果冻影院

The winners of the 2017 Yale-果冻影院 Medical & Engineering Students鈥� poetry competition have been announced! There were over 90 entries this year and the judging panel were delighted by the standard of poetry as well as the range of themes written upon.

The results are:

First place, 拢1000: Kristina Brown (Yale Medicine) with 鈥楥颈迟补鈥�

Joint second place, 拢500 each: Sabie Rainton (果冻影院 Medicine) with 鈥楾he Jungle鈥� and Olivia Pang (果冻影院 Medicine) with 鈥楰别苍苍别迟丑鈥�

Highly commended: Muhammad Yusoff (果冻影院 Medicine) with 鈥榝all and an insomniac鈥檚 tanka鈥�

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The poetry competition was launched in February 2011 by Professor John Martin (果冻影院 Professor in Cardiovascular Medicine) who is the co-director of the Yale-果冻影院 Collaborative. The competition is for medical and engineering students at both universities and is student run with this year鈥檚 competition being organised by Amrita D鈥橲ouza (果冻影院 Medicine).

The competition was born in the hope of inspiring, nurturing and promoting the humanities within medical education and to help provide an outlet for students.

Winner: Krisina Brown (Yale Medicine)

Cita

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I notice her hands first: the contrast is stark as the dark cattle against the snow-covered hillside

on the drive here. The way home lies somewhere between wintry wonderland and wishful thinking

It鈥檚 been three and a half months since I saw her last, since I left this small town world behind

for medical school, and already, her hands have changed:听

The same hands that once spun stories on Saturdays

fingertips darting details into every account of my childhood

The hands I watched transform when I was a teenager

when she returned from the hospital in a wheelchair and those hands

once dazzling creatures, sat limp and swollen in her lap

I held those hands when the days grew long, extra squeezes when I couldn鈥檛 find the words

when I started calling her Cita, her favorite nickname, my way of saying

鈥淢other, I have not forgotten how tall you once stood but I cherish you all the more now鈥�

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Hers are the hands that I saw get better, helped to button up pink pajamas

Watched flutter skywards in laughter. Now her left hand does the talking, quietly

Her right hand rests across her chest as though protecting some subtle ache

鈥淐颈迟补-鈥� this time Cita is a question I don鈥檛 know how to ask. She explains she鈥檚 just a little cold

I marvel at the details she omits. I wonder if she feels the chill of my absence

I notice the thin film of gravel on the hardwood, remnants of all her trips to the lake without me

The comet tails of her wheelchair tracks sweep past the coffee table, past the cranberry sofa

where I once fell asleep sometime in college and woke up to catch her staring

in a voice marbled by tears, she told me, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 remember the last time I got to watch you sleeping

You looked just the way you did when you were a baby鈥�

She looked at me as though I didn鈥檛 know what it鈥檚 like to miss someone

who鈥檚 right in front of me. She looks at me the same way now

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Although I stand before her, there is still a departure plane ticket lingering in the air

like the last leaf of November, a breath of New Haven at the ends of my sentences

She is hurting. I can tell by the single tug at the corner of her rose petal lips

And those hands. Try as I might, I cannot uncurl those fingers

cannot un-clench arm from chest. I wonder how she can hold on to so much heartache

I wish she knew the sweet rush of weightlessness that comes with letting go

Even in her sleep, she holds that hand to her chest as if in remembrance

of the puttering of a newborn鈥檚 heartbeat against her own

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On my last day of Thanksgiving break, I wash her face, humming under my breath

She tells me my voice doesn鈥檛 sound the same over the phone. 鈥�Cita,鈥� I say, as an apology

Later that day we sit together reading our books, mirroring each other:

glasses on, fresh stories before us, a plate of oranges between us

She tells me, 鈥淚 wish I could read my book and eat oranges with you forever.鈥� We share a smile

Weeks later I return home for winter break. Cita awakens to the sunrise and the scratchy yawn of the front door. I find her swaddled in pink sheets, hair as dark as a dreamless night

鈥淐ita I am here,鈥� I say when it is clear her eyes have not yet convinced her

Suddenly, both of her storyteller hands outstretch to greet me

her smile disintegrates in tears as her cheeks turn to soft clay in my hands.

