How is it possible not to grow hard,
To build a shell around yourself when you
Have to watch so much pain, and hear it too?
Many you see are puzzled, wounded; few
Are cheerful long. How can you not be scarred?
To view a birth or death seems natural,
But these locked doors, these sudden shouts and tears
Graze all the peaceful skies. A world of fears
Like the ghost-haunting of the owl appears.
And yet you love that stillness and that call.
You have a memory for everyone;
None is anonymous and so you cure
What few with such compassion could endure.
I never met a calling quite so pure.
My fears are silenced by the things you've done.
We have grown cynical and often miss
The perfect thing. Embarrassment also
Convinces us we cannot dare to show
Our sickness. But you listen and we know
That you can meet us in our own distress.
Elizabeth Jennings (1926–2001) was born in Boston, Lincolnshire to a medical family. Her father was the Chief Medical Officer. She read English at St Anne's College, Oxford, and later worked as a librarian at Oxford City Library. She was awarded a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) in 1992. She had a psychiatric hospital admission in the early 1960s and is reported to have attempted suicide. Two volumes of poetry describe her experience of being in a mental hospital, Recoveries (1964) and The Mind has Mountains (1966). ‘Night Sister’ is reproduced from Elizabeth Jennings: New Collected Poems (ed. M. Schmidt), published by Carcanet. © 2002 Estate of Elizabeth Jennings.
Poem selected by Professor Femi Oyebode
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