Xu Zhimo (1897 ~ 193 1) is a modern poet and essayist. Famous Zhang Yi, pen names Nanhu, Yun Zhonghe, etc. Haining, Zhejiang. 19 15 graduated from Hangzhou No.1 Middle School and studied in Shanghai Hujiang University, Tianjin Beiyang University and Peking University successively. 19 18 went to the United States to study banking. 192 1 went to study in the uk and became a special student at Cambridge university in London, studying political economy. My two years in Cambridge were deeply influenced by western education and romantic and aesthetic poets in Europe and America. 192 1 Start writing new poems. 1922 After returning to China, he published a lot of poems in newspapers and periodicals. 1923 participated in the establishment of the new moon meeting. Join the literature research society. 1924 founded Modern Review with Hu Shi and Chen Xiying, and was hired as Professor Peking University. Translated by Tagore, a great Indian poet, when he visited China. 1925 has been to Europe, the Soviet Union, Germany, Italy, France and other countries. From 65438 to 0926, he was the editor-in-chief of the supplement of Morning News Poetry Magazine, and started the metrical movement of new poetry with Wen Yiduo and Zhu Xiang, which influenced the development of new poetry art. In the same year, he moved to Shanghai and served as a professor at Guanghua University, Daxia University and Nanjing Central University. 1927 participated in the establishment of Crescent Bookstore. The following year, he served as editor-in-chief after the publication of New Moon. And traveled abroad to Britain, the United States, Japan and India. 65438-0930 Member of China Cultural Fund Committee, elected member of British Poetry Society. In the winter of the same year, he taught in Peking University and Peking Women's University. 193 1 At the beginning of the year, he founded Poetry Quarterly with Chen and Fang, and was elected as the director of China Branch of Pen Club. In the same year165438+1October, 19, I flew from Nanjing to Peiping. Because the fog hit a mountain near Jinan, the plane crashed and died. He is the author of poetry anthology Zhi Mo Poetry Anthology, Kethleen Night, Tiger, Wandering, prose anthology Leaves, Parisian Scales, Autopsy, Autumn, novel prose anthology Roulette, drama Bian Kungang (co-edited with Lu Xiaoman) and diary Ai Xiao Mei Za. His works have been edited and published as Collected Works of Xu Zhimo. Xu Shi's poems are fresh, harmonious in rhythm, novel in metaphor, rich in imagination, beautiful in artistic conception, elegant in thought and full of changes. He pursues neatness and splendor in artistic form and has a distinct artistic personality. He is a representative poet of the Crescent School. His prose is unique and has achieved no less achievements than poetry. Among them, Self-Anatomy, Want to Fly, Cambridge as I Know It and Chatting in Yushan Residence are all masterpieces handed down from generation to generation.
Preface to Tiger Collection
Speaking in front of a book of poems is not easy to please. Almost exaggerated. I can't say it on my face. I'm too respectful. I seem to be sorry for the reader. The easiest way is to say nothing, at least let the poem take care of itself. But the bookstore refused to agree; They say that if the author doesn't advertise in the bookstore and add a few prefaces, he can't start writing. The author is a complete layman in business, but at least he knows that selling books well is not only beneficial to bookstores, but also his own royalties: so he can't help but respect the significance of bookstores. In fact, I have spent three nights trying to write a preface that can help the advertisement. But it doesn't matter. The written lines were still erased, and many manuscript papers were wasted. After all, the preface of poetry cannot be written.
Besides, the poet can't help but feel sad when he mentions writing poetry. There is nothing worse in the world than writing poetry; Not only miserable, but also shabby. Just one thing, I was born without a moustache, but I don't know how many imaginary beards I broke for some broken sentences.
Let's not talk about it. I remember when I printed the second set of poems, I said I would never write poems again. Now it's another episode, although four years have passed in a blink of an eye. Even if these poems were written in the last four years (some of them are really as early as thirteen years), there are only ten poems per year on average, and one poem can't be published in a month, and more are just one. Poetry can't be measured by length, just as Whistler said that a painting can't be measured by field. But the fact is that we can't breathe for a long time these days-poetry is always a poem, drama is always a one-act play, and novels are always short stories. Every time I see Shakespeare's plays, such as Dante's Divine Comedy and Goethe's Faust, I can't help but feel discouraged. I think even if we have some sounds, they are so subtle that we can strangle them with a little finger at any time. Oh, my God, when can we see something admirable in our creation? When will our thin voice survive the rapid rise of big face?
