Tag Archives: Multilingualism

Catching up with valeriu dg barbu | writing, poetry, poems, lyrics, remedy of soul,


it seeps through the rheumatic walls
mild canzonets
the girls open one button, the boys, two
dance begins simulated among the curtains,
each one is careful to not to step on his imaginary partner
passers has heard the murmur hot not realize where it comes from
the statue of porter by organ pulls the zipper to the sounds, which still echoes
the night it undress of dark, it dress in bride
the groom accompanies the girls single to single guys
clover climbs the walls


si insinua attraverso i muri reumatici
canzonette lievi
le ragazze aprono un bottone, i ragazzi, due
danza inizia simulato tra le tende,
ognuno è attento a non calpestare la sua partner immaginaria
passanti hanno sentito il soffio caldo non si rende conto da dove viene
la statua del portiere da parte dell’organo tira la cerniera per i suoni, che echeggia ancora
la notte è spogliarsi di buio, si vestono in sposa
lo sposo accompagna le ragazze singole per ragazzi singoli
trifoglio scala i muri


se preling printre ziduri reumatice
blânde canțonete
fetele își deschid un nasture, băieții doi
dansul începe îngânat după draperii,
fiecare singur are grijă să nu-și calce partenerul imaginar
trecătorii simt freamătul cald și nu-și dau seama de unde-i
flașnetarul statuie trage fermoarul sunetelor, ele continuă ecouri
noaptea se dezbracă de întuneric, se îmbrac-n mireasă
mirele conduce fetele singure spre băieții singuri
trifoiul urcă pe ziduri

via valeriu dg barbu blog | writing, poetry, poems, lyrics, remedy of soul,.


the shame – vergogna – ruşinea | valeriu dg barbu blog

Hey Sweetheart We Get Rewrites

the shame – vergogna – ruşinea

Trilingual text


In nudism, false modesty, established standards
You can never teach the heart without throwing it into the centrifuge..

First centrifuge hides well in clocks
Another, in the parade of imagined or irreconcilable feelings
Another yet, in coward hesitations

It’s a shame to walk the streets of the town, naked
Why, one can’t see behind the impeccable smartness of clothes
The soul ravaged by hostile nudities, when one uses the eye sockets to see the world around

I experimented with shame in different overlapped formats:
I wore shackles, I pulled down my pants in public, I begged at train stations,
I did my necessities on the street
I did a woman in a gangway, on a garage door.. the old hags would comment in awe:
“sweet lord, that’s why it doesn’t rain !..” and the Done-one would throw over the shoulder
While walking away
Like a satyr : “I don’t even know your name”..
I stole fruits, flowers, smiles and curses
The greatest shames lived were those
When through myself I disappointed my friends and
When I turned the icons in order to be able to cheat three lovers on the same day
I reached the summit when I felt terribly alone in the midst of the throng downtown
And I repressed my scream: I DO EXIST!…
Despite it all, I will never be ashamed to
Pass myself as
Valeriu DG Barbu


via the shame – vergogna – ruşinea | valeriu dg barbu blog.

Counter- story / Contro-storiella / contra-poveste | valeriu dg barbu blog

Hey Sweetheart We Get Rewrites

Counter- story / Contro-storiella / contra-poveste

Trilingual text


Vasile Iloveyou and Zoe Iloveyou

Were courting each other, comically under the lamp post of the platform

In a train station passed only by arrogant trains

At a speed that would look like a mere basalt-gray smear

The train tracks, twisted, alcoholic, not parallel enough

Were tearing slices from the soles of the tennis shoes,

He was reciting to her from the work of a failed poet, she was failing to listen to the poem

Twisting apparent locks of hair with her finger on the temple bent towards yesterday –

She was keeping there future secret memories, with betrayals and suspense

The air smelled of metallic imminence, something

Was about to happen, a sort of horizontal rain, reaching only the telegraph wires

And the wing of a bird flying away from the ignored poem

At a certain moment – as every moment is merely given and not pre-existent –

He kissed her, missing the mouth, on the corner of her polite, forced smile

Unannounced by signals, a train sprang from her mouth and hit his chin:

– I am pregnant…

The presumed father picked his teeth with the nail of his pinkie and bit into a phrase:

– And I said that I wouldn’t recite to you from anonymous poets anymore…

The G-spot of the story: Vasile Iloveyou is greasing the train tracks with tears of emotions

Zoe Iloveyou gathers train tracks from unwritten poems

All of the sudden, even though I had already announced you that something was about to happen

A vertical love train blows both of them away together with the train station –

Their love was like an express train

First and last in these parts

Basalt-grey goes good with red

Passed the time predicted, from the opposite side, came the baby who

Would become a famous poet

As famous as destiny, because the train is only the poem

The poet, a train station

The end of the story, the suspense and betrayals are anonymous, the chin

Keeps on reading

There are rain trains, there are round rains, there are train stations within the moment

And intentions

Still, basalt-grey with red will be forever, everywhere…. In fashion

If you understood the story, help birth the child…

The other two languages are at  Counter- story / Contro-storiella / contra-poveste | valeriu dg barbu blog.

[Terry:  WOW!  Valeriu, you are phenomenal!

