The newspaper of resistance brings you a new text:
poem
Thought
In a country where all books are forbidden,
the hurricane spits out a new world
with a new legacy of destruction.
People stop by the house with a light on and a blue door,
the house with boarded-up windows where
the mandolin player keeps an eye
on his own basement revolution.
These are the days when the truth learns to
travel on cigarette papers, between prison cells,
before the police arrives
to evacuate.
Ink on paper: ‘Fisherman’, Maria Stadnicka
Soldiers
The dreadful day we had feared
arrived at last. Possibly March the first.
At the picket line.
We held hands with the same familiar tenderness
maybe shared the same memories witnessing
the course of events as the revolution unravelled.
With a kind of regret my fist hit
the walls of a prison surrounded by weaved carpets.
With photographs stored in books
different directions awaited.
Never to see each other again.
The Reality of Lines
I am the best like this
with nothing left
hanging
dried purple tulips
at each door handle.
With no audience
I face the blackness of each line
to learn what remains of reality.
The hope that all could be new
when everything is
already gone.
@Maria Stadnicka
Thought
to M. M.
Even without a language
I walk that way
marching towards the watery sun
with anger.
It never rains inside of an egg
so
I choose to deny
the sea born
in my rib cage
and go on
being allowed to hope.
Photo: Maria Stadnicka
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.
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
Dialogue
‘Would you kill a bird’ I asked the angel.
The angel stopped and lit a cigarette
And said nothing back.
Then, after a pause, the colours faded.
‘Would you kill a bird’ the angel suddenly asked me.
I said nothing.
A stone was growing between me and my mouth.
Between my flesh and my heart,
The rust.
Photo: Maria Butunoi
Maria Stadnicka 