When it comes to writing your own poems, nothing is more unexpected. I checked the genealogy, and since the fourth year of Yongle, our family has never written a line of poems that can be recited. Before I was twenty-four, I was far less interested in poetry than in the theory of relativity or civil contract. My father sent me to study abroad to enter the "financial field" in the future. My highest ambition is to become Hamilton of China. Before I was twenty-four, poetry, old or new, was completely irrelevant to me. If someone like me can really become a successful poet-what can I say?
(1) Thirteen years means thirteen years of the Republic of China, namely 1924.
(2) Whistler (1834— 1903), an American painter. He lived in England for a long time.
(3) Dante, Dante (1265-1321) translation, Italian poet.
④ Year numbers of Yongle and Ming Chengzu Judy (1403— 1424).
⑤ Hamilton (1757-1804), one of the most important politicians in the early days of the founding of the United States, presided over the financial and armament work during the presidency of Washington.
But the secret of life is incredible! We are all dominated and kind creatures. What can we do? Ten years ago, I blew a strange wind, perhaps according to some strange moonlight. Since then, my thoughts tend to be expressed in branches. A deep melancholy occupied me; This kind of melancholy, I believe, has gradually penetrated into my temperament.
Having said that, my secular elements are not willing to yield; Little wings, a poetic spirit, even though they are flapping their wings there, still has no strength to fly out of the sky with this whole tired autumn. Not to mention that the ideal of poetic life is difficult to realize, but it is hard enough to earn eight lines and twelve lines occasionally under the oppression of real life. Especially in recent years, sometimes I am afraid to think of it: in the long past, I could have no news, no light, no movement. I often suspect that this time is really over. Just as the beauty of Killa is to ask Shinto for accommodation to limit the day of returning home, I often wonder what the day of writing poetry was, because I pity my stupidity, and I was temporarily lent a luxury by Shinto. I hope they pity one person!
(1) Qi Jun La, the heroine of Tagore's play of the same name.
Ten years have passed in an instant. Although I keep writing poems, my self-confidence is still extremely weak. "It is written like this," I often say to myself, "but do you know this is a poem?" As far as the experience is concerned, there is almost no time from a little bit of meaning to the completion of a poem, and there is no suffering of Tang Priest. Poetry is not only a kind of childbirth, it is also often dystocia! This pain is only known to the parties themselves. A poet, when he has reached a high level of accomplishment, such as Mr. Tagore, may be able to spit out fine round beads with his mouth open. In fact, I have seen it with my own eyes, and I don't lie, but how can a person like me who has neither talent nor cultivation say it?
Only once, my poem really like a flash flood, rushed in all directions. That is, in the first half of my poetry writing, my life was shocked by a huge force, and all half-mature and immature ideas were scattered through my fingers. I was helpless and didn't know what was on my mind, so I entrusted the bottom of my wrist to crawl and comb at random. As urgent as saving my life, I don't care about beauty or ugliness! I have written a lot in a short time, but almost all of them are shameful. This is a lesson.
My first poem, Poems by Zhi Mo, was written within two years after I returned to China eleven years ago. Although the initial surge in this collection has been eliminated, most of it has nothing to do with the overflow of emotions, and the art or skill of any poem is out of the question. Until the 15th year of the Republic of China, a group of friends from Yiduo (2) and Jin Fu (3) and I published Poetry Magazine in the Morning Post. A flower is not only a poet, but also a person who is most interested in discussing the theory and art of poetry. I think that in the past five or six years, some of our friends who write poems have been influenced by the author of Dead Water. My pen was originally the most unrestrained wild horse, and I didn't realize my wildness until I read more careful works. However, the decline of my nature has not allowed me to follow one or more. They have made meticulous efforts in poetry theory.
① Eleven years, that is, 1922.
