When you hear a bloom's voice, you can interpret a flower's honest heart. If we stand in the perspective of a flower, people and peony will realize cross-border communication, as if the thoughts in our hearts have become nursery rhymes by bloom. Reflected in Niu Qingguo's poetry creation practice, man and nature reached a perfect tacit understanding. "Those lost flowers/finally recovered/a grand flower event/the first talking flower/I knew it many years ago."
I began to pay attention to Niu Qingguo's poems after reading the poem Flowers by the River in Summer in the literary supplement of Gansu Daily last year. It wasn't until this summer that I met the poet Niu Qingguo in Lanzhou that I was confident that we had known each other for a long time-with the masterpiece of Hezhou Peony and Peony-this humanistic business card of Linxia was built as a bridge between two strangers, eliminating the complicated prologue, and we went straight to the theme of this poem.
Peony grows on the banks of Daxia River, and the purple peony in Hezhou enjoys a long-standing reputation in Gansu. Linxia people who live in the "hometown of flowers in China" have more love and preference for the well-known folk song "Flower" and Hezhou Peony Society. Throughout the ages, the Yellow River seems to be a clear stream flowing endlessly in the long river of history, chanting the poems of Hezhou peony, which can be described as a vast wave of smoke and boating in the sea of history. Among them, the famous sentence "Peony Everywhere, Another Hezhou" by Zhenwu, a poet of the Qing Dynasty, is still sung in Hezhou and is a household name. Last May, at the Hezhou Peony Culture Festival, Gansu poet Niu Qingguo walked into Linxia and wrote flowers by the Daxia River. The sense of pictures in his poems conveys the aesthetic mood to readers through concise words. At the end of the poem, I wrote: "I have been wandering in the sandstorm not far away/quietly bypassing us/disappearing into the Daxia River". The Daxia River, reflecting the dust in the air, carries the true colors of the Loess Plateau, sinks into the original texture, and finally injects the pulse of life into the rhythm of the Yellow River. With the intangible deduction of poetic inspiration and the beauty of nature, through vivid inspiration, it turns to the opening and closing room, takes root and blooms.
In this way, through simple and clear feelings, the creation of beautiful writing environment and the transmission of spiritual voice are produced. The German philosopher IELTS Bells once said: "The essence of education is that a tree shakes another tree, a cloud pushes another cloud, and one soul calls another soul." Isn't the appeal of literature the same Poetry is straightforward, elegant and accessible, and it is not easy to express one's feelings at will. Niu Qingguo's poems are easy to understand and have profound implications. Those poems written to his hometown and villagers are as simple as fragrant soil at his feet, emitting the luster of speculation and wisdom. His poems are full of lingering affection and care, his meticulous understanding and appreciation of ordinary life, his poems are full of simple feelings, his understanding of farmers and yellow land.
Cloud in hand, tree in head, moon in hand. Pick a cloud, stir a sky, and tell a heartfelt story with a unique poem, which is simple and easy to understand. Reading the poetry collection "I Write Your Name in Poems" to witness the author's mastery of language art, there are things that make people shine from time to time in the poetry collection, and those poems that make people shine are the result of long-term conception and taste of life, which is no accident. The ability to accumulate and refine life is very important for creation. "I remember twenty years ago/my father insisted on finding me a daughter-in-law in the fork road/just to divide a few acres of land/later my sister got married/zoned a large area/my father was so distressed that he really wanted to jump on the ridge of the field/swallow a few mouthfuls there." (Father and land) For example, "I came to see a sick old man/he has become a handful of firewood in autumn/at that time/the smell of grains/and the smell of herbs/all come from a person/a person who suffered for me in the land/he will lean over/autumn." (Autumn Experience) The narrative style of prose culture that has been deposited in my heart has never come out. "He just waited quietly/an oil lamp/clutching the last ray of light/like the only autumn chrysanthemum in the wasteland/about to be blown out by the wind/where did God go that night? ("Light") connects the people in the poem with the scene, full of imagination, and the wandering people have the connection in wandering.
