Modern Poems by He Qifang 1 Autumn
The morning dew falls,
The sound of logging jingled in the valley.
Put down the sickle full of fragrant rice,
Use a basket to put rich fruits and vegetables between bamboo fences.
Live in a farmhouse in autumn.
Drop a round net on the cold fog on the river,
Put away the shadow of cypress leaves like a herring.
The reed crown is covered with frost,
Shake the parked paddle gently.
The autumn sports meeting is held on fishing boats.
The grass is getting wider and wider in the cricket's cry.
The stream dried up and the stones became clearer.
Where is the flute on the cow's back?
The flute hole full of summer fragrance and heat?
Qiu Meng in the eyes of shepherdess.
He Qifang's Modern Poetry 2 Joy
Tell me, what color is happiness?
Like pigeon feathers? Parrot's red mouth?
What is the sound of joy? Like a flute?
Or from the pine sound of millet to running water?
Is it something to hold, such as a warm hand?
Visible, such as flashing loving eyes? .
Will it make your heart tremble slightly,
Tears quietly again, like sadness?
How did happiness come from? From where?
Flying in the dim shade like fireflies?
The fragrance comes from rose petals?
Was there a bell on his foot when he came?
Because of happiness, my heart is the eyes of the blind,
But is it cute, like my melancholy?
Three Gifts of He Qifang's Modern Poems
Your young voice makes me sad.
I envy it sleeping in the flowing green grass,
Like the stars in autumn falling into the lake,
More jealousy comes from your smooth lips.
Your red fruit exudes a ripe fragrance.
I wonder whose happy mouth will be bitten.
For a flower in my dream,
Or the corner of the dress is hopeless.
Hopeless love is gentle.
I suffer more tender nostalgia,
Ever since you turned your voice into a pearl,
Shocked my melancholy thoughts.
He Qifang's Modern Poetry 4: Don't Wash Red.
Lonely anvils are all over the cold pond,
The clarified ancient waves trembled like being knocked.
My careless arm wants to droop.
What can I get from this golden stone?
Traces of spring, shadows of laughter,
Stealing silently in loneliness.
Washing frequently in the sun and wind and rain,
Is powder dream different from shallow retreat?
I stood on my stone, and the cold Qiu Guang came.
Its feet are in cold water,
And practice first frost on the Banqiao.
My shadow makes me tremble.
He Qifang's Modern Poems: A Full Moon Night in May
The full moon dispelled the silver calm,
Roots soaked in grass are like cold water.
The water lily unfolds its virgin heart from the dream,
The tips of shy petals are red, as if they had been kissed.
Flower mosquitoes don't sleep in summer nights,
Its wings are like the feet of a wasp covered with nectar.
Steal our whispers and tell the reeds.
Come on, what's sad, what's shivering with cold,
Your heart, like the leaves of the forest, is trembling with the touch of moonlight.
Shake the pure pearl in your eyes, sad dew?
Your voice is as soft as an angel's snow-white arm
Touching every second, time becomes gold.
Do you think I am a cruel lover?
If my chest is as soft and lovely as blue waves,
Put your seaweed-flavored pillow on my heart.
It floated out of the fish's mouth like a bead,
A string of silver rings played a lullaby.
Charming dreams have stopped at your brow.
Your eyes are like orchids in bud,
There is a mysterious night musk deer.
Do you hear the golden stars in the forest?
It was the yellow ripe locust tree that left the liberated branches.
Do you feel the green shadow on your hair?
It is the breeze that slides down from the thick leaves.
The shadow of the exquisite railing has moved to our feet.
What answer do your silent lips expect?
Is it a silent kiss?
He Qifang's Modern Poetry 6 Dawn
There is fog in the valley. There is dew on the grass.
Dawn blooms like a flower.
The sound of workers knocking on stones
Is so touching my heart,
I said, the best symbol of labor is architecture.
We saw houses on the ground,
We can move in.
Oh, you stone cutters, tree cutters, wall builders and roof builders,
Your heart and I are so closely connected,
We are like brothers fighting for the same building.
I silently wrote this short song for you,
For everyone who wakes up and leaves the bed,
People started working together,
Dedicated to our soldiers who are called by the horn to do morning exercises.
Our students are called by the bell to teach themselves.
Our farmers were called to the fields by chickens.
He Qifang's Modern Poetry 7 Prophecy
This heartbeat day has finally come!
Ah, the sigh of your footsteps at night.
I can hear Ben whispering to the leaves of the forest and the night wind.
The graceful hoofbeat of elk galloping across the moss path!
