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April 19, 2025, 4:53 pm

🇷🇴Camelia Vlasceanu is a Romanian poet and novelist🇷🇴

Md Sadiqur Rahman Rumen
  • āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāĻŋāϤ: Thursday, February 29, 2024,
  • 1031 āĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧜āĻž āĻšā§Ÿā§‡āϛ⧇

POET.Camelia Vlasceanu

Some excerpts from the first page of Camelia Vlăceanu’s novel Eve’s Diary (Review) and a recent poem written by the poet:

REVIEW

“The diary of an Eve” contains testimonies from various periods of the life of a woman who loves with body and soul, without taking into account social considerations or consequences. Her love is total, mixed in some cases with a sense of compassion that makes it difficult for her to get out of a toxic relationship. Only when things degenerate and reach physical violence does Roberta decide that the time has come to put her foot in the door, but the only solution she has is to leave, because the behavioral changes of her life partner are more and more pronounced and dangerous, due to an illness, but also the negative influence of another person (mother) on him.

Roberta picks up her life, meets other men, knows happiness and devotes herself mostly to her daughter, who always looks at her with a mature, amazing understanding.

“Diary of an Eve” is, by definition, the diary of any woman who loves, forgives for a while, but has the strength to get out – before it’s too late – from a relationship that endangers her physical and mental health.

 

Roberta represents a fragment of the author’s soul. It can be you, it can be me, it can be any woman who gives herself on the altar of love.

Congratulations, Camelia!

Review Written By.

ANA VĂCARASU, poet and prose writer,

member of the SOCIETY OF ROMANIAN WRITERS, member of the SOCIETY OF WRITERS WITHOUT BORDERS.

Poem

It snows me with light

 

From the lattice from the sky

I watched with delight

Lighting paths of frost,

The Little Chariot and the Great Chariot.

And from heaven of light

I jumped out the window

Angels sang softly

The ice sparkled on the branch.

How it snows me with light

Over my wandering soul

He doesn’t carry so much guilt anymore

The weak frost of Februar’

And it snows on my soul

From the sky, with a pearl

Caressing the step, in the umblet,

Snowflakes, rising on the way.

ŠCamelia Vlasceanu

āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ: āĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ­ā§āϞāĻžāϏ⧇āύ⧁āϰ āωāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āϝāĻžāϏ āχāĻ­āϏ āĻĄāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰāĻŋ (āĻĒāĻ°ā§āϝāĻžāϞ⧋āϚāύāĻž) āĻāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻĒ⧃āĻˇā§āĻ āĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ…āĻ‚āĻļ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϰ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻž āϏāĻžāĻŽā§āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻ• āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž:

āĻĒ⧁āύāσāĻŽā§‚āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧāύ

“āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āχāϭ⧇āϰ āĻĄāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰāĻŋ” āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŽāĻšāĻŋāϞāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ­āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āύ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻ•ā§āĻˇā§āϝ āϧāĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϝāĻžāϰāĻž āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϜāĻŋāĻ• āĻŦāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āϚāύāĻž āĻŦāĻž āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŖāϤāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻŦ⧇āϚāύāĻž āύāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āχ āĻļāϰ⧀āϰ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻŖ, āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻ¤ā§āϰ⧇ āϏāĻŽāĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āĻŦā§‹āϧ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻŽāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻŋāϤ āϝāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻžāĻ•ā§āϤ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻ• āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏāĻž āĻ•āĻ āĻŋāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧋āϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āϝāĻ–āύ āϜāĻŋāύāĻŋāϏāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āĻ…āϧāσāĻĒāϤāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻļāĻžāϰ⧀āϰāĻŋāĻ• āϏāĻšāĻŋāĻ‚āϏāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒ⧌āρāĻ›āĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻ–āύāχ āϰāĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŋāĻĻā§āϧāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āύ⧇āϝāĻŧ āϝ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāϰāϜāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒāĻž āϰāĻžāĻ–āĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻāϏ⧇āϛ⧇, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āĻŽāĻžāĻ¤ā§āϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāϧāĻžāύ āĻšāϞ āϚāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž, āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āϏāĻ™ā§āĻ—ā§€āϰ āφāϚāϰāĻŖāĻ—āϤ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŦāĻ°ā§āϤāύāϗ⧁āϞāĻŋ āφāϰāĻ“ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āĻ¸ā§āĻĒāĻˇā§āϟ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒāĻœā§āϜāύāĻ•, āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ…āϏ⧁āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϰāϪ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ (āĻŽāĻž) āύ⧇āϤāĻŋāĻŦāĻžāϚāĻ• āĻĒā§āϰāĻ­āĻžāĻŦāĻ“ āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤

āϰāĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύāϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āϛ⧇ āύ⧇āϝāĻŧ, āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻĒ⧁āϰ⧁āώāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇, āϏ⧁āĻ– āϜāĻžāύ⧇ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋāϰāĻ­āĻžāĻ—āχ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻ‰ā§ŽāϏāĻ°ā§āĻ— āĻ•āϰ⧇, āϝ⧇ āϏāĻŦāϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻĒāĻ•ā§āĻ•, āφāĻļā§āϚāĻ°ā§āϝāϜāύāĻ• āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇āĨ¤

“āĻĄāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰāĻŋ āĻ…āĻĢ āĻ…ā§āϝāĻžāύ āχāĻ­” āĻšāϞ, āϏāĻ‚āĻœā§āĻžāĻž āĻ…āύ⧁āϏāĻžāϰ⧇, āϝ⧇ āϕ⧋āύāĻ“ āĻŽāĻšāĻŋāϞāĻžāϰ āĻĄāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰāĻŋ āϝ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽ āĻ•āϰ⧇, āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āĻ•ā§āώāϪ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻ•ā§āώāĻŽāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻžāϰ⧀āϰāĻŋāĻ• āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻžāύāϏāĻŋāĻ• āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻ¸ā§āĻĨā§āϝāϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒāĻ¨ā§āύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻāĻŽāύ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻ• āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ – āϖ⧁āĻŦ āĻĻ⧇āϰāĻŋ āĻšāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āφāϗ⧇āχ – āĻŦ⧇āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤

āϰāĻŦāĻžāĻ°ā§āϟāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āϕ⧇āϰ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻ…āĻ‚āĻļāϕ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāύāĻŋāϧāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻĒāύāĻŋ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇, āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇, āĻāϟāĻž āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻā§€āϤ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϕ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āύāĻžāϰ⧀ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇.

āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāύ, āĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž!

āϰāĻŋāĻ­āĻŋāω āϞāĻŋāϖ⧇āϛ⧇āύ.

āφāύāĻž āϭ⧇āĻ•āĻžāϰāϏ⧁, āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻ—āĻĻā§āϝ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ•,

āϰ⧋āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāύ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ•āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āϏāĻĻāĻ¸ā§āϝ, āϏ⧀āĻŽāĻžāύāĻž āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ•āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āϏāĻĻāĻ¸ā§āϝ⧎

āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋāϤāĻž:

āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāϞ⧋ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āϤ⧁āώāĻžāϰāĻĒāĻžāϤ

āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āϜāĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇

 āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞāĻžāĻŽ

 āĻšāĻŋāĻŽā§‡āϰ āφāϞ⧋āϰ āĻĒāĻĨ,

 āϛ⧋āϟ āϰāĻĨ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŽāĻšāĻžāύ āϰāĻĨāĨ¤

 āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āφāϞ⧋āϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ°ā§āĻ— āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇

 āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϞāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻĢ āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ

 āĻĻ⧇āĻŦāĻĻā§‚āϤ āĻŽā§ƒāĻĻ⧁ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ—āĻžāχāϞ⧇āύ

 āĻĄāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻŦāϰāĻĢ āϚāĻ•āϚāĻ• āĻ•āϰāϛ⧇āĨ¤

 āĻāϟāĻž āĻ•āĻŋāĻ­āĻžāĻŦ⧇ āφāϞ⧋ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϤ⧁āώāĻžāϰāĻĒāĻžāϤ

 āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϚāϰāĻŖāĻ•āĻžāϰ⧀ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ

 āĻāϤāϟāĻž āĻ…āĻĒāϰāĻžāϧ āϏ⧇ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻšāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āύāĻž

 āĻĢ⧇āĻŦā§āϰ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰāĻŋāϰ āĻĻ⧁āĻ°ā§āĻŦāϞ āĻšāĻŋāĻŽ

āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āϤ⧁āώāĻžāϰāĻĒāĻžāϤ

 āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇, āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāĻž āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇

 āĻ•āĻĻāĻŽ āφāĻĻāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇, āĻ›āĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇,

 āĻ¸ā§āύ⧋āĻĢā§āϞ⧇āĻ•ā§āϏ, āĻĒāĻĨ⧇ āωāĻ āϛ⧇āĨ¤

ŠāĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ­ā§āϞāĻžāϏ⧇āύ⧁

āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ: āĻ•ā§āϝāĻžāĻŽā§‡āϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ­ā§āϞāĻžāϏ⧇āύ⧂

 

 

āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāĻĻāύāĻž āĻ“ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ•āĻžāĻļāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ:

āĻŽā§‹āσ āϏāĻžāĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧁āϰ āϰāĻšāĻŽāĻžāύ āϰ⧁āĻŽā§‡āύ

āĻ•āĻŦāĻŋ āĻ“ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻ• āĻ•āϞāĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϰ⧁āĻ•āĻžāϜ

Edite And Published By.

Md Sadiqur Rahman Rumen, poet And Editors Pen Craft, Bangladesh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

āϏāĻ‚āĻŦāĻžāĻĻāϟāĻŋ āĻļā§‡ā§ŸāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧁āύ

2 thoughts on "🇷🇴Camelia Vlasceanu is a Romanian poet and novelist🇷🇴"

  1. Ana Văcărașu says:

    Felicitări, Camelia!

  2. Camelia Vlasceanu says:

    All respect for your publisher! Thanks to Mr. Sadiqur Rahman Rumen for the opportunity!Thanks to whole Bangladesh!
    With much respect,
    Camelia Vlăsceanu

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