Liang Yuchun
Liang Yuchun (1906 ~ 1932), a native of Minhou, Fujian, is a brilliant prose writer in the history of modern literature in China. He is the author of Prose Collection, Spring Old Collection and Tears and Laughter.
All the year round, what I fear most is spring. I can endure the monotony of summer, the dullness of autumn, the loneliness of winter, and sometimes a moment of happiness. The scorching sunshine, gaunt frost forest and dense dark clouds are so commensurate with the devastated world that it can really be regarded as an excellent background for this never-ending tragedy. As an actor and an audience, although I am sad, seeing such wonderful art sometimes inevitably leads to a whirlpool of smiles in the depths of my soul. Sitting by the fireside, listening to the whistling north wind and turning over some strange letters or diaries, I feel a bit like what people call spring. But when I look at the grass in front of the steps and the flowers outside the window, I feel the disharmony of the universe, as if I heard the fragile laughter of a girl at the bedside of a dying patient. No, it's like hearing the death knell of sadness at a wedding. Is this the devil's teasing, or is the crying loving mother coaxing the dying child with some novel playthings? Whenever spring returns to the earth, I often think of the girl in Hamlet who wears a circle of flowers and sings and sinks into the water. This is really a huge tragedy, more painful than Hamlet's fate, which makes people laugh and cry, so they have to wander vaguely on the road and spend their lives covered with blood and flowers in the mysterious air. Flowers bloom every spring next to the grave, and the universe is always so binary. The two are intertwined to form this messy and inferior world. In fact, not only the arrangement of nature is so upside down, but also people. There are some white souls in the despicable and evil crowd, but the immortal great man's golden tongue has fallen into the white jade. There are hypocrites in the world. Although we have seen virtue with our own eyes, we dare not believe it rashly. And extremely boring dirty seeds, sometimes generous blockbuster, willing to sacrifice themselves. Schiller said, "Only mistakes are alive, and truth has to be counted as dead." It can be seen that even the abstract realm will not have a satisfactory thing. Probably for this reason, "only human life can be mourned."
I am a person who always smiles. Although my mood is sad most of the time, my smile is not a bitter smile when I am bored. If life makes us feel helpless, then the world is not worth laughing at. My smile is not the sneer of a sophisticated old man. Although I have tasted a lot of busy and disturbing joys and sorrows, and I have seen a little sneaky tricks, I always don't take these dirty tricks seriously and think that they don't deserve to be regarded as worldly objects. Therefore, no matter how hard I try, I always disdain to sneer at them. My smile is no sadder than my grimace after my heart died. What I feel most painful now is that my heart is too active. Somehow, no matter where I go, I always feel sad and sad, and there is a scene of heartbreak and sad death. How can I laugh? My bitter mood is not the kind of slightly poetic sentimental sentiment that young people often have. It is the foam flower splashed after the cup of life is filled, and it is the supreme happiness. The reason why Sakyamuni Buddha is so artless is that he has the merciful realm of cool breeze and bright moon. How can you feel so carefree when you are trapped in a fan park? My bitter mood is not like Tennyson said, "The most painful thing in the world is to recall happy days." The poet himself said, "It is better not to be loved than to be loved." I have never heard of birds and flowers. My life is like an empty desert without oasis and a tropical land without palm trees. It is simply an empty house covered with cobwebs, and there is no orchestral sound. My drunkenness is not like the "black spot" deliberately posted on the face of a modern lady. My friends can't forgive me for laughing and saying a lot of sad words, thinking that these sour words are nothing more than embellishing the scenery and adding charm to life. Intimate friends are never easy to know. Actually, we don't have to be so demanding. Who dares to really understand themselves? Otherwise, the Greeks wouldn't have to carve the phrase "know yourself" in the temple. However, I have never walked the colorful rose road. I only see dead trees and fallen leaves; A Bai Sensen's head at the carnival can certainly make the ancient Persians more intoxicated with life, and dancing with a girl like a flower can certainly make Satan shake his head and laugh in the moonlight of the barren hills, but the Thorn Ridge, 800 miles away, is not a pleasant trip. The plum blossom is upside down, and the snow is clear. Of course, it's a good place, but only the wind blowing on the cliffs of Niu Shan once a year makes people want to cry. Although these words are exaggerated, from a narrow perspective, they can also reflect my mood beyond joy.
There is such a spring in this world every year, and the crying has been echoing; In this season of sky blue and grass green, poisonous snakes also put on a set of spring clothes to sleep with people, and the foul smell trapped under the ice also spread to the couple with the green waves of spring water. I'm afraid these contradictions are the essence of the universe that Tessa has been pursuing for thousands of years! I may have got a gift from God. I live in this dark cloud with lightning in the smile vortex, and in the sad universe with rosy clouds and rainy days in the morning. I can say that I have no regrets about the harmony between man and nature, so why bother to look for that rootless explanation. "Full of spring breeze", that's all.
Selected from "New Moon", Volume 4, No.4, 1932, 1 65438+1October,1,by Qiu Xin.
spring rain
Liang Yuchun
Liang Yuchun (1906 ~ 1932), a native of Minhou, Fujian, is a brilliant prose writer in the history of modern literature in China. He is the author of Prose Collection, Spring Old Collection and Tears and Laughter.
