a compartir lo que escribieron a continuaciรณn (โDeja una respuestaโ), para mantener la conversaciรณn aquรญ, teniendo en cuenta que el blog, por supuesto, es un espacio pรบblico donde no se garantiza la confidencialidad.
Por favor, รบnase a nosotros para nuestra prรณxima sesiรณn en espaรฑol, sรกbado, 27 de marzo 2021 a las 13:00 (inscrรญbete aqui), con otras sesiones adicionales en otros idiomas (inglรฉs, italiano, griego y polaco) en nuestra pรกgina deย sesiones grupales virtuales en vivo.
ยกEsperamos verte pronto!
EL NIรO AL QUE SE LE MURIร EL AMIGO
Ana Marรญa Matute (Espaรฑa, 1926-2014)
Una maรฑana se levantรณ y fue a buscar al amigo, al otro lado de la valla. Pero el amigo no estaba, y, cuando volviรณ, le dijo la madre: โel amigo se muriรณ. Niรฑo, no pienses mรกs en รฉl y busca otros para jugarโ. El niรฑo se sentรณ en el quiยญcio de la puerta, con la cara entre las manos y los codos en las rodillas. โรl volverรกโ, pensรณ. Porque no podรญa ser que allรญ estuviesen las canicas, el camiรณn y la pistola de hojaยญlata, y el reloj aquel que ya no andaba, y el amigo no viยญniese a buscarlos. Vino la noche, con una estrella muy grande, y el niรฑo no querรญa entrar a cenar. โEntra, niรฑo, que llega el frรญoโ, dijo la madre. Pero, en lugar de entrar, el niรฑo se levantรณ del quicio y se fue en busca del amigo, con las canicas, el camiรณn, la pistola de hojalata y el reloj que no andaba. Al llegar a la cerca, la voz del amigo no le llamรณ, ni le oyรณ en el รกrbol, ni en el pozo. Pasรณ buscรกndole toda la noche. Y fue una larga noche casi blanca, que le llenรณ de polvo el traje y los zapatos. Cuando llegรณ el sol, el niรฑo, que tenรญa sueรฑo y sed, estirรณ los brazos, y pensรณ: โquรฉ tontos y pequeรฑos son esos juguetes. Y ese reloj que no anda, no sirve para nadaโ. Lo tirรณ todo al pozo, y volviรณ a la casa, con mucha hambre. La madre le abriรณ la puerta, y le dijo: โcuรกnto ha crecido este niรฑo, Dios mรญo, cuรกnto ha crecidoโ. Y le comprรณ un traje de hombre, porque el que llevaba le venรญa muy corto.
Abbiamo studiato la foto “Francoise e Joaquim allโisola di Stromboli” (1987) di Bernard Plossu (allegato al termine di questa pagina)ย ย
In seguito, abbiamo proposto due prompt: “Descrivi un momento in cui hai messo a fuoco qualcosa…” e โDescrivi un momento in cui qualcosa ti รจ apparso sfuocatoโฆโ.
Condivideremo ulteriori dettagli della sessione nei prossimi giorni; vi invitiamo a rivisitare questa pagina nei prossimi giorni!
Invitiamo i partecipanti del laboratorio a condividere i propri scritti nella parte “blog” dedicata alla fine della presente pagina (“Leave a Reply”). Speriamo di creare, attraverso questo forum di condivisione, uno spazio in cui continuare la nostra conversazione!
Stiamo raccogliendo impressioni e breve feedback sui nostri laboratori di medicina narrativa su Zoom!
Questo breve questionario (anonimo, e aperto a chiunque abbia frequentato almeno un laboratorio) รจ molto importante per noi, e ci permetterร di elaborare sul valore dei nostri laboratori e sul ruolo dello spazio per riflettere e metabolizzare il momento presente. Vi preghiamo quindi di condividere le nostre riflessioni con noi!
“Francoise e Joaquim allโisola di Stromboli” (1987) di Bernard Plossu
Our prompt was: โWrite about your soundtrack.โ
More details on this session will be posted, so check back!
Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โLeave a Replyโ), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.
Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโre able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!
The Universe: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
BYย TRACY K. SMITH
The first track still almost swings. High hat and snare, even
A few bars of sax the stratosphere will singe-out soon enough.
