The Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.


Chichester International Film Festival (19 August - 5 September)

A celebration of UK and World cinema, including a UK premiere of Nigel Cole's Made in Dagenham, a special preview of Stephen Frears's Tamara Drew and a screening of Alberto Cavalcanti's Went the Day Well?


Green Man Festival, Glanusk Park (Friday 20 - Sunday 22)

Live music, comedy, literature and cinema in the bucolic Brecon Beacons setting. Acts include Joanna Newsom, Beirut, Billy Bragg and Josie Long.


Iconoclasts, Radio 4 (Weds 25, 20:00)

In the first of a new series, Edward Stourton chairs a live debate in which Professor David Marsland defends his view that the mentally and morally unfit should be sterilised.


Glyndebourne at Somerset House(Friday 20 - Sunday 22)

Evening screenings of Billy Budd (directed by Michael Grandage), The Rake's Progress (designs by David Hockney) and a matinée screening of Hansel and Gretel in the Courtyard at Somerset House.


Romantics at Tate Britain (Until December 2012)

The Clore Gallery is showcasing major works by JMW Turner, John Constable, Henry Fuseli, Samuel Palmer, as well as newly-acquired works by William Blake.

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Brexit… Leg-sit

A new poem by Jo-Ella Sarich. 

Forgot Brexit. An ostrich just walked into the room. Actually,
forget ostriches too. Armadillos also have legs, and shoulder plates
like a Kardashian.  Then I walked in, the other version of me, the one
with legs like wilding pines, when all of them

are the lumberjacks. Forget forests. Carbon sinks are down
this month; Switzerland is the neutral territory
that carved out an island for itself. My body
is the battleground you sketch. My body is
the greenfield development, and you
are the heavy earthmoving equipment. Forget
the artillery in the hills
and the rooftops opening up like nesting boxes. Forget about

the arms race. Cheekbones are the new upper arms
since Michelle lost out to Melania. My cheekbones
are the Horsehead Nebula and you are the Russians
at warp speed. Race you to the finish. North Korea

will go away if you stop thinking
about it. South Korea will, too. Stop thinking
about my sternum. Stop thinking about
the intricacy of my mitochondria. Thigh gaps
are the new wage gaps, and mine is like
the space between the redwood stand
and the plane headed for the mountains. Look,

I’ve pulled up a presentation
with seven different eschatologies
you might like to try. Forget that my arms
are the yellow tape around the heritage tree. Forget
about my exoskeleton. Forget
that the hermit crab
has no shell of its own. Forget that the crab ever
walked sideways into the room.
Pay attention, people.

Jo-Ella Sarich is a New Zealand-based lawyer and poet. Her poems have appeared in the Galway Review and the Poetry New Zealand Yearbook 2017.

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear