An inventory of Li He’s unpopular and stunning ghost poems

An inventory of Li He’s unpopular and stunning ghost poems

I don’t know how high the blue sky is and how thick the yellow earth is, but I only see the cold moon and warm sun frying people’s lives.

—Li He's "Bitter Days Are Short"

Interpretation

I don't know how high the sky is and how thick the earth is. I only see the change of cold and heat, the movement of the sun and the moon, wasting away people's life.

The water of the Blue River hates strangers, and I hate the stream after a thousand years of death

—Li He·"Song of the Old Man Picking Jade"

Interpretation

< p>The deep and dangerous blue stream swallowed many jade miners alive. The unjust soul buried in the water still resents Lanxi even after a thousand years.

The ghosts in autumn graves sing Bao family poems

Hate the blood for thousands of years and the earth is green

—Li He's "Autumn Coming"

Interpretation< /p>

This thought makes me feel sad tonight. The raindrops are cold, as if the soul of an ancient poet is coming to comfort me. On the cemetery on an autumn night, the poetry ghosts recited Bao's poems, and their resentment turned into jasper in the soil, which will last for thousands of years. Bao is Bao Zhao, a writer from the Song Dynasty in the Southern Dynasties. He once wrote a series of poems called "The Journey Is Difficult" to express his feelings of not being able to appreciate his talents.

The orchid dew is like crying eyes.

There is nothing to unite, and fireworks cannot be cut.

Grass is like grass, and pines are like canopy. The wind is a garment and the water is a flaw. Oil-walled car, treat each other in the evening. Cold green candle, labor of glory.

Under the Xiling Mountains, the wind blows and rains.

—Li He's "Su Xiaoxiao's Tomb"

Interpretation

The dewdrops condensed on the orchids in the cemetery are like her sad tearful eyes. There are no more things to weave concentric knots, and the flowers on the cemetery are even more difficult to prune. The fragrant grass is like her mat, and the pine trees are like the hood of her car. The breeze is her clothes, and the jasper is her jade pendant. The oil-walled car he rode in before his death was waiting for him in the evening. The cold and green phosphorus fire follows diligently and shines brightly. She left, and under the Xiling, there was only wind and rain blowing.