just as you are about to
close a window
and a bird
abruptly flutters into the room
exactly like that
she drops her wings on the lawn
and jumps back
into the sea
project
Childhood memories, identity and games – Open Studios Exhibition, May 2014, Stroud Arts Festival
The exhibition for the Open Studios, Stroud Arts Festival, May 2014 is now open to the public in Stroud (http://www.sitefestival.org.uk) and it will be open the following two weekends in Rita Fenning’s studio. (http://ritafenning13.wix.com/ritafenning-web)
The address is: Fieldside, Brimscombe GL5 2SW, Stroud.
You will see a selection of installations, collages, artist books Rita has produced inspired by my poems ‘Birthday Present’, ‘Family Photograph, ‘Lesson of Admiration’, ‘Games’ and ‘The Warm Bones’.
You can watch a video I made and listen to me reading the poems, with a selection of photographs produced by John Stadnicki (http://www.johnstadnicki.co.uk/Site/Welcome.html) for my collection ‘A Short Story about War’.
Here is a preview with some of the exhibited art work and a fragment with my reading. The video contains photographs produced by the artist John Stadnicki.
Many thanks to the sound manager Marc Fairclough from South Gloucestershire and Stroud College and to the video editor, the artist Clare Bottomley. (http://www.saatchiart.com/account/artworks/149322)
Games The Warm Bones project-rita1
Poems: Maria Butunoi
Installations: Rita Fenning
The exhibition will be open during the Open Studios Festival, May 2014.
Poetry collection ‘A Short Story about War’ published by Yew Tree Press, ready for the Cheltenham Poetry Festival, 30th March 2014
My poetry collection ‘A Short Story about War’ is now ready. It is a limited edition published by Yew Tree Press, Stroud, England, with a purpose: to support bursaries for children garbage pickers from Tondo, Manila.
The collection contains photographs created by the artist John Stadnicki, which produced the design and the concept.
‘A Short Story about War’ will be available at the Cheltenham Poetry Festival on the 30th March 2014, at 5pm. I will be reading texts from it at The Strand, Cheltenham. http://www.cheltenhampoetryfest.co.uk/eventdetail.php?ID=80
The collection is available to purchase and will be sold on Amazon soon.
My thanks go to the poet Philip Rush for his editorial determination, work and constant support; and to the editor and storyteller Fiona Eadie.
Thank you to all the people which inspired me and to the Stroud Pamphlet Poets for the feedback they gave me during the readings at the Stroud Valleys Artspace.
Maria Butunoi
Duel
I do not happen to know
the purpose of our war
but I’m working hard to
remember the words you
scribbled on the piece of paper
which set fire to the entire land.
Then I could not catch
the imagined rain on the glass roof
nor the light of the earth
so
the battle just happened.
Out of the blue, both of us
ready, awake,
on the horse’s back,
measured with precision
the distance between
the polished guns.
The bullets hit my left arm,
my knee,
hit open my skull;
the flesh exploded in thousands of pieces,
covered the yellow sky
with hair and skin.
At the end,
the music kept playing again,
you followed the clear road,
I followed you:
nothing more than a perfect, unfinished poem.
Selfie
I can see how the white cables
come out of your pockets and ears;
you darling keep the headphones
around your neck
with the elegance of a pearl queen;
your bed socks are full of music,
they vibrate when you sit
neatly on your side of the bed.
Under my half of the duvet
I’m in need of sunshine so I look
at the weather updates
every five minutes.
Just in case I fall asleep,
send me a text darling
to declare how much you love me now;
the words you cannot say
when we look at each other
will appear tomorrow
in the printed newsletter
you forward to all your followers.
Photo: John Stadnicki
Morning
You hurry to polish the shoes in the hallway
the black mud covers the white stone
the music is loud and
I think I can hear the tap dripping but
prefer to cover my head
under the blanket and pretend
I’m asleep. I choose to look away
as you leave the house and let the door open.
Not going anywhere today. I will
sit by the window with an unopened book.
The sun hidden by my expensive curtains.
The running water floods the entire house
and I’m happy
at last
drowned in my own thoughts.
Thought
I do not mind sleeping in the frost
knowing
somewhere you
travel the seas.
Free like a full stop on a clean page.
Thought
I will say it again,
with the risk of repeating myself:
the poet does not exist really,
do not wait for him, do not.
The words themselves, not the tears, will choose to
get out in the world and
find you.
Photo: Maria Butunoi
The Chairs
We have become so good at
talking about the weather
when we don’t speak at all.
Not a moment of silence can pass
between us
without me reminding you
how you left the white empty chairs outside.
Look, it rained on them
for weeks and weeks,
we have nowhere to sit and rest now.
We walk on the frozen cement with bare feet
and listen:
the rust peels off in the sun,
our skin peels off
to reveal the true colour of our bones.
Ink: Maria Butunoi
Revenge
I kicked a dog in the teeth.
The dog turned and
Bit my lip.
The gushing blood stained my words.
I am now silent.
Maria Stadnicka 