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| "Our house in the village" by Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu |
Does this little girl look familiar?
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| Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu |
She was a stranger to me. I came upon her photograph thanks to a search for children and mirrors on Flickr Creative Commons, and was drawn to the expression in those sensitive, young eyes.
The eyes of a poet.
By the miracle of the Internet, Cristina discovered that I used her photo and reached out to me with a comment on that blog post. Little did I know, she was, indeed, a poet, specializing in haiku and haiga! Cristina connected with me on Twitter, and once I had a look at her Twitter stream, I was captivated by her work. The rest, as they say, is history.
I gripe and moan a lot these days about how much time I spend on the Internet when I could/should be doing other things. (Like writing!) But then something like this happens, making the world feel smaller and more friendly, despite the horrendous acts of violence that are happening all around us. How fortunate for me that at Thanksgiving time—when family and friends, old and new, come together— I have a new friend from Bucharest, Romania to help me celebrate the holiday. With poetry. What could be better?
~ Cristina-Monica MoldoveanuThanksgiving
the scent of cinnamon
in grandma's Bible
Cristina tells me that the picture is a (modified) photo taken in the village church. Given that she lives roughly 5,600 miles away, I asked her how she managed to effectively capture such a strong sense of the American holiday:
Thanksgiving does not exist in my country, but I used it as a symbol, a religious symbol that can replace other religious holidays that do exist in my Orthodox religious country. Considering the fact that those who heard about Thanksgiving are many and those who heard about religious feasts that are specific only to Romania are few, I made this replacement. One Romanian religious Orthodox celebration that can replace Thanksgiving is Mucenici day: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mucenici.
An added benefit of meeting Cristina has been learning about her village and family upbringing. Before WWII, my mother-in-law grew up in a small village in Hungary. I've never visited that part of the world, but somehow, through Cristina, I feel like I've been given a peek into aspects of my mother-in-law's childhood.
Cristina has loved poetry since she was little. While other children preferred to play ball games, she read poetry. She began writing poetry as an adult in 2007, and haiku in 2010. In 2010, she also began to translate her poems from her native Romanian to English or French. She's been published in various e-zines, poetry journals, and magazines, some of which are well-known amongst our Poetry Friday haiku poets. Although Cristina lives in the city, usually her poems are inspired by the time she spent in the countryside or by observations of, as she describes them, "little facts of life."
I am tempted to share a few more of my favorite "little facts" from Cristina's extensive collection of short form poetry, but since that's not really the format of the Haiku Garden, I'll force myself to stick to just one. I strongly encourage you to read more of her work on her blog Minipoeme/Short Poems (I've linked you to the English versions, click on "Postări mai vechi" to page through); or on another, more personal blog, Eppur si non muove.
I am tempted to share a few more of my favorite "little facts" from Cristina's extensive collection of short form poetry, but since that's not really the format of the Haiku Garden, I'll force myself to stick to just one. I strongly encourage you to read more of her work on her blog Minipoeme/Short Poems (I've linked you to the English versions, click on "Postări mai vechi" to page through); or on another, more personal blog, Eppur si non muove.
I'd like to close with this beautiful essay Cristina wrote in 2012 on Eppur si non muove, about her "haiku experience":
In my journey among endings and beginnings I stopped one day thinking about what opens and what closes with each step I take. For me the answer was: light. Life’s moments drip like stalactites in a cave, humans are melted stardust, binding to each other. Stars do shine for those who know to look at them. Sons and daughters of sunlight, we leave our shadows imprinted in other hearts until the Milky Way sweeps them away.
Autumn is the season that opens a door towards other existential areas, a time when blue skies become pale, when the fire of emotions dwindles, when shadows separate on forest ground. One of these moments I opened my eyes understanding the importance of being aware of each open window of existence: the world given to me by senses, filtered in my feelings and engraved in my thoughts.
I started reading and writing haiku two years ago. My haiku aren’t a puzzle or a simple picture of reality. They aren’t about describing emotions or revealing ideas. They try to express the meaning of life events mirrored in each drop of light that enters my world. For example a bird’s chirp has its echo beyond my senses, it touches a puddle where water ripples when petals fall and then goes further. Me too, I am creating my own ripples in water, earth and air, being influenced in return by natural events. Each haiku is an image of this bond or an image of the links within the universe.
Time is the most important element, because every event happens once and it is perceived as present even when senses lose their accuracy.
That’s why I tried to write my haiku looking at the world with the eyes of a child and trying to uncover the meanings of my life experience. What I understood and what I will never understand.
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| "Myself" Cristina-Monica Moldoveanu |
Like I said, the eyes of a poet.
Thank you, Cristina, for allowing me to introduce you to the Poetry Friday community. It's an honor for me to share your work.
Warm wishes to all for peace, prosperity,
and a happy Thanksgiving!
