The reason why the world yearns for your lingering is because behind you is the territory of the gods who have nurtured countless philosophers and romantic love stories. Greece! You have a history of resisting foreign slavery for hundreds of years. On your national flag, a simple letter syllable symbolizes the oath, which means "give me liberty or give me death". Now you are at the crossroads where Europe and Asia meet, and life and death decorate the two ends of the balance of the country of poetry.
Those people, staring for a long time below, waiting, full of illusions about freedom; And what acts as a weight is their lives.
Man's desire is like a dagger. When its blade is hidden in a gorgeous sheath, it is like a heart wrapped in an optical fiber shell. It can use lyric poetry to vent the desire in the heart, and then promote the pursuit of material and spirit in real life; In reality, poetry is sometimes regarded as spiritual consumer goods. As adonis, a famous poet who lived in Nobel Prize in Literature on 20 14, said, there are only two ways before poetry: either writing as a consumer product, you need to cater to the appetite of most people and make some zombie dishes in an ostentatious way; Either as a prisoner, when poetry was born, it was abandoned and became a marginal person. In his early poetry collection "The Song of Michal from Damascus":
We used to walk with the ark and our oars.
This is God's promise, in the rain.
Under the soil, we live, while human beings die.
We used to go with the flow, the space at that time.
The rope was tied by the dead. We use it *
Linking our lives together, at that time,
There is a calling window between the sky and us.
God, all who exist.
Why did you save us alone?
Where are you throwing us? This is your other land,
Or the leaves of death in the wind of life
Our original home?
. . . . . .
We will sail far away and will not be bent by fear.
Or listen to that god.
Our date is death, our seaside.
Is a kind of despair that we are used to, and we
Be content that this is an ice sea, and there is as much water as iron.
We crossed the sea to its final destination,
We left and stopped listening to God.
We are eager to have a new foster parent.
Yes, this is the fate of poetry! When the poet with cerebral palsy walked onto the platform of Peking University, I thought we had been brain-dead for a long time. But we're not going halfway across China to find a cure. However, when the road is at our feet, our eyes are gradually alienated from it. This alienation, like the Berlin Wall, stands on the hill of our wrinkled hearts, isolating the distance between poetry and heart;
Only a true pilgrim who digs holes in the wall with poetry can see the fingers sticking out there, touching each other and waiting for each other, although it is not a cave to live in.