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26 April 2013

Things in Light Poetry Series 2013: Mjamj Snjirc

Samantha Anne Carrillo

As April transits into May, we're excited and happy to publish the work of Mjamj Snjirc. We asked Snjirca native of Amsterdam residing in a small Hungarian village near the Croatian borderto contribute because her prolific output and multimedia approach to poetics is formidable and intensely beautiful. The video realization of this poem is embedded following the text.


The Love Who Is My Love Is My Love/1

The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
talking silenty. Her silence is gorgeous when she whispers her
whishes to me.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
lying next to me when I lie. And isn't she lying next to me she is
lying in me. With her silent drum she arouses me. Virtuoso rhythms
defying any analysis. Move me move me move me move me.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
resting next to me when she rests. And isn't she resting next to me
she is resting in me. The Love who is my Love is a gorgeous warrior.
Her weapons are dedication and noble courage.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She swims and swims and
swims and swims. Through the water through the miracle. Her birth
will happen under a lucky star. The same star that shone on the bed
in which I was bred.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She is unborn she is alive she
is dead.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
possesses the words. Within the words she possesses she possesses
the time. Within the time she possesses she possesses the space.
Within the space she possesses she possesses the roads. Within the
roads she possesses she possesses the elements.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is a
holiday dish. A holiday dish served up in 1181 bowls. Each bowl
fired in last night's flames.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is a
fairy tale. A fairytale gathered from 7 times 7 mouths. It begins in
the winter that never ends. And ends in the summer that never
begins.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
singing with the wind when she sings. The Love who is my Love is
crying in me when she cries. She sings and sings and sings and
sings. She cries she cries she cries she cries.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She is unborn she is alive she
is dead.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
dreaming next to me when I dream. And isn't she dreaming next
to me she is dreaming in me. She introduces me to all of her
acquaintances. A procession of a billion heads passes through my
house. I greet and greet and greet and greet. And the best wishes
expressed in dizzying sounds. Heal me heal me heal me heal me.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
lends me her glance. Her glance has a reach of 360 degrees sharp.
Everything that comes within her range, shows itself for a
gorgeously silent moment. We relish we relish we relish we relish.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
possesses the flowers. Within the flowers she possesses she
possesses the big smell. If her big smell is heavy. She temps me
to drift and doze. If her big smell is light. She animates my
wanderlust.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. From the riches she offers, I
conscientiously pick my presents for her. She lets me, because me
too she grants the joy of giving. And because she knows the power
of the gesture of goodwill.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
walking next to me when I walk. And isn't she walking next to me
she is walking in me. My step adjusts itself to hers. Her step adjusts
itself to mine. She walks I walk she walks I walk. Through the
distance through the light. Without the slightest effort we arrive
where we should. A billiom laughing faces welcome us. A table is set
with 1184 steaming bowls. As we join the orchestra strikes up. A
mixture of rumba samba chachacha and chardas. The sun dances
with the moon – the other planets dance with the comets. We feast
we feast we feast we feast.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The words she possesses are
too long if they must be too long. Too short if they must be too
short. The time she possesses is too early if it must be too early.
Too late if it must be too late. The space she possesses is too wide if
it must be too wide. Too narrow if it must be too narrow. The roads
she possesses are too slow if they must be too slow. Too fast if they
must be too fast. The elements she possesses are too good if they
must be too good. Too bad if they must be too bad.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
too big if she wishes to be too big. The Love who is my Love is too
small if she wishes to be too small.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. Of my Love I rest assured for
the remainder of my life. With my Love I rest assured for the
remainder of my life. Through my Love I rest assured for the
remainder of my life. In the morning I drink a cup of tea. In the
afternoon I smoke a pipe. In the evening I exchange stories in a
whisper. One time in the company of some old Chinese. Another
time in the company of some old Finns. Also sometimes in the
company of some old Indians. Then again in the company of some
old Egyptians. This is how I pay my dues – informal but strict.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She flies and flies and flies
and flies. Covered with snow from northpole to southpole the earth
stretches gorgeously silent under her. The never ending winter has
begun.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. Lie my Love lie in me. Rest
my Love rest in me. Cry my Love cry in me. Dream my Love dream
in me. Walk my Love walk in me. Glow my Love glow in me.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
blows bubbles like a champion. A billion transparant universes
trance through my house. Sparkling jewels defying any reforging.
Transport me transport me transport me transport me. The Love
who is my Love is generous if she wishes to be generous. The Love
who is my Love is tight if she wishes to be tight.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
possesses the forms. Within the forms she possesses she possesses
the colors. Within the colors she possesses she possesses the light.
Within the light she possesses she possesses the miracle.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She is dead she is alive she is
unborn.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The forms she possesses are
complex if they must be complex. Simple if they must be simple.
The forms she possesses are always gorgeous. The colors she
possesses are intense if they must be intense. Pale if they must be
pale. The colors she possesses are always gorgeous. The light she
possesses is white if it must be white. Black if it must be black The
light she possesses is always gorgeous. The miracle she possesses
is nothing if it must be nothing. Everything if it must be everything.
The miracle she possesses is always gorgeous.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. She is dead she is alive she is
unborn.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. My Love and I – we are
pagans. She is a pagan I am a pagan. Untamed we walk the earth.
She walks I walk she walks I walk. We go through mountains – The
Himalayas The Kilimanjaro The Andes. We go through deserts – The
Sahara The Gobi The Nullarbor. We go by rivers – The Wolga The
Amazone The Mississippi. We go through cities – Singapore Madras
Dakar. We arrive we stay we leave. My Love and I – we are pagans.
We pay are dues – informal but strict.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
sitting next to me when I sit. And isn't she sitting next to me she is
sitting in me. Her flesh is firm. Firm as the month of december. With
her firm flesh she keeps me firm. Her breathing is calm. Calm as the
month of june. With her calm breathing she keeps me calm. Her
glance is clear. Her glance has a range of 366 days sharp. Every-
thing that comes within her range. Blooms, gets fructified, ripens.
With her clear glance she keeps me clear. The Love who is my Love
is my guide. I am firm – full of eager patience. The Love who is my
Love is my guide. I am calm – full of the violence of nature. The
Love who is my Love is my guide. I am clear – full of dumb
happiness.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
talking silenty. Her silence is gorgeous when she whispers her
whishes to me.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
possesses the music. Too warm if it must be too warm. Too cold if it
must be too cold. Within the music she possesses she possesses the
stones. Too warm if they must be too warm. Too cold if they must
be too cold. Within the stones she possesses she possesses the
energies. Too warm if they must be too warm. Too cold if they must
be too cold.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love is
warm if she wishes to be warm. The Love who is my Love is cold if
she wishes to be cold.