In a train station passed only by arrogant trains

At a speed that would look like a mere basalt-gray smear

The train tracks, twisted, alcoholic, not parallel enough

Were tearing slices from the soles of the tennis shoes,

Just these lines are enough to make other poets weep.  The imagery is insane, incredible.

Of course, “Love Train” kicks off a particularly terrible melody in my mind but you’re not American. You are excused.

I bow at your feet.]

I did not know – non ho saputo – nu am ştiut | valeriu dg barbu blog

I did not know – non ho saputo – nu am ştiut

trilingual text

an imaginary child wanted to know

how might be of elastically or… how might be of breakable the soul?

if does not have muscle, then why has often a sort of muscular fever

if it is not a flower, then why, however, has scattered the pollen in the hostile winds

who or what he cut the umbilical cord at birth, detaching it from Spirit

banishing him wandering in the world

an imaginary child wanted, in a natural curiosity at his age imaginary,

to cross the road toward living world and the mortal


and I, this “me” grown old in failures by luxury and victories trivial

continuously educated to accept the rules of a normal, of a moral…

I did not know to answer; I did not know to welcome him here

at the imaginary fence, I’ve him hustled back into the world him

if would I have given him the outfits of the child, that I was once,

would have laughed at him other children

those become salt and pepper, playing on the internet…


un bambino immaginario voleva sapere

quanto potrebbe essere d’elastico… o quanto potrebbe essere di frangibile l’anima…

se non ha muscoli, allora perché ha spesso una sorta di febbre muscolare…

se non è un fiore, allora perché, tuttavia, ha disperso il polline nei venti ostili…

chi o che cosa ha tagliato il cordone ombelicale al momento della nascita, distogliendolo dallo Spirito

bandendo lui a vagare nel mondo

un bambino immaginario voleva, in una naturale curiosità alla sua età immaginario,

di attraversare la strada verso la vita ed il mortale


e io, questo “me” invecchiato in fallimenti di lusso e vittorie banale

continuamente educato ad accettare le regole di un normale, di una morale …

Non ho saputo risponderli, non ho saputo dargli il benvenuto qui,

al recinto immaginario, lo spinsi di nuovo nel suo mondo

se li avrei dato gli abiti del bambino, che ero una volta,

avrebbe riso di lui in faccia gli altri bambini

che diventano canuti, giocando su internet …


un copil imaginar vru să afle

cât de supraelastic sau cât de casant poate fi sufletul

dacă n-are muşchi atunci de ce deseori face un soi de febră musculară

dacă nu este o floare, de ce scutură totuşi polenul în vânturi ostile

cine sau ce îi taie cordonul ombilical la naştere, dezlipindu-l de Duh,

lepădându-l în lume haihui

un copil imaginar vru, dintr-o curiozitate firească vârstei lui imaginare

să traverseze strada spre lumea vie şi muritoare


şi eu, eul acesta îmbătrânit în eşecuri de lux şi izbânzi banale,

şcolit continuu să accepte normele unui normal, ale unei morale…

nu am ştiut să-i răspund, nu am ştiut să-l întâmpin aici

la gardul imaginarului l-am îmbrâncit înapoi, în lumea lui…

să-i fi dăruit hăinuţele fostului eu copil, l-ar fi râs ceilalţi copii

care încărunţesc jucându-se pe internet…


via I did not know – non ho saputo – nu am ştiut | valeriu dg barbu blog.

Welcome to a new friend: Valeriu | valeriu dg barbu blog

Valeriu DG Barbu, poet, writer, playwright Romanian origin, settled in Rome, Italy about he… can speak others, not himself … / poeta, scrittore, drammaturgo Rumeno di origine, si stabilì a Roma, Italia su di lui … possono parlare gli altri, non se stesso …!

Literary Blog created by Ms. MARIANA FULGER, while it was impossible to send own the posts

Public express a thank alive.

The blog contains a part of my literary workshop.

are posted and articles an extraordinary man, Valeriu Cuşner, who has closely followed my writing.

Gratitude to my books editor, Mr. Constantin Lămureanu by “Anxiety Metaphysical Publishing House” Constantza, that published my six volumes.

Gratitude to all those who was with me in various ways.

unto you all good reading, lasting joy and be healthy …
via X – About Valeriu | valeriu dg barbu blog.

Translate from: Malay

Hallo AllI created this page based on the recommendations I received from a friend about the importance of the page about me. sorry klu unattractive and a bit disheveled ya: D

So here we GO >

Real Name: Tri Kuntarto

Call: from birth until 6th grade called Dimas (cool yeah: D), junior called Java (helllleehh: ((), called SMA Lebbe, not Lebbe who like ngawinin but he said because when I try to lengthen your hair, even curly like embe / sheep (sob dahhh). lecture called KunKun (passable was no footage of the original name)

TTL: May 14th annually I forgot wkwkwk

Status: Single & Married (depending on who is asked): D: D

opo meneh, naun deui, what else ya ..?

Hobby: Writing can pass speech, writing, poetry, song, video, sms, status, and the like (some say masterpiece, but more of a say cheesy anyway) is not what was important work. But if asked I enjoy doing the most is when can share anything with others, feel different aja: P.

Up here first maybe ya already represent the about me page, Klu there who are interested in for future updates I add another time: P

Next want to attach some saia mahakaryapicisan results of the official owner of this blog: D: D, slightly narcissistic anyway but mudah2an could inspire the readers.


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