Anti-Story / Anti-Storiella / Anti-Poveste

Trilingual text

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Just for one moment
I saw a strange world around the supposedly ordinary one
Here, every person had one longer arm, leg, cheek, nostril
Asymmetries torn with a round pain, glassy budding, stones incrusted in skin
and musical instruments grown from their indigo-golden flesh
their exchange currency was the smile
And they fed on vibrations from touches, they would die becoming color stains
gleaming
The moment tilting on one side, twisting like a spring –
At one end was holding tight one of the multitude of precarious Me
projected by customs halved rays
In the middle of the presumably ordinary world, the smile came free, flesh came free,
but for every color, one had to pay with stones and
only those on the other side had them
I reached out my hand and ever since
I’ve been having my first pain, not enough round but so clever
to play the only instrument that was coming to life like a bud of light
on the forehead worn out by lessons learned
these two opposed moments travel to this day, together
their trajectory draws an egg door
A third moment undoubtedly will change the idea of ordinary

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Solo per un attimo
ho visto un mondo strano intorno al quel presunto ordinario
Qui, ogni persona aveva un braccio più lungo, una gamba, una guancia, una narice
Asimmetrie strappate con un dolore rotondo, germogliante vitree, pietre incrostate nella pelle
e strumenti musicali cresciuti nella carne indaco-dorato
la loro moneta di scambio era il sorriso
si nutrivano con le vibrazioni provenienti da tocchi, morivano diventando macchie di colore lucente
l’attimo scivolò su un lato, come una molla tesa –
Ad un’estremità teneva stretto una moltitudine di Me precari
proiettata da raggi dimezzati all’ultima dogana
In mezzo al mondo presumibilmente ordinario, il sorriso è gratis, la carne è gratis,
Ma, per ogni colore, si doveva pagare con pietre e
solo quelli sull’altro lato avevano
Ho allungato la mano e da allora
ho avuto il mio primo dolore, non abbastanza rotondo, ma in modo intelligente
per suonare l’unico strumento che veniva a vita come un bocciolo di luce
sulla fronte logorata da lezioni apprese
Questi due momenti opposti viaggiano insieme
la loro traiettoria disegna una porta uovo
un terzo momento indubbiamente cambierà l’idea di ordinario

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o clipă doar
am zărit o lume stranie în jurul lumii presupus fireşti
aici fiecare om avea o mână mai lungă, un picior, un obraz, o nară
asimetrii smulse cu durere rotundă, înmuguriri sticloase,
pietre încrustate în piele
şi instrumente muzicale crescute din carnea lor violet-aurie
moneda lor de schimb era surâsul
şi se hrăneau cu vibraţiile atingerilor, mureau devenind pete de culoare
strălucind
clipa lunecă într-o parte, răsucindu-se ca un arc –
la un capăt ţinea strâns unul dintre multitudinea de eu precari
proiectaţi de raze înjumătăţite la ultima vamă
în miezul lumii presupus fireşti, surâsul era gratis, carnea gratis,
însă pentru fiecare culoare trebuia să plăteşti cu pietre şi
doar ceilalţi de dincolo le aveau
am întins o mână şi de atunci
am căpătat întâia durere nu îndeajuns de rotundă dar atât de iscusită
să cânte la unicul instrument ce abia îmi mijea ca un mugur de lumină
pe fruntea tocită-n pragul de sus
aceste două clipe opuse călătoresc şi acum împreună
traieactoria lor desenează o uşă ou
o a treia clipă iminent va schimba ideea de firesc

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17 thoughts on “Anti-Story / Anti-Storiella / Anti-Poveste

  1. the ordinary is often truly extraordinary …
    your words are beautiful … thank you ..

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  2. Very nice imagery great!

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  3. ….precarious me….

    Your words are beautiful.

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  4. Grozava anti-poveste…orice s-ar spune in plus ar risipi splendida imagine a clipelor calatoare. Multumim!

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  5. […] Anti-Story / Anti-Storiella / Anti-Poveste. […]

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  6. L’ha ribloggato su valeriudgbarbu2ite ha commentato:
    Add your thoughts here… (optional)

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  7. Afternoon Valeriu,🙂
    I can’t wait to open your posts and read them. I love this..Hugs and hope your having a lovely day…Paula xxx

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  8. I would like to say thank you for adding me and taking time to read my work.
    You write like Picasso painted, abstract but we all understand in many ways.
    I enjoy your words very much, you manage to put how I’m feeling in a much more profound and poetic way.
    I don’t know if you have heard of him, but I would like to recommend John Cooper Clarke, a British punk poet in the 70s. When you hear him perform he’s got a great rhythm.
    In contrast to you he is more blatant when describing his town, people, his feelings.
    I like him because he’s so raw and maybe a little too harsh for some, but he’s a Northern working class man and tells it how it is. I am Scottish but was raised in the North East of England and I can relate, but I can relate to your labyrinth of soft words.
    I’m going on a bit now, so thanks!

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