Synthesized strings. Then something like cellophane
Breaking in as if snagged to a shoe. Crinkle and drag. White noise,
Black noise. What must be voices bob up, then drop, like metal shavings
In molasses. So much for us. So much for the flags we bored
Into planets dry as chalk, for the tin cans we filled with fire
And rode like cowboys into all we tried to tame. Listen:
The dark we've only ever imagined now audible, thrumming,
Marbled with static like gristly meat. A chorus of engines churns.
Silence taunts: a dare. Everything that disappears
Disappears as if returning somewhere.
Tracy K. Smith, "The Universe: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack"
fromย Life on Mars. Copyright ยฉ 2011 by Tracy K. Smith.
One person commented on the dedication of the song being โFor the Children.โ A new grandfather said that resonated for him, because โmuch of what we do is for those coming long after us.โ There was attention given to the lyrics โlook upโ and โreach outโ and that โthose who want to be foundโ need to believe another will be there.
One participant observed โThis is what we do here in Narrative Medicine. We find each other.โ Another commented that the music we had just listened to sounds like an anthem and reminds her of Simon and Garfunkelโs โBridge Over Troubled Watersโ and, perhaps, the fight within the musical Les Miserable.
Another person thought of a Biblical verse, remembered as โHe who loses his life will find it.โ Two participants said that the listening was not comforting and/or reminded them of those who are alone due to COVID-19. The shields in the singing music booths took on new meanings in the context of the plexiglass weโve been seeing go up to enforce social distancing in a COVID-19 world. One other participant said โthe song transcends time and people.โ
Another shared about hugging her grandchild, which she had not done in a long time, and realized how much she has missed doing that. Another person responded, saying that our texts, in this space, are like hugs.
Most people related the medley to COVID-19 and, as one said, โthe fight of this last year.โ A participant said it made her think of the healthcare workers โwhose every shift this past year was a fightโ and wanted to thank them. Another chatted in, in response, that she had contracted COVID at her hospital and appreciated the recognition and expression of gratitude.
We wrote for 4 minutes to the prompt: Write about your part in the fight.
The first reader aligned himself with Don Quijote jousting with windmills as he fights the good fight with systems that he โcannot let taint our beautiful professionโ as he continues to train young physicians and care for patients. He invites others to โkeep telling the storiesโ as he battles for writing and health justice.
The second reader began by calling her actions โsmallโ and then told of rescuing a dog, the many ways she keeps her mother connected to the outside world, in these days of Covid-19. She teaches and mentors students, and particularly students in their last year of medical school. She said her part is โto give something positive to focus on.โ Those of us listening reflected to the reader that we did not hear the numerous things she does as โsmall,โ but rather as a celebration of the โmany roles we playโ in the many worlds we inhabit. To prove this point even further, a participant shared a quote by Mother Teresa: โIt is not the magnitude of our actions, but the amount of love that is put into them that matters.โ
Our next readers shared questions about whether โfight is even a metaphor I feel my ownโ or about โwhat is the fightโ. We saw empathy as โincubating in warriorsโ and hope โsheddingโ along the way, reimagining the โsheddingโ of the virus weโve heard so much about over the past year. One readerโs part in the fight was putting together seemingly fragmented pieces of hope, while another readerโs was to acknowledge the road weโve traveled so far and celebrate the pioneering women who indeed have โwon the fightโ of their lifetimes.
Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (โLeave a Replyโ), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.
Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if youโre able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!
Found/Tonight - Lin-Manuel Miranda and Ben Platt
We may not yet have reached our glory
But I will gladly join the fight
And when our children tell their story
They'll tell the story of tonight
They'll tell the story of tonight
Tonight
Have you ever felt like nobody was there?
Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere?
Have you ever felt like you could disappear?
Like you could fall, and no one would hear?
Well, let that lonely feeling wash away
All we see is light
'Cause maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay
For forever
'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand
You can reach, reach out your hand
And oh
Raise a glass to freedom
Something they can never take away
Oh
No matter what they tell you
Someone will coming running
To take you home
Raise a glass to all of us
Tomorrow there'll be more of us
Telling the story of tonight
Out of the shadows
The morning is breaking (they'll tell the story of tonight)
And all is new
All is new
All is new
It's only a matter of
Time
Even when the dark comes crashing through
When you need a friend to carry you
When you're broken on the ground
You will be found
So let the sun come streaming in
'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again
If you only look around
You will be found
And when our children tell their story
You will be found
They'll tell the story of tonight
Whoa
No matter what they tell you
Tomorrow there'll be more of us
Telling the story of tonight
The story of tonight
Connections in Narrative Medicine 