©John Stadnicki, 2019
The first signs of European meltdown are showing the crude side of politics. Ukraine will not take part in this year’s Eurovision Song contest. A shame. I like Ukrainian music, but the singer Maruv pulled out, over disagreements about imposed conditions by the Ukrainian national broadcaster. The Russian delegation is considering its position, though they are completely oblivious to all this, knowing well ‘you need to be in it, to win it.’
I suppose many overlook the fact that the whole point of Eurovision was to rebuild a war-torn continent in the mid 50s. It should have been outside politics and scandal. To my shame, though, I’m guilty of overlooking many things about Eurovision too.
I’m used to ignoring Eurovision, although I kind of expect it to happen. I have the same love-hate relationship with it, as I have with the weather forecast. I know it happens after each news bulletin so, by the time the presenter shows the maps, I switch off and check the weather on my mobile phone.
This time though, with Brexit looming, I remember that Eurovision has been going on for ages. And it has been about politics. For ages too. This realisation helps me understand why the Brexit Backstop is the real ‘apple of discord’ in the negotiations between the British and the European technocrats.
By the end of the day, Ireland has won Eurovision seven times. An absolute record. Britain only five times, with its most recent victory registered over 21 years ago. As it stands so far, both Ireland and the UK kept their places secure at Eurovision 2019.
I dread to think what would happen if Britain wins and London has to host Eurovision 2020. Or, another dreadful possibility, the Brexit Backstop stays in place and Ireland wins Eurovision again.
©Maria Stadnicka, 2019
Published in International Times on 16 March 2019.
I went out to town and took pictures
of people in queue at the shopping mall.
A third of them had been there since Friday;
pilgrims waiting for new prayer beads.
They sat on the pavement holding
their thoughts in tightly zipped handbags.
The sun kept quiet in one corner watching
the autumn busking outdoors
when a beggar stopped, asking everyone
for directions to the nearest abattoir.
Nobody knew precisely where the roads led
but smiled back at him
through the surveillance cameras.
©Maria Stadnicka, 2019
Published in Litter magazine, 22/02/2019.
Dear Sir,
a beauty company sent me an email,
‘We win, you win’ it said, invited me
to purchase youth serum at half price.
There is something I hate about emails
sitting black on white on screen:
comma after verb easily mistaken for
philosophical pause or breath taken
when reading poems aloud.
‘Please, do not reply’
it carried on ‘we hope to see you again.’
I have a hundred things to do but
rush to the bathroom to see how deep
the line cutting my glabellar region
has grown since I last checked.
A fair amount I notice. Others joined
the frontal network, showing people
how much I’ve won in forty years
of living too small, dreaming too big.
©Maria Stadnicka, 2018
Photography: ©JStadnicki, 2018
