I live in a round house across the road
and every day I wave the invisible white flag
just to distract you from writing so many letters.
Other times, all I do is stare at your reflected image,
bent over the desk,
thinking whether your back is broken,
having to bear so many words.
You do not lift your eyes up,
never see anything but yourself.
The only time you stand up and walk to the door
is to refill the glass with sand.
You do not receive news from the outside world
you do not know we live in times of peace now.
©Maria Stadnicka 2017
Photograph: ©Andrew Keenan
For more information about Andrew Keenan’s work, check
Photograph ©John Stadnicki 2017
If we want the world to move forward,
we must hold hands. Documenting the pain and the joy,
on the same page,
with water, with fire, with ashes
not with ink.
Freedom means nothing when the healthy and the sick
eat at separate tables.
Even the trees sit together. They know that life is actually simple.
But once people renounced their entitlement,
it will take more than a revolution
to reclaim such a right.
For too long we took the wrong turn.
What kind of world is this if
the madman tells us that
we should be ashamed of ourselves?
©Maria Stadnicka, 2017
Published today in
International Times with illustration produced by Nick Victor.
Someone has to. It is easy to follow along. It can feel strange to do or say something different. But without that unease, there is no freedom.‘ (Snyder T. ‘ On Tyranny, 2017 )
Photograph ©Harry Oliver / Instagram @harryowns
Photograph ©John Stadnicki
– to Liu Xiaobo –
Like all those people I once knew,
who came and then
left my life as if they never existed,
many cities inherited this flesh
under the weight of my fears.
Photograph: ©John Stadnicki
Afternoon by the Sea
Through a window, the word points at a high fence.
Beyond the distant melted sands,
bullets across the sky keep in order
our grey memory –
dust in the old man’s bone.
The promised justice moves further away,
into unlit dampness.
Nothing happens in the past, nor tomorrow.
A whisper grows closer, hungry at bedtime,
dissolved by the sound of
stones and cracked glass under my shoe.
The wooden clocks announce the return ashore
of an empty shipwreck.
©Maria Stadnicka MMXVII, published this morning in
‘Stride’ magazine edited by Rupert M. Loydell
It is a great privilege to be a guest at ‘Tears in the Fence’ poetry festival this year. 15th-17th September 2017.
I will be reading from my latest collection
Imperfect and discuss the relationship between journalism and censorship as well as the role of the poetic discourse within the current socio-political climate.
This year’s Festival weekend will be at The White Horse and Village Hall, Stourpaine and The Festival’s theme is
the politics of engagement.
Further details and programme to follow.
Thank you David Caddy and ‘Tears in the Fence’ Festival and I am looking forward to it.
Imperfect is available at Amazon, Waterstones and Yew Tree Press website.
for Timothy Snyder)
At first, we reduced the water supply.
The poisoned city wells dried up.
The light burnt the crops.
At sunset, everything crumbled into a black peace.
Then somehow we got used to an economy of words.
We collected ideas and thoughts in one book.
We spent the days memorising chapters.
For those trapped in the outer world,
for the privilege of staying alive.
Photograph: @John Stadnicki, MMXVII
Published today in ‘I am not a silent poet’
with many thanks to the editor Reuben Woolley.
July 12, 2017 July 12, 2017
art, Britain, censorship, community, culture, debate, journalism, literature, Maria Stadnicka, poetry, poetry book, politics