What poem does "If the sky doesn't die" come from?

If the sky doesn't die-I miss Mr. Xiong Bingming (North Island). I heard the news that Mr. Xiong Bingming was hospitalized before I returned to Beijing. On the third day in Beijing, my friend Li Chuan called and learned that he had left. I remember that Lichuan and I made a special trip to see him early last summer. His home is far from Paris, and it takes an hour to drive. He looked in good spirits that day. We have tea and cakes and talk about everything. On a quiet afternoon, several pots of flowers are in full bloom. He suddenly talked about old age and facing death. He said that death is a science that everyone must learn, and Xi should take it seriously, especially in his later years. He even wants to start a class in China to discuss these issues with students. Speaking of this, there is a wise man's calmness on his face. The news of his death reminded me of his expression. All his friends in Paris call him Mr. Bear. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Wang has been widely used now. His original intention was to be a teacher. China people who are educated overseas tend to choose their words more carefully than those at home, especially in negative cities like Paris. Therefore, the title of Mr. Xiong is appropriate to show cordial respect, and it is not so fierce as to be called a master. I can't remember the exact time when I met Mr. Xiong. It should be the summer of 1987. At that time, my family lived in England and spent my summer vacation roaming in Paris and other places. For me, it was an unforgettable time, poor but idle. I remember that there was a symposium in Mrs. Xiong's travel agency at that time, with Chen Yingde, a painting critic, Wang Keping, a sculptor, and Mr. Xiong. Then Wang Keping drove me to visit Mr. Xiong. He lived in the suburbs of Paris at that time. The backyard is his studio, full of his sculptures. What impressed me the most was a tin crow and Lu Xun's head stuck together with multiple layers of cardboard. Ke Ping told me that he has been very active in French painting since the early 1950s, and won awards in many exhibitions in France and Europe. Later, I learned that Mr. Xiong was not only a sculptor, but also a poet, calligrapher, scholar and philosopher. He is modest and doesn't consider utility. It can be said that he is a combination of China traditional literati and western liberal intellectuals in the best sense, and he is one of the few generalists left since the May 4th Movement. The so-called generalist is not only profound knowledge, but also a thorough understanding and care for history and life. Corresponding to generalists are professionals, that is, the so-called experts that are rampant today. The more they specialize, the narrower the road, and the knowledge they master is purely used to make a living. Look at the technocrats who rule the world today. It is an extension of this expertise at the power level. From top to bottom, almost all of them are knowledgeable and capable, but they have no soul. I lived in Paris in the early 1990s and have been coming and going since then, but I didn't get much chance to see Mr. Xiong, especially since he moved from Paris and couldn't drive because of his poor eyes, so he seldom went to town. Last summer, he specially invited me to stay at his house for a few days and have a good chat, but in the end I didn't make it. Regret. When people are around, they feel that there is always an opportunity. In fact, life is subtraction, with one side missing. Last spring, my father was seriously ill in hospital. Mr. Xiong was very anxious and called Mr. Xiong specially, hoping that he could come forward to help me visit China. He and Mr. Yang are old friends, and both parents are professors in the Department of Mathematics of Tsinghua University. They are not only the same age, but also classmates, and their deep friendship has continued to this day. I was teaching at the State University of New York at Stony Brook, and I was lucky enough to get to know Mr. Yang and hit it off. Under the great trust of Mr. Xiong, Mr. Yang attaches great importance to it. I was finally able to go back to Beijing to visit my dying father and mother. Teacher Xiong has been paying attention to my return to China and often asks about my father's illness. How can this feeling in my life be a word of thanks? Teacher Xiong lives far away and comes and goes in a hurry, so it is rare to have time to talk more. I seldom drink with him, but I always have a cup of tea. Tea brings different memories from wine, refreshing Ming Che, just like Mr. Xiong's personality. Mr. Xiong is very talkative, and the number of ways is changeable, or the winding path is secluded, or the sky is vast. I remember once he criticized my poem euphemistically, and I argued with him, which was quite disrespectful. He just smiled generously. On another occasion, he asked me to read a recent work, which ended with "If the sky doesn't die". He lamented that this sentence reminded him of his youth. I didn't know how this association came about at that time, but now I finally understand. In fact, there is a specious tension in this poem: the sky is immortal when you are young, but the subjunctive mood questions this, which is the confusion of adolescence. In the last year of the last century, Mr. Xiong held a roving exhibition "Art-Journey and Return" in Beijing, Shanghai, Kunming, Taipei and Kaohsiung. That's a good topic. I think Mr. Xiong must have opened it himself. Look at Mr. Xiong's chronology, just like a road map, which is related to historical events, wars and inner turmoil. Born in Nanjing in 2002, his father Xiong Qinglai is a famous mathematician. In 2007, my father went to Tsinghua to teach and my family moved to Beijing. After the July 7th Incident, he moved to Kunming with his father, and/kloc-0 graduated from the Philosophy Department of National Southwest Associated University in 1944. Then he went further and further, out of the border. 1947 passed the law of studying abroad at public expense, and did not return to China for the first time until 1972. This is a quarter century. His father died in the Cultural Revolution. After that, he began to return to China to hold exhibitions, give lectures and publish books. Travel and return are not only in time and space, but also in his mental journey. He mentioned not long ago that although he has lived in France for more than 50 years, he doesn't feel the need to integrate into French society. Mr. Xiong's French should be perfect, but he never writes in French. I think there is a kind of pride in his bones. The pride of China culture is accompanied by his long journey and his return. With Mr. Xiong gone, the world is even more desolate, leaving us with a dead sky and an era of indifferent and efficient management. Davis, USA, 2003 1 month, 17.