John Mills, a poet from Stone, has won 3rd prize in a highly prestigious international award.
The Hippocrates Prize, as the name suggests, is a celebration of poetry inspired by health issues, and John’s poem about Parkinson’s disease was shortlisted to the final 5 before being awarded 3rd in the online Zoom ceremony on Friday 15th May. The ceremony should have taken place in Oviedo, Spain, but was moved online due to Covid-19 restrictions.
John, who is all too familiar with Parkinson’s disease, was an English teacher for over 30 years, realised something was wrong about six years ago.
“I noticed the shaking,” he says, “but at first I just put it down to stress. Initially, I could make it go away by forcing myself to relax. It would be back in seconds, but I had some control over it. Eventually, though, it became uncontrollable.
“My GP asked me to do a few things, like walking backwards – I found myself thundering into the wall. He also asked me to write something, and my handwriting was infinitely smaller than it used to be. Bizarrely, one of the things that Parkinson’s does is shrink your handwriting.” After being referred to a specialist and having a brain scan, John was diagnosed.
Writing from personal experience helps John write with power and authority. John has been widely published and is hopeful of getting his first collection out in the autumn but publishing, seldom risk free, is under the same stresses as every business
With an awards fund of £5500, the Hippocrates Prize for Poetry and Medicine is one of the highest value poetry awards in the world for a single unpublished poem. The 2020 Hippocrates Prize is supported by medical charity the Fellowship of Postgraduate Medicine and healthy heart charity the Cardiovascular Research Trust.
John said: “Getting on the short list is a great honour. I’m delighted to be considered and third place is a wonderful achievement.”
At 68 years old he has just graduated from Keele with an MA (distinction) in Creative Writing. His award winning poem can be read below.
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A letter from Dr. Parkinson’s Discovery
My Dear Fellow,
For years I’ve been lurking
in the dark recesses of your substantia nigra,
where, with the quiet cunning of the cut throat,
I’ve been picking off your neurons.
Once I was content with my harvest
I shook your arm by way of salutation.
Gently at first, then with increasing vigour.
Now we are properly acquainted
I shall do it continuously.
Without invitation, I will slide into your dreams
giving you glimpses of the joy
of unfettered movement that I snatch away
when I fling you into the bedside furniture.
Think of it like this,
you ask me for movement, I ponder,
then give you what I think fit.
I’m afraid your needs are beyond my consideration
and you must know your place.
When the thriller’s plot begins to unravel
frankly, my dear, so will you.
A particular satisfaction is to make you freeze.
Lock every joint and limb, or
slur, struggle to dress, shuffle.
Onlookers will mimic your movement,
point and laugh and call you drunk
and you will weep at the injustice.
It is childish I know but
I feel a tremor of excitement as you
lever yourself, ponderously, from a chair, then,
as you near the perpendicular,
I drop you back down.
I love shrinking your hand writing.
Eventually, my friend, I will rob you of your
expression as I will rob you
of the ability to write your name.
Rest assured,
you will have good days
otherwise, how can you appreciate the bad.
You will hate me as I,
remorselessly, restock my larder
and that, dear boy, is how it should be.
Yours most sincerely,
DPD.
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