1979 June 7th.
A boring day. After reading the story of Zhang Zhixin martyr, I couldn't sit down and work, and an unspeakable resentment was suppressed in my chest. I am like a trapped animal, wandering around in a cage.
A sleepless night. I visited two poetry friends who just moved from Guangzhou and had a chat. Or Zhang Zhixin. People's emotions are fluctuating, and they vaguely feel that something is flashing, which is still uncertain. Is that the embryo of poetry? The hostess brought a large cup of coffee and black wine! It is the fire in my heart that ignites. Turn off the lights, but I can't sleep. I always see a terrible execution ground, a pool of purple blood and a meadow. You can hear gunshots in your ears, harsh gunshots! Looking back on those years, I really want to cry! Write! Get up, turn on the light, and spread the paper. It is 1 o'clock in the morning of June 8. The wind said, "forget her!" " "Once you start, you can't write anymore; Around the grass, imagination is galloping. I am also surprised at how those words and aphorisms poured into the bottom of the pen. It went well. I finished it in one breath, read it again, scrutinized some places, added some branches and leaves, and felt very satisfied with myself. Lying in bed, it is already 4 o'clock in the morning. Excited, want to sing, want to shout, who want to read it to as soon as possible. I copied it out in the morning and showed it to two comrades, which was affirmed and encouraged. So I gave it to poetry magazine.
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Poetry Journal immediately decided to publish and use it, and it is planned to be published in the eighth issue of 1979.
After the school was cleared, Zhongshan Concert Hall held a large-scale poetry recital in memory of Zhang Zhixin martyrs.
Full house, full of passionate poems, recited by actors. Singing on the Grass is a recitation by Qu Xianhe, a young dramatist of the Coal Art Troupe. At that moment, the audience was silent, only the actor's low and depressed alto explained the hidden anger and tears in the poem. The voice of grief and indignation echoed in the grand theater, and the audience aroused a sigh. Someone is crying, someone is crying. Suddenly, the sun flashed and cut through the dark clouds:
To support her,
She is the daughter of the earth,
The sun,
Gave her light;
Hill,
Gave her strength;
Flowers and plants,
Gave her a scent!
With her,
You will see hope and strength. ...
Silence, followed by the actor's deep bow and curtain call! At this time, people seem to wake up from the distant and painful darkness. Then the applause was endless. People stood up from the audience and applauded the actors. Qu Xianhe, who had been walking behind the scenes, had to go to the front desk again for a curtain call. So, in and out, six curtain calls. In the memory of Qu Xian and this life, it is probably the only time to get such warm applause and curtain call.
Wen Wei Po and Guangming Daily reported the recital the next day. The "Dongfeng" supplement of Guangming Daily soon published "Grass Singing" in advance with almost a full page.
A poem became a controversial topic for a time.
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1On July 22nd, 979, Mr. Hu Feng wrote to Poetry Magazine and myself in the name of "Yan Ao" to talk about the poem "Grass is Singing". He said: "I heard the recitation on the radio first, and then I saw it in the newspaper." I watched it several times and was moved here or there. The old poet and literary critic who has been editing for almost half his life certainly knows that it is often not easy to find a good poem. "
Looking up the chronology, I know that Mr. Hu Feng has just been released from prison in Sichuan and lives in Chengdu. Although he was sentenced to more than 20 years in prison, he was acquitted.
Hu Feng has always been famous for his sincerity and daring to speak. In these two letters, he made an outspoken criticism of some poems published in newspapers and periodicals to commemorate Zhang Zhixin at that time, arguing that those poems "made up from ideas and attempted to remedy them in form" would have a negative impact once published. ""After reading it, I lost interest. "
These two letters, because they both fell into Mr. Hu Feng's expectation, "If the editorial department thinks they are subversive", "Then tear them up and throw them into the wastebasket." I saw this letter or later Mr. Zou Huofan gave it to me, and Mr. Mei Zhi copied it separately.
