My friend writes poems, writing about the disappearing agricultural tools and words. Those agricultural tools are poetically presented in his poems, reminding people of the disappearing agricultural civilization.
He wrote ancient and beautiful Chinese characters, and each Chinese character wrote a poem. 、
He has never been to Jiangnan, because he yearns for the vast poetic Jiangnan, and he has written a series of poems.
He wrote tender love to this loving scholar in the tone of an ancient woman.
More than ten years ago, he published his own poems.
He loves local history. After work, his favorite thing is to search for traces of history, find some old people with stories to listen to them tell the local history, go from village to village, and go to the fields to find stone tablets eroded by years. Every time he finds an inscription, he must expand it, sort out the translated words and collect rubbings.
He devoted himself to the compilation of village history. After several years' efforts, he wrote and sorted out a lot of materials himself, and finally published the village history of his own village.
He loves classical culture, likes calligraphy and splashes ink in his spare time. He likes reading traditional Chinese characters and classical literature. He often searches for old books from Confucius' second-hand book network and buys them at a high price. The dream of red mansions he saw is a traditional vertical version.
He also opened an official WeChat account, not in the name of an individual, but in the name of a village. He usually sends some articles reflecting local culture, some of which are written by himself and some of which are collected materials. He never forwards it himself, nor does he deliberately operate it. He only serves as a window for local cultural exhibitions, attracting people who care about local culture as much as he does, not just his wallet.
In fact, he is not without life pressure, nor is he a man with money and leisure. The private enterprise where he worked has experienced ups and downs, and now it has stopped production. The boss is under investigation and the future is full of variables. He is still one of the employees who stayed. He has three children, and he has to take care of them and deal with family affairs when he gets home. The child threw his books everywhere, and the bookcase at home could not be put down for a long time.
He suggested that I write more meaningful things, such as family events. After the death of the older generation, some stories disappeared in the dust of history and could no longer be salvaged. He advised me not to be impetuous and not to follow the trend.
I always remember what he said, but I can't do it. Inner anxiety and anxiety make me unable to be as calm as he is, nor can I keep my heart calm as he is.
Pay tribute to my friend.