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Nothing easier than writing a haïku. Here is a common place, actually a preconceived idea. Because, as Romanian poet Blaga said, nothing is easy on Earth. Even the song of birds, „putting themselves out all the night,” implies hard work, self-abnegation, sometimes even self-sacrifice. Writing haïku requires even more as this lyric genre, a quintessential, concentrated, essential poetry calls for efforts that are in inverse proportion to their Lilliputian size.

I went to make my own judgment while watching the poet at work. He is like a stonecutter, cutting a block of rock, splitting it into two, three or four pieces, chiseling, grinding, and polishing it until he gets a small gentle statue, which, in case of need, could fit into a pocket near the heart.

Watching, not only once, with how much ardor the poet Constantin Stroe polishes these little jewels named haïku poems, I couldn’t help reminding the myth of Sisyphus. Like the hero of Greek mythology, the haijin, and the poet in general, seems doomed, predestinated to an endless toil. The mythological hero pushed a heavy stone up the mountain, at great pains and sufferings, but once reaching the summit, the diabolical load slipped and rolled down the mountain. And he had to resume his hard task, over and over again. Dripping with sweat, trembling, hardly breathing, but by no means thinking to stop until the stone is up again. This is what the poet does with his „stone of words.” Rough words, like the life from which they were taken... and after a careful work, the roughness disappears, the size diminishes and the strength and brightness increase, as in the case of diamonds.

“If we are patient, we can cross the sea” is an old saying. And the poet, little by little, crosses the „sea of words” and reaches the realm of poetry. His toil and patience have been awarded. His haïku poems were published, one after the other, in haiku publications, as are „Haïku” and „Albatros” (Seagull), as well as in other literary magazines – „Viaţa Armatei” (Military Life), „Frontiera” (The Border) and „Dor de dor” (Heart’s Desire). In responding to the social but also to his inner calling, Mr. Constantin Stroe has dedicated a haiku sequence to Eminescu’s lime, the emblematical tree of Romanian lyrical poetry.

I’d like to quote one of his haïku selected by the editor of the anthology „Flori de tei” (Lime-tree flowers, Constanţa, Boldaş Publishing House, 2006).

At midnight
the moon is resting
in a blossomed tree

Another success of the poet Constantin Stroe was a honorable mention he was awarded in the 2007 International Contest of the Romanian Haïku Society for the following poem:

June –
all the paths in the orchard
lead to the cherry tree

Recently, a new international recognition has crowned the work of the poet. In an international contest held in Croatia, Mr. Constantin Stroe was commended for his poems (together with two other Romanian poets – Adina Enăchescu and Eduard Ţară), four of which were selected and published in 2008 Ludbreg Calendar. Here is one of them:

Old man in winter –
his postbox is empty
again and again

Mr. Constantin Stroe seems to be one of the modern disciples of Kobayashi Issa. Following in the footsteps of his famous precursor, our contemporary poet pays a high attention to frail plants and weak human beings. He writes, with deep understanding, about sick and poor old persons. Particularly in his „autumn” poems, and partly in his „winter” poems, his „writing weapon” is focused on his grand-parents, especially on his grand-mother. This can be explained by the fact that the poet spent much of his childhood in the house of his grand-mother, on his father side, Elisabeta Stroe, in the village of Ohaba, in the district of Gorj, about 40 kms from Brâncuşi’s native village, Hobiţa. As a child, he used to cover more than 20 kms when going, with his grand-father Pătru, to Târgu Jiu to admire Brâncuşi’s masterpieces or the native village of this ingenious sculptor.

Two trees
twinned for ever...
the Kiss Gate

The Gorj sky –
the Miraculous Bird let dropped
from the hand

Like other children living in the village of Ohaba, the future poet stood on the porch of the old house, listening to the crickets or to his grand-parents talking about their memories. Everything betokens the old times. We can “scent” the patina of bygone days, one of the essential features of the haïku aesthetics, as well as emptiness ensued after the passing away of his beloved ones:

Through the old fence
chrysanthemums in bloom...
my grandma nowhere

The stork’s nest
and my grandma’s house
both empty

A poet of an outstanding individuality creates his own homonyms, a special place for him. I believe that Mr. Constantin Stroe has already created such a place. After Barbu Ştefănescu Delavrancea had immortalized his grand-parents in skillfully written prose of touching beauty, and Şt. O. Iosif had rendered his feelings in his melodious classical verses, our literary circle fellow dared to try this lyrical adventure, introducing his grand-parents to the narrow pattern of the haïku poems. An experiment which, I am entitled to think, was a success. At any rate, with his grand-parents medallions, this book, Grandma’s House, is among those which, after closing their pages, call the readers to quench their thirst just like with water from a fresh spring.

Translated by Mihai Popescu, Ph. D.