Poetry is a mirage, confusing, a flame in a cold night, in the lee, in the hands of a little match girl. If it goes out, people will become ice sculptures and walking dead.
When I was young, I loved poetry and wrote poetry. In poetry, heaven and secular are confused. Because I am young and ignorant, I have never distinguished and indulged my temperament. So I'm paranoid and exaggerated. It's almost 13 o'clock, and I'm a little nervous. Of course, the government can't get along either, so I have to go to the seaside by myself. When you are busy, you are unfamiliar and you can't write a poem. For example, if you quit the palace, your love for poetry has not died out.
This year, he sorted out the manuscripts preserved for many years and published his third collection of poems: "I walked through this world", the title of which flashed the coldness of onlookers. People and things in the book are hazy and vague, and they often experience together. I can't help but promise to write a preface and postscript that I'm not good at.
Mr. Jin
Mr. Jin
Put on sunglasses
It was getting dark
Mr. Jin said
Drink a pot of black tea
Cooking in the dark ...
This gentleman is not surnamed Jin, but his surname is embedded with Jin. He used to be a financial tycoon and a man of the hour in Shanghai. At a young friend's dinner, Mr. An, the man of the futures market, introduced it like this: "The first generation of rich people in China still have money." Everyone in the room exclaimed and pointed out, "Oh, there must always be money." Now he is silent and likes to listen to lectures everywhere. In Shizhu's pen, it is like being wrapped in powdered sugar, and it becomes Mr. Jin, because gold is a color with a high cold tone. Mr. Chen in the poem is just as silent and dignified as a sculpture: there is no dialogue, only color. Well written! Black covered with paper, such as Kurosawa's black-and-white movies, such as Gao Cangjian's silent screen. The darkness of marble, the hint of shining golden light, what a strange artistic conception.
We all chose the History of Western Philosophy by Mr. Zhao Lin of Wuhan University, followed the teacher to Europe after class, immersed in the culture on the spot, and expressed our feelings with poetry and ink along the way, but the mummy exhibition hall was not boring:
Agamemnon's mask
king
unconsciously
Sleep for three thousand years
I won't know until I wake up.
Broken world
dear
I can't give you a palace.
I can only send you ruins.
You should not
Unveil my golden mask
Let me show the sad face of this era.
Through the long tunnel of history, I can see the sadness of modern people, but there is no smell of mud in the tunnel of terracotta warriors and horses. This is the stone pillar, which endows aesthetic interest with poetic artistic conception, and covers up the decay of history and the smell of formalin.
Dialogue with Churchill
No need to find acquaintances
I just need one.
Romeo and Juliet
He walked out of the frame.
Reach out and pat me on the shoulder.
This arrogant guy
Forget the McMahon line
Diaoyu Island Ryukyu
Kashmir ...
Ask me with your eyes down
Brother, where are the matches?
From the first sentence, the great man walked down the altar from the frame of history. The last two sentences, history and reality overlap, call each other brothers, and are full of fireworks at the moment, joking without teasing. The poems of Shizhu, like a bag of glutinous rice hanging on a drying pole, are full of Qin bricks and Han tiles, and there is always historical black in the slides. Shizhu's poems are always entangled with history, but they are not bitter at all, because they are always stuck with the present "I", with a little horror of funeral parlour and some feeling of spoken language, and history will shine, and the voice and smile will appear in front of us, like a documentary, flashing.
In the poem, I peep at the flesh of the stone pillar: always smoking a pipe, smoking a cigar thoughtfully and staring at you. Under the influence of human nature, Shizhu can't let go of humanistic compassion, and it is heavy because of the sense of history and good because of human nature.
Now, poetry is red again, and it has become a hanging crystal bead that adorns tall buildings. In a bookstore where you can drink coffee and eat simple meals, you can't tell whether it is a coffee shop, a fast food restaurant or a bookstore. The fashionable saying is: mix and match. Holding a big picture, taking a T-step, protruding the chest and sinking the belly, leaning on the feet with the heels, reciting, giving the audience the illusion and poetry are all parallel prose. Just like a bookstore drinking coffee, the book is the background and maid, and it becomes a prop for coquetry.
The poems of Shizhu are casual and the sentences are scattered. They are separated by syllables or logical stress. There is no parallelism, but it is the same cadence, such as rain dripping into the lotus pond, messy and rhythmic. It's nature. With short sentences, the branches look better. There are also gorgeous rhetoric, putting gauze dresses on poems to set off the purity of jade. (Li Dawei)