(2) Wen Yiduo, that is, Wen Yiduo (1899-1946), a poet, taught in Tsinghua University.
(3) Jin Fu, namely Yang Zhensheng (1890-1956), a novelist, was teaching in Tsinghua University at that time.
(4) "stagnant water", Wen Yiduo's poem.
My second group of poems, Night in Kethleen, can be said to be the mark of another big twist in my life. I sent the manuscript to Yiduo, and he wrote back and said, "This is indeed an improvement of Zhimo's poetry-a great progress." I am most willing to listen to his good words, but I am still not sure about the "skills" of poetry.
In recent years, life is not only extremely ordinary, but also the abyss of poverty and embarrassment. With the output of poetry, it is also "consumed in thinness". If I hadn't met two young poets, the dreamer ① and Wade ②, in CUHK last year, their enthusiasm for poetry had virtually inspired my dying poetic heart, and I printed Poetry magazine ③ for the second time, I believe I might have been depressed to almost nothing. I made eight trips back and forth between Shanghai and Beijing in the past six months, and I also suffered my mother's funeral and many other troubles. People are extremely tired, but my persistent actions and the scenery in Beijing have inadvertently shaken my long-lost spirit. I looked up and saw the sky again. I opened my eyes and my heart began to beat. Green shoots, the light and shadow of striving society, the pattern of joys and sorrows, all movements and all stillness are repeated in front of my eyes, and the world of sound and affection is repeated for me; It seems to be to save a decadent man who once believed in simplicity and had doubts. The magical power hidden in the curtain is vivid there: show its broadness and subtlety, and ask him to know the direction clearly and not to go the wrong way again.
(1) Dreamer, namely Chen (191-kloc-0/-0/966), a representative poet of the Crescent School, once edited Selected Poems of the Crescent. In the late 1930s, he began to turn to historical archaeological research.
(2), namely Fang (1909-1935), a representative poet in the later period of Crescent School, who wrote Poems of Lilacs and Poems of Wade.
(3) The second printing of Poetry Magazine refers to the Poetry Magazine published by Xinyue Bookstore at the beginning of 1930.
I hope this is my real chance to come back to life. Strange to say, on the one hand, although I know that these occasionally written poems are full of "rags", they are far from living a long life. But in the author's own mind, I always feel that writing poetry is not a bad thing, which at least proves that the spirit is still struggling there and there is still a breath. I have nothing else to say when I publish this third set of poems. I just want to comfort my friends and let them know that I still have a breath, and I want to make a sound under the heavy oppression of real life.
You can't blame more. I feel like I'm covered in blood. Just don't bow my head. You don't have to remind me what day it is today; Don't tell me about the famine everywhere, the existing and hidden chaos, and don't tell me that there are tens of millions of people soaking in the water or crying for help in extreme hunger today; Don't persuade me that a few rhyming lines or rhyming poems can't save half a life; Not to mention that my thoughts are out of date or my rhythm is based on outdated ideology ... there are many others, I know, I know them like the back of my hand; When you talk about it, it just makes me feel bad and uncomfortable. I have nothing else to say. I just want you to remember that there is a bird that sings in heaven and can't stop vomiting blood. Its songs contain the joy of another world that it knows alone, as well as the distinct sadness and pain that it knows alone; A poet is also a crazy bird. He held the thorn of the rose with his soft heart and sang the glory of the stars and the moon and the hope of mankind until his painstaking efforts dripped out and dyed the white flowers red. His pain and happiness are intertwined.
Being a poet in China is not easy to please!
This is much more difficult than doing "not easy to please" such as "speaking in front of a collection of poems"
-Xu Zhimo should know better!
People are often too harsh on poets and their standards are too narrow. Especially in modern China, where great changes and impacts have taken place, if poets don't "shout" like the goddess, "ordinary" like the Creation Society and Sun Society, and "face the storm" like them, they will inevitably be snubbed, ridiculed, even criticized and slapped by the public.