Tell me, tell me with your bell,
Are you a young god in prophecy?
You must come from the warm south!
Tell me the moonlight there, the sunshine there!
Tell me how the spring breeze blows open the flowers.
How crazy the swallow is in love with Populus davidiana!
I will fall asleep in your dreamy singing,
I seem to remember that warmth, but I seem to forget it.
Please stop your tired running,
Come in, there's a tiger mattress. Sit down!
Let me burn the fallen leaves I pick up every autumn.
Listen to me sing my own song in a low voice!
That song will be as gloomy and high as fire,
Tell me about my fiery life.
Don't move forward! There is an endless forest ahead:
Ancient trees bear the marks of wild animals,
Twisted like a half-dead rattan python,
There is not a star in the thick leaves. .
You will be too timid to let go of the second step,
When you hear the first empty voice.
Do we have to go? Please wait for me to go with you!
My steps are familiar with every familiar path,
I can keep singing the songs I forgot,
I give it to you, I give you the warmth of your hand!
The night cut us off,
You can look me in the eye without blinking!
You didn't listen to my exciting song,
Your feet won't stop because of my trembling!
Like a quiet breeze blowing through this dusk,
Disappeared, disappeared your proud steps!
Ah, you finally lost your tongue as predicted,
Young God, can't you speak when you die?
The author introduces:
He Qifang, born in Wanzhou, Chongqing on February 5, 2002, is a modern poet, essayist and literary critic. 1935 graduated from philosophy department of Peking University. From 65438 to 0938, he taught at Lu Xun Art College in Yan 'an, joined the China * * * Production Party in the same year, and did a lot of pioneering work for revolutionary literature and art. In the same year, he published his works How Broad Life is and I Sing for Boys and Girls. [1-2] He Qifang used to be a member of the Federation of Chinese Literary and Art Circles, a director of the Chinese Writers Association and secretary of the Secretariat, and the director of the Institute of Literature of China Academy of Social Sciences. He was elected as a member of the First, Second and Third China People's Political Consultative Conference and a deputy to the Third National People's Congress.
1977 died in Beijing on July 24th at the age of 65.
Character evaluation:
Comrade He Qifang has been pursuing and exploring in art and has made his own independent achievements in theory.
Rigorous scholarship and hard work. He studied the formal characteristics of China's classical poems, folk songs and new poems, put forward the idea of establishing modern metrical poems according to the objective laws of modern Chinese, and made new explorations on the forms of poems in his own creative practice. He put forward many original opinions on the study of China's classical literature, which promoted the development of China's classical literature research. He said more than once that doing a good job in the study of classical literature, especially summing up those problems with regularity, will not only contribute to the development of socialist literature, but also enrich China's Marxist literary theory.
He Qifang's life has experienced many twists and turns, from a crescent poet to a Marxist literary theorist, from a scholar to a leading figure in new China literature research. He made outstanding contributions to the study of new literature in China and new China.
He Qifang's Modern Poetry 8 Autumn Day [1]
Call me sick, and I won't refuse.
It is a deep-rooted acacia, a sign of love.
But whose skirt horn is gorgeous,
My gloomy dreams haunt me day and night?
Whose black eyes are like a shepherd's flute?
Call for tame sheep, my poor heart?
No, I'm dreaming, remembering and thinking about autumn!
How high and round the clear sky is in September!
How softly my soul will fly,
Through the air of a thousand years, like my sighing eyes!
All the trees in the south fall like palm leaves,
All the way through the silent mountains,
Or a bay with a transparent and sad stream,
If there is a gradual relaxation, if there is a deeper plan ...
After spring and summer, I am languishing in my heart.
Thinking in a daze, silent and not crying!
June 23(rd)
(The original title is Seasonal Diseases. Original load 1 93265438+1 October1Modern Volume1No.6)
footstep
Your footsteps often whisper in my memory,
Step on a sweet sadness in my thoughtful heart.
Like an empty pavilion with a harp,
I've lost my kind fingers for a long time,
The evening breeze has passed,
The strings are still trembling with the sounds of the past;
Like the fallen leaves of poplars floating in the silent wilderness,
Sighs passed to each other are still like rustling among trees.
Oh, it was an autumn night in Jiangnan!
Late autumn is dreaming,
Clear, crisp and thin,
If you can't beat your footsteps!
How did you quietly help the wound dry,
How to run lightly,
Upstairs, Yi Deng watches the cold night.
Give me a piece of manuscript paper with childish joy,
Shout out your new words,
The first night, you know I write poetry!
1 May 9321day
(Original load 1 932 1 01October1Modern Volume1No.6)
dirge
How much freshness have I lost in the morning dew?