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Kristina describes 鈥楥颈迟补鈥�, the winning poem, as 鈥渕y tribute to home and all it encompasses: my mother鈥檚 indelible strength in her experience with chronic illness and the ways in which both time and distance have shaped our relationship"

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Joint second: Sabie Rainton (果冻影院 Medicine)

The Jungle

Reflections on the Calais 鈥楯ungle鈥�, Summer 2016

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Tent city, sitting pretty, lulling on the sand dunes,

Underneath a summer moon,

Under winter sun and hell-fire rain,

Come wind, come frost, come summer again.

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A caged-in prison of monitored freedom,

Bustling within the confines of the nervous police lines.

Township of potential, saviour of hope,

Life and detention, tarpaulin and rope.

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Little Iraq, Little Afghanistan, Little Syria,

Not at all littler, but a thousand times fiercer,

Pockets of community, mint tea, black tea,

Black coffee, but always enough to share.

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No one鈥檚 鈥榝orever鈥�, but everyone鈥檚 鈥榬ight now鈥�,

United like never before 鈥榞ainst the drag of the plough.听

Completely divided, unique, unspeakably brave.

A thousand lifetimes of stories,

A thousand reminders of the grave.

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The weather comes and goes but the wanderers remain,

Teetering barely between safe and slain.

Rain of cold, and dark, and rubber bullets

Soak everything through but always knew it

Wouldn鈥檛, couldn鈥檛 stem the fight

Of souls who鈥檒l chance it, cloaked in night.

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The land of hope, with iron fist,

The undulating morning mist,

The chants of 鈥榞o鈥�, 鈥榯urn back鈥� and 鈥榥o鈥�

From those whose young have chance to grow听

No resting place of brick and mortar

For rest-in-peace your son and daughter.

The drive of fear, the chance you鈥檒l take

With nothing left to put at stake.

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The world cheek-turns, shrugs shoulders, sighs,

For weathered faces, sunken eyes,

Told stories through a printed page

Numb-minded past the point of rage.

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鈥業t鈥檚 sad, but what else can we do?鈥�

But what it 鈥榯hey鈥� weren鈥檛 鈥榯hem鈥� but 鈥榶ou鈥�?

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Describing her poem, Sabie explains 鈥淚 visited the Calais Jungle/Dzanghal with a team of medics in 2016. It was a听profound experience that had a massive impact on me. The camp听was definitely a thing of beauty and disaster, an entire settlement growing completely isolated by a ring of police presence.听I wanted to try and capture that sense of it being both utterly magnificent, yet听borne of something entirely tragic. Now the Jungle's been demolished, the discussion about the migrant crisis seems to have died down, but the migrant population听is still there in France, and conditions are worse than ever. It's really important than we keep talking about the problem and developing solutions (see听 for new updates and volunteering opportunities). I was so honoured to be placed in the competition, and I can't wait to read the other poems!听鈥�

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Joint second: Olivia Pang (果冻影院 Medicine)

Kenneth

You will never know me but I

I saw you.

I listened into the void for your breath

and your heart, and for a second I heard a

Soft hello.

Fear grips all at once, a sickened swoop until I-

I understand.

It鈥檚 just me.

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Beating alone into your silence.

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Clear eyes, lakes of crystal blue,

Skin a wan yellow of grief,

A still object robed in

resounding echoes of a future anguish.

I serenade you with

the sound of my heart beating

鈥楩utile. Futile. Futile鈥�.

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What fates should have led me to you, kind teacher,

that you should tell,

Not of poetry and mourning,

Nor cherished memories, unspoken regret,

Nor dark storms and anguished cries,

Nor stories of great journeys and glorious rebirth,

But a still man鈥檚 stark truth in white sheets-

I close your eyes鈥�

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Death, stripped of ceremony,

Is an anonymous room in grey morning light

Where two strangers meet

and one leaves.听听

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On being awarded second place, Olivia writes: 鈥淚n many ways, I have experienced clinical medicine as a series of losses: loss of fear, loss of naivety, and loss of self-doubt. But also erosion of empathy, erosion of idealism, and erosion of identity. I am truly grateful for this opportunity to express a moment that moved me, that I didn鈥檛 want to lose to hard-heartedness. It was also a joy to be able to reconnect with the part of myself that loved to write. Thank you.鈥�

Highly commended: Muhammad Yusoff (果冻影院 Medicine)

fall and an insomniac鈥檚 tanka*

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browning leaves, laden
with tears; wearily waiting
for autumn mercy

dreaming of falling snow, whilst

I lie here, dreaming of dreams

*A tanka is a form of Japanese poetry, with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllabic pattern.

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