Xu Zhimo is a "bourgeois poet" who is both "floating" and "miscellaneous". He received mixed praise before and after his death. He is a typical epitome of a poet who is "non-mainstream", "far from the center" and talks about politics in the history of modern poetry. The preface to Tiger Collection is just an expression of the poet's hard life and an anatomy of the poet's painful and sincere inner world. Of course, when this preface prose is introduced, it actually covers a wide range: from Xu Zhimo's personal creative experience, poetic experience and opinions to the ups and downs and artistic pursuit of the "Crescent Poetry School". However, what impressed me most was undoubtedly the sincere, eager and painful confession in the inner world in the second half of the article:
"You can't blame. I think I'm covered in blood ... when you started talking about it, you made me feel bad and uncomfortable.
That poet is a metaphor of a "stupid bird" who sings in heaven and can't stop vomiting blood, which is even more unforgettable.
Perhaps, we have always ignored Xu Zhimo's inner contradictions and pains as a poet? !
Xu Zhimo returned to China from the poetic lakeside and Cambridge with full romantic interest and social and political ideal of "waiting for a sweet baby". However, both personal emotional life and bourgeois humanitarian or political ideals are doomed to be shattered in reality.
In his personal love life, the love he fought for with great courage and enthusiasm mocked his ideal "Mr. and Mrs. Browning" model. He had to swallow the bitter fruit and pretend as if nothing had happened in front of others, acting like a gentleman.
In terms of social and political ideals, it has repeatedly hit a wall. Britain's Cambridge-style ideal of "love, beauty and freedom" has become an empty talk. In his view, the social reality has become: "the nation is bankrupt, and morality, politics, society, religion, literature and art are all bankrupt" (fallen leaves). However, Xu Zhimo could never forget his political ideal and had to express it in his poems. But when he talks about politics, he is always criticized by revolutionary writers and artists. The West Window and Autumn Insect are still hated by many people.
This is Xu Zhimo's fault. The mistake is that he shouldn't talk about China politics that he doesn't know much about (but insists on pretending to understand)! Moreover, Xu Zhimo, as a precious poetic legacy left by the poet, is by no means those works that talk about politics and "ism".
Poetry is a special ideology. We can't ask poetry to reflect reality like a mirror and express ideas like a megaphone. We can't just ask poetry to play its external function as the drum and horn of the times. Marx once satirized the Prussian authorities at that time: "You praise the ever-changing and endless wealth of nature. You don't want roses and violets to emit the same fragrance, but why do you want the richest thing in the world-spirit to have only one form of existence? " (Complete Works of Marx and Engels, vol./kloc-0, p. 7)
The first quality of a poet should be "truth", true feelings and real life. Poets must tell the truth, and poems must express their true feelings. Even in a noisy crowd, they sincerely and persistently make their own discordant voices. In this respect, Xu Zhimo is enough to make people admire and even feel ashamed. His personality theme lies in a true word. Just like Zhou Zuoren said Xu Zhimo: "Everything else can be found these days, but the integrity has long been lost, and so is Guawazi." Zhimo still maintains his naive honesty, which can be said to be a rare man in the world. " ("Zhimo Memorial")
Xu Zhimo's sincere pursuit of ideals, sincere eulogy of "love, beauty and freedom" and even the expression of inner contradictions and pains are all so sincere, frank and sincere:
"... I think I'm covered in blood. Just don't bow your head. You don't have to remind me what day it is today; There's no need to tell me that there is famine everywhere, and there is more chaos and hiding ... There are many other things, I know, I know: when you talk about it, it just makes me uncomfortable, uncomfortable ... "
The poet almost earnestly prayed for people's understanding.
In the face of such sincerity, what are the "mistakes" that cannot be forgiven? !
In fact, poets are more sensitive and profound to pain than ordinary people. It is not that he is ignorant of the pain of the world. The poet "has an obvious sadness and pain that only he knows". Didn't his "Joy of Another World" just make up for this secular world and sublimate his own ideal?
Poetry is an ideal paradise for poets, with transcendental freedom. It is poetry, the paradise of human dreams and ideals, that can turn the real life full of contradictions and opposites into a dreamy poetic life that always guarantees the spirit of freedom.
Isn't it enough that Xu Zhimo, with his deep and painful inner world, "sings the joy of another world" like a cuckoo crying blood, and sings so many beautiful poems with eternal charm?
(Chen Xuguang)