If Haizi made me like poetry, then my love must have started in adonis. Adonis's loneliness is a garden. Here, "What is a tree? Green lakes/waves are the wind ","What is a rainbow? The body of the cloud/and the body of the sun/on the body of the earth/folding and hugging ","What is a sunset? Sweat from the sun. " In his works, rain is the crutch of the wind, the wind is the swing of the rain, the air is the soul that doesn't want to stay in the body, the coast is the pillow where the waves rest, the meteor is the arrow that flies to crush death, the rose is the head that grows to be beheaded, the soil is the future of the body, the dust is the sigh from the lungs of the earth, the sky is a ladder that has just been boarded but broken, the night is the blindfold of the sun, and it is a bookseller who sells books of stars.
Adonis's garden is like a boat walking in the vast rivers and lakes, like a rose garden in the air, poetic and gorgeous, with a touch of sadness. He is like a swordsman. In this garden with only one tree, he used the pen in his hand to make the days dance, and he also used the pen to fight and grow. After reading his poems, those common images in daily life seem to have new meanings. "Wind, no clothes; Time has no home, they have two poor people all over the world. " And I, also empty-handed, seemed to embrace the whole world when I read this sentence. I became a crazy child in his works, playing the most beautiful games in the rational garden. Time is the wind, no matter how it floats in joy and precipitates in sadness, it always blows from the direction of death, and the front only belongs to life. Your body is a rose on your road, a rose that is dying and blooming at the same time.
I am alive, I walk in his garden, I see leaves falling from trees, like earrings falling from the ears of the wind, I see his dreams growing in the direction of childhood, I see him holding roses in his hands when he is sad, and roses turn into green lights when he is happy, I see his ears of wheat bending with the wind, showing the wind the way out, I see snow burning in the name of love, and I see him walking-one foot in the ashes and one foot in the air. As he said, words are buds that bloom only in hazy arms.
Reading his poems is like being in a poetic world with parallel time and space, and everything is shrouded in a mysterious veil. They are so familiar and hazy, as if they woke up after a long sleep, arranged and combined into a picture scroll, stirring my nerves and dancing in my mind.
I live between clouds and sparks, in a growing stone, in a book that teaches secrets and depravity. Adonis was born in a seaside village in Syria. Poverty and isolation closed his escape exit, and the religious atmosphere of his family was like a shackle, which locked the freedom of language expression.
And his life has been confrontation for a long time. In this confrontation, he always cared about the situation of his country and nation. Time and space are concentrated in his works, and all things in his works show vigorous vitality in generate. Behind the defiant gesture is the light of hope hidden in the dark background, which is the pulse of life from birth to death.
However, I am alive, and every branch from the valley and the tree of years is a flame on my forehead, devouring the earth that protects me. He was imprisoned for his political activities and was forced to leave his hometown for his compatriots because of his different political views. He lived in a foreign country for most of his life, but he never gave up his pursuit and transcendence. His life is burning in the burning, he reflects on the war, he misses the motherland, and he says "nation is a poem, and individual is its word".
He transcends Arab time and space and examines this era. What he sees always reminds him of ashes. He knows that "brave body, cowardly thought: this is a sign of social decay", and he is looking forward to change. "When I stare at the ashes that flooded the world, I feel dizzy; I only woke up when I imagined the creator's head burning angrily around and the wings of poetry flapping on the ashes. " He glared at reality and looked down at the world. He rebelled, but this rebellion came from his sincerity and love. Despair has fingers, but it can only catch dead butterflies. He filled the lake of hope with his tired soul again and again, and was disappointed again and again, but he never gave up hope. How many people succumbed to the darkness that already existed, and he succumbed to the dawn that never existed.
To write a poem is to write about his whole civilization. Adonis's poetry is not only an affair, the sun, the moon and the stars, but also the loneliness brought by sleepless nights in sadness. His poems are related to war, motherland, life and love. "I give orders to the stars, I anchor and hope, and I make myself the king of the wind."
In his poems, there are people in his caring world and his thoughts on life and death. He lives with light. He is the king of wind and light. In the sky of his words, he is the master of all things. "Death is the most profound creation of life". Everything will die, except man, and death will come to him. And he, like a fearless knight-errant, is a pot of muddy wine, with a sword in one hand and a rose in the other, chivalrous and fearless, but tender as water.
"You will see my poetry become the king of light, and you are my light, shining in my words." Language is a writer's most powerful weapon. And adonis mastered the language, although bumpy, but he finally mastered the only way of fighting. Poetry is heaven, forever wandering in the territory of language. Poetry is the carrier of his resistance, but he feels exiled for life, in every sentence he writes.
He is the king of the wind, his loneliness sowed him, and he grew in a bright direction.