A leisurely mood, a relaxed mood, an idle rhythm, a stretch of poetry. Poetry collection "I write your name in the poem", Gansu Culture Publishing House, August 20 15 edition, the first series of "Inscriptions written on the ground" 27, written by my father; The second series "I write your name in the poem" 15, writing about mother; The third series, A Man Suddenly Wants to Bow His Head, consists of 26 articles, which are about an old friend, and brings together the works published by the author in Poetry magazine, Poetry Exploration, Poetry Tide and People's Literature. Write poems about your hometown, devote yourself wholeheartedly and form your own style. On the title page, the author wrote: "Here, I write down time and life, gratitude, pain and guilt ... This is my most sincere work so far, all dedicated to my parents and hometown. Thanks to everyone who can finish reading this book, I regard you all as my relatives. " The reason why the author picked out his precious poems and gave them to me, I think, may be to share his feelings with others, look forward to the fate between readers and writers, and appreciate the dialogue with interesting souls, which is pleasing to the eye.
When I write poetry in my hometown, I devote myself wholeheartedly and form my own style. This poem records my thoughts on life. My hometown is a book, and apricot catechu is the cover. "Inscription written on the ground/a person who has planted the land all his life/finally planted himself in the soil." Shake the dust off your shoulders with a frozen loess background. "Imagine your mood at that time/looking at the mountain ridge/the desolation of your life is floating like white clouds." (Desolation) Leave some space to write poems, such as calligraphy and painting, and set aside a piece of land to settle down. The ending of these poems is always surprising, but the author is not expressionless, but intriguing. "When I learned to love you, it was a kind of miss." He thought, "All poems have no time, and the sound of a piece of loess covering the wound and leaving roots is like cutting the umbilical cord." (Mom peels potatoes) "From now on, you have to decide whether to cry or not." ("I wrote your name in the poem")
Xinger Cha, a mountain village in Huining, Gansu, is the author's starting point. However, everyone who leaves home will eventually embark on a warm-hearted way home. "The pride of your life/None of your children starved to death." So helpless, as if breathing out the fatigue of life, "I hate eating, and the food I eat is hard, such as cooked bitter vegetables." Hometown loves and hates wanderers. "No one has written a poem here/you have/because you left there/but you often want to go back/you read it to the clouds overhead/to the wind outside the window." "The old ox family has no genealogy/you don't even have a place to store your name/so/I can only write you a poem/write your name in the poem/although you don't know what a poem is/you must know my book/you can write it in the book forever." The bright moon in my hometown is still there, and it is not the round when I was a child. It is difficult to return to my hometown. In Difficult Poems, the author realized: "Poems in my hometown are difficult to write/deep/afraid of tenderness/shallow writing/afraid of being blown away by the wind." In Do I Really Love My Hometown, the author has given the answer. "Those things that are blown by the wind/always twinkle in your poems/maybe those cattle and sheep/can/chew out some poetry from a fallen leaf or grass tip. (Psalm)
Compared with prose, the beauty of verse is artistic conception, which brings out a sense of picture in front of you, and it is like walking around the beam for three days if you savor it carefully. Modern poetry works are straightforward, and poetry is clear at a glance. After reading it, they turned around and forgot. Poetry works don't use a lot of fashionable sentences, often from beginning to end, without colorful words, and those poems are lukewarm and insensitive. What you can see is the rhyme of the branches, which is the author's innovation in poetry creation, and the graceful interest is between incomprehensible and unintelligible. I can't write poetry, but I like reading poetry. I still can't figure out where the hidden meaning and the image propped up by language tension come from when reading poems. The image of the poem is as it is intended, and the poem you really like should be a sensible aesthetic feeling, a communication between writing and reading, a communication through text transmission, and the reader's participation in the creation, so as to achieve the interaction between reading and writing.
The author is good at telling stories with poems, carving portraits with paper and pen, and seeing the smile of bones. Hometown tea appears repeatedly in poetry collections. "It's autumn/the tallest poplar on the slope/its leaves turn yellow first/just like that year in Xinger/a person's hair suddenly turns white." From betrayal to yearning for home, regrets and pity are intertwined in my heart. "This day/the donkey ate at least a handful of peas in the field I pulled out/from its exaggerated sneeze/I can hear its satisfaction. Father also picked up a handful/rubbed it in his hand/raised it to the donkey's mouth/the donkey looked at his father/rolled it in his mouth quickly/he was afraid that his father would change his mind after a while. At that moment/father squatting/donkey standing/a poplar tree on the ridge/blown by the wind/leaning towards the donkey/leaning towards his father. " (One Day in Xinger)
These simple poems are like plowshares turning over the ups and downs of wheat fields, and you can smell the fragrance brewing in the fields for years.