Writing About Nature And The Body: An Introduction for Patients
By Daniel Applebaum
Hello! If you've been following my blog, I hope you've had the chance to pick up copies of the two books I recommended in my previous posts (The Illumination and Playlist for the Apocalypse). In this post, I'm going to discuss an often-explored, possibly trite subject—nature and poetry—from (hopefully!) a fresh angle.
Though the link between nature and poetry may appear cliché or outdated, it is undeniably an omnipresent feature of past and contemporary literature. Indeed, some modern critics have proclaimed 21st-century poetry to be "dead" due to humans' reduced contact with the natural world as we rely increasingly on computer screens and iPhones. Reclaiming this connection can be even more daunting for individuals in fragile physical condition, especially when parks, hiking trails, beaches, and other sites are not always as accessible as they should be. In a world where “nature writing” and other frequently-recommended therapeutic outlets take on almost a moralistic quality, patients and the non-able-bodied are all-too-often left out.
However, as many patients can attest, fostering intimacy between oneself and nature is deeply connected to restoring sensitivity to one's own body—a central practice for aspiring poets and writers, and, as we’ll discover, not just the able-bodied. Across a variety of religions and cultures, the natural world is venerated as a sacred gift, allowing us to tap into our intuition, wisdom, and spirituality. Nature yields insights into the human body, too. Floods, storms, heatwaves, erosion, ecological collapse and recovery—so many natural disasters mimic cycles of illness and healing. Even smaller weather patterns—mild, sporadic rain showers; stagnant heat; restless wind—can help us understand the vicissitudes of our own moods and emotions. Clearly, access to nature can aid patients who wish to write about their experiences.
Even for patients who cannot or do not not want to physically place themselves in nature, the act of writing can allow them to feel connected to the natural world, since they can envision nature scenes from wherever they may be—from the waiting room or the hospital bed or the living room. From simply opening the window to watching nature footage on YouTube, there truly are options for everybody to partake in nature-writing!
In her recently-published memoir Some of Us Just Fall (which I will review in a future blog post!), Polly Atkin chronicles her journey of navigating her chronic illness (Ehlers-Danlos syndrome). Atkin prefaces her memoir with the statement, "In reading we travel without moving… Words travel beyond us, make journeys we could never make in our own precarious bodies," reminding us of the power of the human imagination to transcend the limitations of body, place, and time. In a subsequent excerpt of the book (published in The Adroit Journal), Atkin writes about her own relationship with nature as a chronically ill woman. From her meditative ritual of swimming in a lake, Atkin draws parallels between ecological recovery and recovering from illness.
Atkin's writing serves as a testament to the value of adding chronically ill and disabled perspectives to environmentalist conversations on such topics as climate change. After all, those who know the fragility of their own bodies may possess unique insights into the vulnerability of our shared body, the body of the Earth. Just as patients may be proactive about their own self-care rituals and wellbeing, they may be particularly well-positioned to advocate for protecting and preserving the health of Earth's ecosystems. Patients often search for homeostasis in their own lives in the same way that environmental scientists aim for the stability of Earth's habitats.
So I hope this post inspires you to search for solace, wisdom, or whatever else you are seeking in nature! Beyond the well-documented health benefits, engaging in the natural world may help to inspire our own writing. By broadening our own perspective, we can deepen our understanding of our own bodies and cultivate wisdom on healing and acceptance.
Recommendation #2.
By Daniel Applebaum
Hello, readers! I hope you enjoyed my previous post and urge you to read The Illumination as an example of fiction that addresses pain and illness. Today, I am so excited to share with you all another book—this time of poetry— that addresses these topics sensitively and lyrically, rhapsodizing the nuances of pain onto the page while exploring the vulnerability of the human body.
Rita Dove's Playlist for the Apocalypse
In her latest poetry collection, Dove explores a range of topics (separated by sections) related to her identity, ancestral history, and life story. In one section, Dove bravely writes a series of cutting, beautiful poems centered on her experience with Multiple Sclerosis (a diagnosis she has disclosed in interviews and composed an epigraph about, which is included in this collection of poetry). Envisioning pills as rosaries and writing chicken soup recipes while receiving a life-changing diagnosis, Dove humanizes objects and events that can seem purely clinical, proving that illness is not beyond the purview of poetry.
Literature: An Overlooked Outlet for Patients. Recommendation #1
It all begins with an idea.
By Daniel Applebaum
Hello, Poems for Patients blog readers! My name is Daniel, and I am the president of Poems for Patients as of fall, 2024. As a 17-year-old who is a passionate poet and who has been a patient myself, the intersection of writing and illness holds a special place in my heart. I’m so excited to share some thoughts on my favorite literary works that combine these two concepts, in the hopes that any patients who may be reading this can find the same comfort I do in their pages.
For many chronically ill patients, it can be challenging to find intellectual and artistic outlets. Whether at home or in the hospital, patients may be struggling with boredom, grief, and social isolation. It is at this point that some seek solace in literature. In fact, one study showed that individuals experiencing chronic pain frequently turn to poetry or novels to cope with feelings of losing their previous identities and needing to readjust to new lifestyles. Coupled with evidence that nostalgia—an emotion that often suffuses literature—can instill within chronic pain patients a sense of future optimism by reminding them of their past lives, it is unsurprising that literary works serve as a source of "spiritual medicine."
Paradoxically, though, physical maladies have traditionally posed limitations to the field of literature, with Virginia Woolf famously lamenting literature's dearth of insights on pain and illness. While some patients may prefer to indulge in escapism through media that doesn't directly relate to their difficulties, many yearn for literature that grapples with pain and illness more directly—whether for specialized insight, clarity, or even to feel less alone in their struggles. At Poems for Patients, we believe in poetry's power to comfort, uplift, or simply distract those in the waiting room of their lives. We also believe that patients deserve access to artistic material that represents their dilemma in sensitive and nuanced ways, so we've decided to provide titles—a novel and a poetry collection, specifically—that fill the silence of illness with throbbing music. I’m sharing the first here, with more to come in subsequent posts, so be sure to follow along to learn about all the titles.
1. Kevin Brockmeier's The Illumination
This New York Times bestselling speculative-fiction novel probes illness through a fascinating premise: people's physical wounds radiate light, transforming the world into a constellation of pain. Through this conceit, Brockmeier raises philosophical questions about the relationship between physical and emotional trauma and empathy in regards to pain's visibility (a particularly scintillating case study when juxtaposed against pain's invisibility in the real world). Brockmeier also investigates human vulnerability and fragility – of the body and soul. Through lyrical, sensitive prose, Brockmeier leaves open the possibility that pain can be enlightening or even beautiful (hence "the illumination") without glamorizing pain (a vital and delicate distinction that Brockmeier deftly navigates). Brockmeier's novel deserves to be canonized not only as a great work of contemporary fiction, but also a novel especially well-suited for patients potentially experiencing grief, loss, and pain—and searching for material that poses the relevant philosophical questions.
In future blog posts, I would love to review The Illumination and more books in more detail (and include more texts that address illness!), but I hope patients consider reading Brockmeier’s work, in the hopes that it may provide wisdom relevant to their predicaments.