How many nights have the silence of the starry sky dripped among the trees in the shade?
Laughter between spring and summer? The joy of flowers and leaves?
The song of youth to be sung in 20 years?
I drank the bitter tears of unfortunate love,
Waiting day and night for familiar dreams to come to me,
No matter the call from outside, the grass spreads like grass green,
Knock on my closed door like a finger.
Now I mourn the lost years,
Mourn it, like an unopened flower dying on a green stripe.
Although love bears red fruit in pain,
I know it is the easiest to fall and the hardest to pick up.
June 25(th)
(Originally published on March 5 1933, Chengdu Social Daily Weekly Forum No.7)
last year
Yellow bergamot extends between fingers.
Emit an ancient and light fragrance;
Red begonia blooms in the corner of moss step stone.
Like autumn tears dripping quietly;
On the rockery with exquisite water in the fish tank,
Turn over the red on the back of Pu 'er grass;
There is a small round-backed chair in the small courtyard.
Used to hold my arm.
Lonely days are also easy to get from stone fences.
From the eaves of the house finches,
I can't smell a little laughter, a little sigh.
Shuang Ye, a small corridor open in the wind,
The dragon bell climbed the wooden ladder upstairs,
Echoing the high wall,
Remember and talk in detail:
I'm such a naughty boy,
Playing with childhood friends, I don't understand
In that lonely old house,
I am also a grass and a tree, growing quietly,
Quiet green, perhaps in loneliness.
I had two or three white flowers, too.
But there are no birds with cheerful wings.
July 2 1 day.
(Originally published in Chengdu Social Daily Weekly ForumNo. 1 1 on April 9, 0933)
rainy day
The climate in the north has also become southerly;
This year is the rainy season.
It's like climate change in my heart:
Without warmth, there is no light.
Who first saw my lonely tears?
Wipe it off for me with warm hands?
Stole the pride of my 19 years old,
And throw it away without care?
Oh, I wet your hand with tears,
Love is like a leaf,
Green shows the bud of patience in human neglect.
In the forgotten world, red petals open.
The red petals have shaken, and the ripe fragrance,
This is my yearning day and night,
Floating in this rainy summer,
Too much lingering, a little wet.
August eighteenth
(Originally published in the Sunday Forum of Chengdu Social Daily on March 8th 1933)
Luoshan
I've been decorating your sweater all summer,
Now it is folded gently, with bitterness.
The lapel has the lotus fragrance played by your paddle when you swim.
Sleeves are tears when you are happy, and your mouth is fat when you are sleepy.
There is the shadow of mallow under the moon.
It secretly reflected on your chest when you were sleeping.
Mei Mei, when the warm autumn sunshine shines into your room,
Won't you open your suitcase and check your old clothes?
I want to hear your voice again. And he said to me:
"The weather is getting warmer and warmer."
I will forget that the coming winter is ice and snow,
Never believe that your sweet voice is cheating.
September 15
(Originally published in West Lake Wen Yuan, Volume 1,No. 1, May 65438)
Song of dreams
Tell the overflowing Yuehua to pack up your trip,
The heart of the night undulates more softly for your steps,
Your nepotism is full of wind and clouds,
Hold your breath and listen to your bell.
Your hair is covered with golden stars,
Like a wisteria frame covered with bright flowers,
That light illuminates every sleeping soul in the world,
Every heart is open, looking forward to your soothing whisper.
Dream, blow the deep flute with your lips,
The fairy's voice will open the quiet orchid road,
This road is full of red roses,
The grass is dotted with broken and whispering beads.
My bare feet trembled with endless adventure,
Fear of staying and walking has lost its freshness along the way.
Such as careless arms hung with heavy surprises:
Can't embrace boundless tenderness and flowing joy.
The green leaves in the dense forest shed intoxicating fragrance,
But after drinking this hard liquor, I will be more sober.
Moss is flat, Chen Zhe is attractive and sleepy,
There are more exotic forests to attract people outside.
The long embankment of Baishi is straight and calm.
Look, I'm not surprised that my footsteps are getting closer.
What are you talking about? Soft waves sleep next to it,
Maybe my prince's kiss, the fairy's lacquered eyes?
I know the rainbow is the last thing to wait for,
The silver mirror you clarified shines into my heart.
I think your indifference has left my body,
Although you only embrace my thin shadow.
I feel the red stem seaweed touching my arm.
What is the charming fragrance flowing in your clean heart?
I really want to become a drop of water,
Buried in your boundless honey kiss.
