postscript

valeriu dg barbu

quadrilingual post (english, italiano, magyar, română)

all the women in my life
I do not know to cry
are nestle so
in the absence and sometimes
they forget me out there
as an umbrella –
I write about them with caution
here on the edge of a book

I actually wanted written at least
one love poem –
and why should it be written? …
today no one reads
all are showing their wounds
left by the horses of Prince Charming

to the nights follows another night
and no one day is not lurking among…
flourished the spine of the book that
I hold in my arms from a life

from the land of absences come sometimes the letters
but always likely
someone is stealing
in my box is enormous spider
does not enter anything else

the drought hide one by one
the maps of the rains
sizzle a drop…

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WordPress, the largest platform Blogger… WordPress, la più grande piattaforma Blogger… WordPress, ce mai mare platformă bloggers

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

WordPress is (still) one of the biggest blogging platforms in the world.
This is an indisputable truth and archi-known.
WordPress is divided into two branches, one free with limited functions, and the other for a fee and with good tools.
The free branch is not really bad, has parts very laudable, but, but, but, since June of 2013, began to appear more and more problems.
You do not count “the views”, stats, in honest mode (as proof, I have an external counter that gives me different from other statistics do wordpress, leaving the impression that wordpress, steal, …I checked and tested with the blogger friends …in addition, careful observations ..)
Until recently, there have been problems with the “Like”, now, do not stick in all blogs, these “Like”
On some blogs, when you want to leave a “Like”, will open a new browser…

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The war of the Flies… La guerra delle mosche… Războiul muștelor

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

With a huge flyswatter, I kill imaginary flies, imitating the gods or
the hands of clock that hunt my intentions, crushing them one by one
from the walls, imaginary, of course… The hardest part was
with a fly fat and old, you it named the Moon
the whip of the sun hits me on the neck, shoulders, leaving deep furrows
but I cannot stop; even more indomitable I hit the air, the light…
the shadow it sees me a fly, I became a fly, humble, I wait the flyswatter, here it is …arrives

Image

Con un enorme schiacciamosche, uccido le mosche immaginarie, imitando gli dèi o
le lancette dell’orologio che che caccia le mie intenzioni, schiacciandole una per una
dai muri, immaginari, naturalmente… La parte più difficile è stata
con una mosca grassa e vecchia, voi la nominate Luna
la frusta del sole mi…

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State of Siege in absolute… Stato d’assedio in assoluto… Starea de asediu în absolut…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Eyes wasted in synthetic trees have the outline of soles
Here, wolves of wax lurk in my veins
where the oval exclamations bring siege …and the sun will not come today…
Approaching somewhere an eerie music
as a warrior marching of ants, or by leaves of carnivorous plants…
The wolves grow up, the soles are smarting, and the clock hands pass with a hot iron rod
to mark me the forehead, on shoulder, on the tongue – any form of resistance would be useless

Image

Occhi sprecati negli alberi sintetici hanno il contorno di suole
Qui, lupi di cera stanno in agguato alle mie vene
dove le esclamazioni ovali mettono assedio …e il sole oggi non arriverà…
Si avvicina da qualche parte una musica inquietante
come una marcia guerriero di formiche, o da foglie di piante carnivore…
I lupi crescono, le suole bruciano, le…

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Gotcha… Beccato… Te-am prins…

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual post: English, Italian and Romanian languages

Hey, wait, I know who you are, not turn the page, stay a while
I see you, you know!…
in this room with strange colors
between these branches, often misunderstood,
Look, we can also to touch us –
I, curled up in your hands
you, leaving you on my shoulder
You can laugh, you can cry, you can spit…
you can dream alone …like me
or dream with me
no, do not tell me
when you’re not – as so often – agreed with what I write
you just try to look
from the page towards you – now, you understand
Do you understand that I love you?

Image

Ehi, aspetta, io so chi sei, non voltare pagina, rimani un po’
ti vedo, sai!…
in questa stanza di strani colori
tra questi rami, spesso fraintesi,
senti, possiamo anche toccarci –
io, rannicchiandomi tra le…

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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…

Image

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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