I am very grateful to Mr. Hu Feng. Some of his insights came entirely from experience, which made me feel enlightened when I was young. He said: "Zhang Zhixin is not common, but if you use your emotional motivation to write Zhang Zhixin and realize the authenticity of your feelings when writing poetry, then over time, you will also write poems about the true feelings of common ordinary things." .
I often think of these words when I write poems later.
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Yes, the story of Zhang Zhixin martyr is just an accidental event, which provides a suitable and fertile soil for a seed. Without this event, the seeds would fall on another piece of soil and still sprout. However, due to poor soil, it may not grow so strong.
It seems that the key is "seed", that is, thought. This is the internal cause of creation.
I will speak highly of the discussion on the standard of truth. It introduced my mind from imprisonment to another new world. I saw the pale substance under my skull, how it dried up in imprisonment and maze. We must study again, re-understand life, truth, literature and society, and re-filter that polluted time. All this was done in a painful self-analysis.
I reread the biographies of Copernicus and Bruno. Read the stories of heroes who died for the truth. Hipatia, a great female philosopher and scientist, was brutally killed by the church. They skinned her alive with shells. However, people remembered her and called her name around the mountains on the moon. The hero Hus was tied to the stake by the church. He fought to the death for those poor people, but he was not understood by ignorant people. Instead, they added firewood to his fire. "Oh, how simple and naive!" This is the devotee's lament for ignorance! Medieval stories are like distant dim stars. Today, when I picked up my telescope and re-examined them, I cried in horror. History, what a terrible similarity.
I wrote in "Poetry Talk" like this:
Heart, although your territory is vast.
But that should be the battlefield of truth,
It should not be the holy land of idols!
Also wrote "Reading History":
I have read Li Sao,
The poet taught me integrity;
I read Heliocentrism,
Science taught me to be brave.
I know that truth is forged in water and fire.
Who will stick to the truth,
Be prepared for incompatibility!
In Shi Hua, I wrote hundreds of such poems or broken sentences as pieces of grindstones to sharpen my thoughts. Looking at life again, I feel that my mind and vision seem to be broadened a lot.
This poem is naturally revealed in "The Grass is Singing":
I dare say:
If justice is not done,
Red sun,
It will never rise in the east again!
I dare say:
If the crime is not over,
Earth,
Will also lose weight!
No thought, no poetry. How can seeds germinate without embryos? I thought the same thing.
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Carved poems, or indifferent poems, are about lack of breath. I think poetry should be full of passion, that is, full of blood. Love what you love, hate what you hate, hate what you hate, there are clear barriers. Poetry should be like personality: aboveboard. People with false feelings can't write sincere poems.
When we see the photos of the memorial service and the news of the ashes in the newspaper, listen to the voices of lamentation and regret around us. It is anger and hatred against the Gang of Four, dissatisfaction with social life without democracy and legal system, and bitter sorrow for ignorance after awakening. A man with conscience, a man with humanity and a responsible party member will never be indifferent to this. This is hatred for the Gang of Four, who have harmed nature, the country and the people, and expressed regret for the unfortunate losses and disasters suffered by our party and country.
I often sigh, in this kind of feeling, I feel a rapid heartbeat, respiratory depression, I feel a fever, a chill. A desire and impulse to express often makes me fidgety and unable to eat. I want to record my heart truly.
The inner struggle is a brave and cowardly struggle.
If you break through the obstacles, your feelings will gush out at twice the speed.
At the end of the poem, I wrote that the martyr is "water, steel knives keep cutting, light and darkness are hard to hide". She is immortal, and she is back, which is by no means a bright tail. This is a passionate eulogy, which melts into my ideals and hopes. Yes, the Gang of Four killed the martyrs in Zhang Zhixin, and it was the Party Central Committee that smashed the Gang of Four, restored the reputation of the martyrs, and gave them a new life. The noble qualities of the martyrs were carried forward and became the spiritual force for the broad masses of the people, Qi Xin, to work together for the four modernizations. So I think this romantic use is authentic.
