Short weekend… Week-end breve… Weekend scurt…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

I do not want anything, an apathy seeps slowly
such as glass of windows and lime on the walls drunk of smoke and secrets
I don’t wait for nothing, my ego asks for a little holiday
He is tired of competing with the other “I” brainless
who are now wandering who knows where…
This weekend quiet will last maybe an hour – come the joys, I know…
So is always, cannot have the man a bit of peace…

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Non mi va di nulla, un’apatia si filtra lentamente
come le vetrate e la calce sui muri ubriachi di fumo e di segreti
Non ho più nessuna attesa, il mio ego chiede un po’ di vacanza
È stanco di competere con gli altri “io” scervellati
che ora stanno vagando chissà dove…
Questa fine settimana tranquilla durerà forse un’ora – arrivano le gioie, lo so…
Così…

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The Pyre – Part One… Il rogo… Rugul…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

The motivation of creation is not found in the artist but in his work, so that the work already pre-existed and only the artist knows. The artist sacrifices everything to reveal it. So, being revealed, the work does not feel betrayed, his hiding to be declassified, but revived, materialized, humanized as well as the man, in his turn, is deified, it being the work of the great Creator…
The work invented through comparisons, associations of ideas, hunting for novelty and the impression, is just an exercise; the work revealed by his spiritual form and who moves in object, is true art.
There is a temptation to believe that the work reflects the artist’s soul, a sort of “image and likeness” ethereal. But the artist’s work before his birth there, waiting for him in the incomprehensible nested shells of the sky. Blind, confused, just…

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a comma… una virgola… o virgulă

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

I write the as for first time…
every lyrical intent enter through strings that betrays emotion,
like I write for the mistress
.
each letter, point… increase exaggerated, and raise my hand too far up
me raise up
now, I become as a comma which does not find its place in the strings

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scrivo come se fosse per la prima volta
ogni intenzione lirica entra nelle stringhe cui
tradisce le emozioni come scriverei alla donna amata
.
ogni lettera cresce esagerato, mi solleva la mano troppo in su
solleva pure a me…
ora, sono diventato quanto una virgola, che non trova il suo posto nelle stringhe

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scriu ca şi cum ar fi întâia oară
fiecare intenţie lirică intră în şiruri care trădează emoţia de parcă
aş scrie iubitei…
.
fiecare literă creşte exagerat, îmi saltă mâna prea sus
mă ridică
sunt devenit acum…

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The fifth season… La quinta stagione… Al cincilea anotimp

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages.

Next week, here in Rome, I don’t know if even to you, comes the spring.
Valentine’s Day he will bring with gestures of us all.
Who will remain static, will extend the winter – and if it were even so,
for me it has never been winter but a sort of fifth season irresolute,
a fissure or a threshold, a window through me…
Why should it come the spring if another winter will come along
and everything will be repeated stereotyped? So in the spring, we will return all children… you know?

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photo with Dobri Dobrev

La prossima settimana, qui a Roma, non so se pure da voi, arriverà la Primavera.
San Valentino l’ha porterà con i gesti di tutti noi.
Chi rimarrà statico, estenderà l’inverno – e se fosse così,
per me non è mai stato l’inverno ma una sorta di quinta…

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Reality show…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

I pass of Via Cavour (in Rome) I climb, and then I take a tram and go home
I boil some fresh sausage ham in lard and wine
I drink a cup of mulled wine and I write, and write about
my silly longing of Romania…
A Romanian was laughing in my nose: Come home sir, so …why suffer?
An Italian looked at me wrong, he said: but yes, just go, and also, ye are too many here
Another Italian says dryly: stay here, I just came back from there, listen to me, you’re stayinghere…
Another Romanian: Look, how do this man the whims, I too would like
to sing like a Tudor Gheorghe, “out there is my country”, riding on the Eiffel Tower…
Another, short: but go in to your …beep
The sausages are dried up, cooled wine, I close the…

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Ephemeral walls… Muri effimeri … Pereți vremelnici…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

And what if this house has raised inside me its walls
and then has gone away, leaving me prey to spider webs?
Will be gnawed by events that not occurred,
I will hang of them with pride the mirrors
who refuse to see anyone else besides me
I will feed them with the lime of oblivion and no one will ever know
that I kept inside of me just an “at home”, the first…

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photo by Diana Al-Hadid

E che cosa se questa casa ha sollevato dentro di me i suoi muri
e poi è andata via, lasciandomi preda alle ragnatele?
Saranno rosicchiati dagli avvenimenti non avvenuti,
appenderò di loro con orgoglio degli specchi
che si rifiutano di vedere chiunque altro, oltre a me
le nutrirò con calce dell’oblio e nessuno potrà mai sapere
che ho conservato dentro di me solo un “a…

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