The Love who is my Love is my Love. The Love who is my Love
possesses the fruit. The Love who is my Love is a piece of fruit. With
her sweet juices she caresses the tip of my tongue. With her bitter
juices she tickles the back of my tongue. A billion drunken animals
prepare themselves for tomorrow. A holy day on the calender of
eternity. The clouds are busy decorating the sky. The thunder storm
finished the design for the light show. On each of the 12 tables there
is room for 1190 bowls. Each bowl piled with juicy delicacies.
By now the procession can arrive any moment. When tomorrow is
over one by one each member will continue on. And they will meet
up again at the joint destination. Nobody will get lost. For everybody
gets dealt a compass whose needle is pointed invariably towards
love.
As soon as Sagittarius comes in sight Jascha strikes up. A mixture of
earth fire water and air. The moon dances with the sun – the
comets dance with the other planets. The Love who is my Love is a
gorgeous dancer. The Love who is my Love asks me for a dance.
She dances I dance she dances I dance. The beat of my heart
adjusts itself to hers. The beat of her heart adjusts itself to mine.
My Love and I – we are tireless. We dance and dance and dance and
dance.

The Love who is my Love is my Love. HOW FARTHER SHE REACHES
HOW RICHER SHE IS. SHE, NCC.




To read more, visit her website.

Samantha Anne Carrillo / a fifth-wave feminist from the fourth estate | a burqueña | a ladyboss | a writer + editor

I am a fifth-wave feminist and a reluctant member⸺hey, Groucho knew whereof he quipped⸺of both the fourth estate and the gig economy. I am an Albuquerque-based freelance writer, editor and social media marketing and branding+PR consultant. I remain an observant ’90s riot grrrl and a devout practitioner of halfhearted yoga posturing and zen and the art of the sentence diagram.

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