September 17
(From Deliberate Collection, 1938, 10, Cultural Life Publishing House)
Flower ring [on a small grave]
The flowers in the valley smell the best.
No one remembers the brightest morning dew.
I say you are happy, Xiao Lingling,
A stream without shadow is the clearest.
You dream that the edge of the green vine enters your window,
The golden flower falls on the hair.
You are moved by the story told by the rain under the eaves,
You love lonely starlight.
Your tears are like pearls,
There is often nameless sadness.
You have beautiful days that make you sad,
You have a more beautiful death.
On the evening of September 19.
(Originally published in North China Daily Literary Weekly in April 1934)
love
The morning light blooms on pomegranate flowers with dewdrops.
The shadow of the sun at noon is a slow step.
Play between weeping willows and bodhi trees.
When the south wind blows from the water lily lake
Blow the night, master yuan.
More filled with stagnant fragrance.
Because Ivy is everywhere,
The dodder is wrapped around the treetops from the grass roots.
Love in the south is a deep sleep,
Its flapping wings when it wakes up also make people fall asleep.
Frost falcons flitted across the cloudless autumn sky.
Hunting and riding in the wilderness.
Sunset sets from the ancient city gate.
The wind and moonlight caressed the fallen tree.
Or a patient camel bell
Stay on the long road without aquatic plants,
A big white comet.
Like a cold tear flowing to the distant night.
Love in the north is awakened,
And there are light and hard steps.
Love is old, but not tired,
And it will be a whirlpool of smiles on the baby's face.
This is the golden crown of the legendary prince.
This is a girl's blue coat in the field.
You, you have love,
You cry for its cold!
Flames burning fallen leaves and broken branches,
Let's sit in the fire, in the explosion,
Wake up in the Woods, trembling slightly
Eavesdropping our whispers about love.
September 23(rd)
(Excerpted from Prophecy,1February 945, Cultural Life Publishing House)
Summer night
I was bathed in the breeze of locust trees in June,
Your sideburns are dripping with cool and smooth fragrance.
The circular shadow is our sky,
There is a star-like smile in your eyes.
Lotus quietly sleeps in the dream of green leaves,
Its fragrant smell is like the golden wings of fireflies.
Flying by the lake, flying on the blurred grass,
Gently cover the skirt and jump on your lap.
Your soft arms are like vines.
Put your arms around my neck and whisper to me in a sweet and mature voice.
You said you heard the tremor in my chest.
Like roots shaking the soil on a hot summer night?
Yes, a new wonderful tree grows in my heart.
Red flowers will bloom on my lips soon.
1 1 month 1 day
(Excerpted from Hanyuan Collection,1March, 936, Commercial Press)
bless
The blue night wandered among the flowers, like a piano,
The fragrance is the song it floats out.
My memory is flying,
A pair of red little wings are light and thin.
But not caught by the flowers.
The crescent moon is like a semicircular gold ring. There is light.
Enough to light the road.
Fly to the edge of your dream, it stops,
Watching your eyebrows droop and your smile float on your lips,
It moves slightly, just like the greed of my kiss.
When the rainbow dream breaks in your eyes at dawn,
Turn into bright tears,
It bears heavy fatigue and satisfaction.
Fly back to my heart.
My heart opened its eyes,
Give you my first blessing every day.
1 1 2nd of the month
(From Deliberate Collection, 1938, 10, Cultural Life Publishing House)
make a present of what one has been given as a gift
Your bare arms make me
Miss the sea in my hometown,
Bathing in your light, oily, dark complexion,
You have dark hair and dark eyes.
You open it like a flower,
Girl from the south, I feel sorry for you.
Worried about your pride, your youth,
Spend the years in exile for you.
Wandering in this cold zone,
You sad swallow,
Would you like to fly into my dream,
My dream is also a piece of yellow dust?
(Originally published in West Lake Wen Yuan 1 June, 933, Volume1,No.2)
Berlin
The sun shines on the big leaves of castor.
Qili beehive lives in the earth temple.
I am the Shadow Walker.
Came back in a big circle,
I know that time is static.
But on the grass, where is it?
Chasing crickets with short arms?
Where are the cheers of childhood playmates?
Climb straight into the blue sky of branches?
This huge childhood kingdom
There is foreign dust under my feet.
It's pathetic.
Pedestrians in the desert cherish a glass of water.
The boatman complained about the white waves outside the paddle.
I used to think I had a promised land,
Hide the darkest corner of memory.
Since then, as an adult, I feel lonely.
I prefer the vague road in my dream.
Autumn 1933
(Originally published in1933,65438+February, weekly literary number. 1)