Ζωντανή συνεδρία αφηγηματικής ιατρικής: Τρίτη, 13 Απριλίου, 8:30 pm EEST

Σας ευχαριστούμε που συμμετείχατε σε αυτήν τη συνεδρία.

Κείμενο: Μαλβίνα Κάραλη, «Ιντερμέδιο (και μισό πλάνο)», Έρωτας και άλλες πολεμικές τέχνες (1996)

Θέμα: «Γράψτε για ένα πλάνο που θα θέλατε να απαθανατίσετε»

Σύντομα θα μοιραστούμε περισσότερες πληροφορίες σχετικά με αυτήν τη συνεδρία, γι ‘αυτό επιστρέψτε ξανά.

Σας προσκαλούμε να μοιραστείτε τα γραπτά σας μαζί μας παρακάτω.

Καλούμε όλες και όλους που συμμετείχατε να μοιραστείτε όσα γράψατε κατά τη διάρκεια της συνεδρίας μας παρακάτω (“Leave a reply”) και να κρατήσουμε αυτή την τόσο ενδιαφέρουσα συζήτησή μας ζωντανή, υπενθυμίζοντάς σας, βεβαίως, ότι αυτή είναι μια δημόσια πλατφόρμα και η πρόσβαση ανοιχτή στο κοινό.

Θα θέλαμε να μάθουμε περισσότερα  για την εμπειρία σας με αυτές τις συνεδρίες. Αν το επιθυμείτε, παρακαλούμε αφιερώστε λίγο χρόνο σε μια σύντομη έρευνα δύο ερωτήσεων!

Ακολουθήστε τον σύνδεσμο: https://tinyurl.com/nmedg-survey


Ιντερμέδιο (και μισό πλάνο)

            Δύο βήματα από το σπίτι μου, στέκομαι στο τεϊοποτείο να πιω ένα παγωμένο σου σονγκ σερβιρισμένο σε βικτοριανό φλιτζάνι. Τι ωραίο ζευγάρι είναι αυτό στη βιτρίνα, δηλαδή στο γωνιακό τραπέζι, δίπλα στη τζαμαρία. Αυτή σαν τη Σίμπεργκ στο πιο μεσογειακό, εκείνος αντιπροσωπευτικός άντρας παλιάς σχολής—και οι δυο τους κουκλάκια. Κοιτάζονταν στα μάτια και φορούσαν όμορφα ρούχα, και στα πόδια τους ήταν ξαπλωμένος ένας υπέροχος Αλσατός σκύλος με μάτια καταγάλανα. Στέκομαι και τους κοιτάζω (και δεν εννοώ πως τους παρατηρώ ) και τότε—καταστροφή, ο σκύλος σηκώνεται, απομακρύνεται, βγαίνει από το πλάνο μου.

            «Ξαναμπές, σκύλε, στο πλάνο», παρακαλάω. Τίποτα αυτός. «Ξαναμπές, βρε μπάσταρδε», σημασία το καθαρόαιμο. Η εικόνα μου πάει, διαλύθηκε, αλλά αυτό το μισοάδειο κάδρο δεν ήταν πολύ χειρότερο από το άλλο: Μια φορά είχα δει ένα καθαρόαιμο σκυλί να συνοδεύει τον πιο ουδέτερο και απροσδιόριστης ράτσας άνθρωπο. Ύστερα παρατήρησα τον κανόνα.


Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EDT April 12th 2021

Thank you to everyone who joined for this session!

Our text was an excerpt from “Meditations for a Savage Child” by Adrienne Rich from her collection Diving into the Wreck, posted below.

Our prompt for this session was: “Write about no longer knowing.”

More details on this session will be posted, so check back!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), 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 you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Wednesday April 14th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


II.  
from “Meditations for a Savage Child”

I keep thinking about the lesson of the human ear
which stands for music, which stands for balance-
or the cat’s ear which I can study better
the whorls and ridges exposed 
It seems a hint dropped about the inside of a skull
which I cannot see
lobe, zone, that part of the brain
which is pure survival

The most primitive part
I go back into at night
pushing the leathern curtain
with naked fingers
then 
with naked body 

There every wound is registered
as scar tissue

A cave of scars!
ancient, archaic wallpaper
built up, layer on layer
from the earliest, dream-white
to yesterday’s a red-black scrawl
a red mouth slowly closing

Go back so far there is another language
go back far enough the language
is no longer personal

these scars bear witness
but whether to repair
or to destruction
I no longer know

from Diving Into the Wreck (1971-1972)
By Adrienne Rich


Laboratori Di Medicina Narrativa: sabato 10 Aprile dalle 16 alle 17.30

Siamo stati molto lieti di avervi qui con noi!

