Anita Arlov – Electric Language

Arlov LE P&W March 2026

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Live Encounters Aotearoa New Zealand Poets & Writers March 2026

Electric Language, poems by Anita Arlov.


Electric Language

Pablo Neruda at Machu Picchu

I couldn’t sleep for the voices
calling me
I had to go
Andes foothills
were druggily stunning
like clapotis waves
haze fogged me
like a sulky guardian angel
step by step
all sixteen hundred steps
up the chiselled cordillera
the mesa hit me
like a hot kiss from a skeleton lover
I had been here before
condors flying galleons
dipped and soared
I couldn’t sleep for the voices
when night fell
shadows hung like marionettes
mist was an ice hug
I belonged here
the moon was a clench
a torch song diva
mountain peaks took shape
reefing the citadel
like a hoop of purple priests
why do we hammer and sunder?
I couldn’t sleep for the voices
dawn struck like a gold axe
blue hummingbirds appeared
neon as flint sparks
their wings beat a fluid buzz
like static like language
one smelt of lanolin counting weft
another crackled like a fire
one was poxy white with ash
one was humming peeling papaya
one groaned bent double
one was silent wed to a shovel
I couldn’t sleep for the voices

This branch

a tree pulls me up in a friend’s living room
a blossom tree branch
seven feet high in a clear jar of water

he placed it last winter
after the big storm snapped it

like a song
a local version of the master release

I should praise him for his care
no florist’s fanfare
no toot-toot parade as moving

it lifts like faith

all the spent riot ─ the dried flowers from spring –
he’s kept too
swept close to the jar
a pink hem
a Cubist completion

yes, it blossomed well in just water
now look: a summer mass of green


Finny

Pick your way.
Tangled through seaweed and
dinosaur driftwood
are loops of flat blue strap:
that waterproof package twine
made from fibreglass.
Ghost gear tossed back by ocean
to land on sand ─ silica ─
its origin.

What shift
what threat propelled the first fish
to swap ocean so elastic in those eons
for open air?
To haul themselves along on bony lobe fins,
buccal pumping
holing up
─ our ancestor Finny and her whanau ─
in marshes valleys caves?
Next minute: legs. Lungs.
Warm blood. Teats.
Motion.
It thrums in our bones like swamp rock.
We strain to unlock the next
level. Make gains butterfly-scale.
Bear loss like an iceberg calving.
Life is dance life is armament
life is arms out on loop.
We orbit. We ambit.

The Māori know.
Rangi the sky and Papa the earth
opened their eyes to cling in darkness.
Their children imagining light
undid them, birthing the world.

When will it be
that we friable humans
abandon land for ocean?
Or fire up into outer space
the seminal aspiration?

It’s a trip hazard.
What if I coil it from elbow to thumb-valley
like yarn take it home what then?
I’m growing fearful
of the burning final issue.


© Anita Arlov

Anita Arlov is the child of Croatian parents displaced after WW2. She lives in Tamaki Makaurau/Auckland. She writes poems and very short prose, hosts workshops and occasionally judges short form fiction. Anita grew up enjoying the cadence of language but didn’t begin writing till mid-life in response to the Canterbury earthquake in 2011.  Anita has won the Divine Muses Poetry Competition, the NZ Flash Fiction Competition and has placed second in the Bath Flash Fiction Competition. She is widely anthologised, including Bonsai: Best small stories from Aotearoa/New Zealand; Broadsheet; New Flash Fiction Review; takahē magazine; Best Small Fictions and Best Microfiction.

She convened a team that ran the NZ Poetry Conference & Festival, a successful three-day celebration of all things poetry including vispo, wordcore, sung poems, cine-poetics and workshops, involving 200 poets and arts activists. For ten years she managed popular spoken word event Inside Out Open Mic for Writers. In 2022 she was selected an Ockham Collective Arts Resident. “I like to conflate arresting facts with fiction, memory and emotion. Once I get a fix on a tone, I dive in and commit to getting out alive.” – Anita

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