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"The incarnation is the genius of riding a horse." (Blake)
I don't remember any hesitation in choosing the form. I just want the words in my heart to flow out as soon as possible without hindrance. What bothers me a little is looking for artistic images.
Isn't the hero himself an image? Yes, however, this is an image that one knows. To be exact, she just provided you with the theme. You have to find a more suitable and distinctive artistic image to express her. I soon thought of grass. Before that, I wrote such a little poem in "Poetry Talk":
Twiggy tender grass,
What gives you such great strength?
Lift the boulder with a jack,
Let the little flowers give off a wisp of fragrance.
Do you hear the call of spring?
Or did you see the sun underground?
Yearning for spring, light and grass, isn't this the image of a warrior who dares to struggle? No wonder Whitman named his collection of poems Leaves of Grass Weeds, and Lu Xun named his collection of prose poems Weeds. Green grass, vibrant, full of symbolic significance. Everyone is familiar and easy to get close to. In particular, her gentleness is in harmony with the beautiful and extraordinary heroine. Usually pay more attention to accumulating images, which will be more useful. A poet in Western Europe19th century once said, "It is the secret of artistic genius to turn natural scenery into thoughts and thoughts into natural scenery". I often pay attention to nature and try to find this secret. Nature always hints at giving us many ideas, and our pain and joy can always be entrusted by nature.
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Reader, please put your ear on me.
Stick to my heart,
Listen to the warm and sincere voice.
I need to satisfy the reader's heart in self-dissection. We have all experienced ten years of catastrophe, and we have all learned the lesson of being cheated. Compared with heroes, we are so small. We will constantly ask ourselves in our hearts: why can she do it and I can't? This is a contradiction and painful, but it is very real and typical. Only by revealing this kind of heart accurately and sincerely can we get the voice of * * * *. I can't dress up as always right without conscience and preach to readers by accusing others. I just feel that as a soldier, I didn't do my duty at that time, and as a party member, I didn't make my due contribution at that time. Of course, this is not entirely personal responsibility, but more because we are morbid about the times and fall into ignorance of modern superstition.
It was in self-dissection that I approached the reader. I saw them dissect themselves.
I was talking to Xiaocao, who told me the injustice of the martyrs, and I was dissecting myself painfully and severely. I think I am not as brave as grass in front of heroes; I think in the face of the storm, I am not as sober as the grass; I let the grass whip myself and look for justice and conscience buried in my heart for a long time. I know that only justice and conscience are the bridge between me and my readers. That kind of empty talk and hypocritical preaching is pale and shameful in front of a soldier who has devoted his life to the truth! I think I am shaping a life, a living life with flesh and blood, anger and joy, and dare to laugh and scold, instead of lying on the manuscript paper and writing those rhyming lines. True feelings are the beating heart in this life and the blood flowing in the blood vessels!
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"Poetry is a flame, a flame that ignites the human mind. It burns, heats up and glows. " "Some people feel hot, others feel warm, the third people only see fire, and the fourth people can't even see fire ... Real poets can't help but burn themselves and others with pain. This is all the works of the poet. " (lev tolstoy's Diary1870101October 28th) Fire is an idea, and it is our view of the whole world and life; Fire is passion, and it is our undisguised love and hate for justice and injustice. People are tired of reading artificial poems that lack heat. I like the kind of poetry that shines with the brilliance of fire and emits the burning heat of fire. That kind of poem is full of life and strength, so you don't want to lie down, but stand up and run forward. This is my understanding of poetry and poet's works. This poem is also based on this idea.
Gorky put it well: "Write, write, as if you were a witness in the trial of justice and injustice." Then, let's be a witness of justice and injustice with conscience in life first!
Written on August 2 1979
1March 25, 980
June 38, 2009+10/ended on October 3.