It is the happiest thing in the world that a whole day of spring rain is followed by a whole day of chun yin. I have always hated sunny days, especially sunny spring; On this miserable earth, such a happy atmosphere suddenly came, just like the strange smiling face taken out by the bored host when entertaining strangers, which completely showed the idiotic elements in the universe. In the so-called big spring, people go to Park Street or places of interest to parade through the city, grinning like orangutans. Really get carried away, like four elephants. However, even the most complacent rich people feel depressed on cloudy days or when it rains cats and dogs, so they smell a bit like some people. Unlike when the weather is fine, he watched the sun stride, which was quite amazing, and I got what I wanted. As for those who know sadness in the world, dark days are their only days of our lives. The sky wept for them, and the dark clouds frowned for them. They feel the air of sympathy all around them, just like a fallen woman lying in her mother's arms, and seeing a tear from her loving mother splash on her own tears really moistens her withered heart. Sitting in my room silently, I think of my best friend who has been gone for ten years, all kinds of ups and downs in my life, all the hardships I have experienced, listening to the sadness dripping from the eaves outside the window, watching the waves surge like endless rain clouds, and all the thorns have turned into clean Bai Lianhua, just like the miracle shown after the medieval saints were killed. "This is the hardest time for an old friend to come over." The gloomy weather makes us feel the warmth and loveliness of the world. When we pour a cup of hot tea for a friend who came from the bitter rain, we are putting down the butcher's knife and becoming a Buddha. "The wind and rain are like rain, and the chickens crow." Only by rolling out of sorrow can human beings be freed, and only through painstaking efforts can they have this bright steel knife around their waist. "Today, they look like kings. Who is unfair?" "Rain is coming, and the rain is coming." It can well symbolize the spirit of standing on the earth, tasting all the bitterness and looking forward to the future catastrophe. It's like a homesick traveler patting the railing, seeing the cattle and sheep outside Guo, thinking of the countryside in his hometown, and thinking of the bamboo-horse friendship in Su Cao's new grave. In his tears, he seemed vaguely aware that the old man was stumbling, or only saw the shadow of a few crutches leaning against the broken wall. I'm afraid the so-called life skills lie in how to become such a popular recruiter. Whether it's rain or practice in Chengjiang, I always seem to miss a flower-like hometown, which can be said to be the crystallization of my life ideal, the poetic sustenance in my heart, and the last barrier for me to preserve my sanity; But at the same time, we can also recognize the mountains and rivers in front of us and stabilize our steps. No matter how cruel the people in this strange place are, no matter how unaccustomed the water and soil in this foreign country are, we can stand as thin and abrupt as an old tree in the wind. Can endure, but not numb, can be affectionate, but not sentimental, like the spring rain in front of the building, quietly falling, covering the dazzling sunshine, but nourishing the flowers. Swallows in front of the eaves are hiding in their nests, whispering to the drizzle like dreams, which is a bit like telling me news.
But the spring rain is sometimes fierce, pouring down from the mountain like lightning. It is colorful, and they are all thrown into the water. This seems to be a disappointment, perhaps a hug. I have been impatient all my life, and my bosom friends often try to convince me anxiously. However, in a dark room, I am confident that I am by no means a person who pursues success. However, I am often tired of overworked students who annoy me. The so-called impatience is nothing more than a tired response. Sometimes I am extremely patient, just like a glass tile in a ruined temple. Every time he is hit by wind and rain, frost and the sun, he always looks at the empty blue sky like that. It seems that I can sit down in front of the monument without saying a word and slowly meditate on the significance of this monument. I'm just an old monk with a broken futon. I want to finish things quickly, so that I can go out and enjoy myself in the purple bamboo forest and stand in the busy field and enjoy the white clouds in the sky. These two moods are not contradictory. Although I haven't jumped out of the sea of people, I will never jump out of the sea of people, but I know a little about the meaning of boxing, probably swinging between anxiety and burnout, always focusing on helpless days. Therefore, although I love the rain in Mao Mao, I also love the torrential rain. One after another, it washes away the sunshine and fog, reminding us that maybe Japan and the United States will never be calm, and maybe there will always be a rainstorm, which will float all traces of human joys and sorrows into the sea. The whitewater turned over and I couldn't see anything. Anxiety and burnout have been enlightened here, and the whole world is like cups and plates on the kitchen shelf after guests leave. When a housewife's creator looks at it, she will probably smile and feel that the day's work is finally over. At least I often imagine this land that has been restored to its original appearance.
But the most wonderful realm is probably the cliche in the letter, the so-called "lingering spring rain." It has been raining for more than ten days, and it seems that it will never shine again, but it is possible to keep the sun shining. Sometimes the sky is blue and the rain slowly weakens. Suddenly, I feel sad again. That elusive and extremely embarrassing expression can really be a symbol of this charade-like life. I remember more than ten years ago, when the spring rain continued, I often cut the paper into the shape of a monk and stuck it upside down next to the water tank, which meant to tell God not to rain again. Although I see the new blisters at the foot of the rain in the yard, especially when I hurried through the eaves and splashed a few drops of rain on my neck, I always feel infinite joy. But at that time, I realized the interest of spring rain unconsciously, and I didn't concentrate on looking for it. When I know how to appreciate the quiet rain, I have always been a guest in this dry place. I just went back to see a boring shower in summer and had a rain addiction. As a result, the happiness of "listening to the spring rain in a small building all night" was missed face to face and slipped away from the fingertips. In my prime, there were not many good dreams. Today, the colorful clouds have dispersed, and life is irrelevant. If I get caught in the fog, my disappointment with the spring rain will be a little short, but it seems that this can represent my whole sad mood. But I always like to meditate on the spring rain, perhaps because I care and caress my sadness; I often change Tao's poems and say to myself, "I don't care enough about clothes. I hope I hate them." I will like the lingering spring rain, probably because I have this mood.
From New Moon, Volume 4, No.5 1932, 165438+ 10/.