Abbiamo letto insieme la poesia “Dopo Marx, Aprile” di Giuseppe Conte (allegato al termine di questa pagina)  

In seguito, abbiamo usato il prompt “Scrivi sulla rinascita delle cose”.

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) è molto importante per noi, e ci permetterà 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!



Live Virtual Group Session: 12pm EDT April 9th 2021

Thank you to everyone who joined for this session!

Our text was a page from the manga graphic novel Dementia 21 by Shintaro Kago, posted below.

Our prompt for this session, again, was: “Write about the number one job.”

More details on this session will be posted, so check back!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), 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 you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Monday April 12th at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


Dementia 21 by Shintaro Kago


Narrative Medicine Book Club: Passing by Nella Larsen, Welcome and Our Reading Schedule

Welcome to the first week of Narrative Medicine Book Club and our reading of Passing by Nella Larsen. We’re excited to begin reading with you! This week, we are starting off by announcing our anticipated reading schedule, and will officially commence next week.

We’ll be reading at a pace of two chapters a week, as follows:

  • Week 1 – April 11-17: Part 1 Chapters 1&2
  • Zoom Discussion: April 17th at 11AM EDT: Register Here!
  • Week 2 – April 18-24: Part 1 Chapters 3&4
  • Week 3 – April 25-May 1: Part 2 Chapters 1&2
  • Week 4 – May 2-9: Part 2 Chapters, 3&4
  • Week 5 – May 10-15: Finale
  • Zoom Discussion: May 15th at 11AM EDT: Register Here!

To get us kicked off into our reading next week, here are our preliminary thoughts on the first pages:

Derek: “The rooftop encounter between Irene and Clare — chance or fate? I felt tension in the knowing and the unknowing.”

Carmen: “For me, the tension was present from the opening sentence and didn’t let up. It seemed every moment in the present and those recounted from the past were capable of leaving me breathless.”

We look forward to diving into Part 1 Chapters 1 and 2 with you next week!

If you don’t already have your copy, books can be purchased from the publisher, direct from your local indie bookstore, or through indiebound.org or bookshop.org.

We hope that you are able to join us, and we look forward to reading along with you!


Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EST April 5th 2021

Thank you to everyone who joined for this session! In honor of just having passed our one-year anniversary of launching our virtual group sessions, we are revisiting a text that was unfortunately interrupted one year ago.

That text is “The Mailman” by Nazim Hikmet, posted below.

Our prompt for this session, again, was: “Write a letter you’d like to deliver.”

More details on this session will be posted, so check back!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), 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 you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Friday April 9th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


The Mailman, Nazim Hikmet  from Hungarian travel notes
Author(s): NAZIM HIKMET, Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk
Source: The American Poetry Review, Vol. 23, No. 2 (MARCH/APRIL 1994), pp. 38-39
Published by: Old City Publishing, Inc.
 
Whether at dawn or in the middle of the night,
I've carried people news
– of other people, the world, and my country,
               of trees, the birds and the beasts –
                               in the bag of my heart.
I've been a poet,
                which is a kind of mailman.
As a child, I wanted to be a mailman,
not via poetry or anything
but literally – a real mail carrier.
In geography books and Jules Verne's novels
my colored pencils drew a thousand different pictures
                 of the same mailman– Nazim.
Here, I'm driving a dogsled
                                                            over ice,
canned goods and mail packets
                                                           glint in the Arctic twilight:
I'm crossing the Bering Strait.
Or here, under the shadow of heavy clouds on the steppe,
I'm handing out mail to soldiers and drinking kefir.
Or here, on the humming asphalt of a big city,
I bring only good news
                                                                 and hope.
Or I'm in the desert, under the stars,
a little girl lies burning up with fever,
and there's a knock on the door at midnight:
"Mailman!"
The little girl opens her big blue eyes:
her father will come home from prison tomorrow.
I was the one who found that house in the snowstorm
and gave the neighbor girl the telegram.
As a child, I wanted to be a mailman.
But it's a difficult art in my Turkey.
In that beautiful country
                a mailman bears all manner of pain in telegrams
                                and line on line of grief in letters.
As a child, I wanted to be a mailman.
I got my wish in Hungary at fifty.
Spring is in my bag, letters full of the Danube's shimmer,
                                                                  the twitter of birds,
and the smell of fresh grass –
letters from the children of Budapest
                                to children in Moscow.
Heaven is in my bag . . .
One envelope
writes:
"Memet, Nazim Hikmet's son,
                                 Turkey."
Back in Moscow I'll deliver the letters
to their addresses one by one.
Only Memet's letter I can't deliver
or even send.
Nazim's son,
highwaymen block the roads –
                                 your letter can't get through.