A poem by Yu Xiuhua.

Recently, Yu Xiuhua, a peasant woman in Hengdian Village, Shipai Town, Zhongxiang, Hubei Province, once again let poetry enter the public space. Yu Xiuhua, 38, was born with cerebral palsy due to lack of oxygen in his brain, and then worked as a farmer at home. /kloc-started to write poetry in 0/998, and was successfully published in Poetry magazine. In the past two weeks, her poems seem to have been born in the WeChat circle of friends overnight, and a poem "Crossing Half of China to Sleep with You" has been talked about by many people. Although her works and environment have gained unprecedented exposure, the literary attainments of her poems have caused controversy in the field of poetry.

Attachment: Yu Xiuhua's poems (selected from People's Daily official micro)

Halfway across China to sleep with you.

In fact, it is similar to sleeping with you and being slept by you, but it is

The force of collision between two objects is nothing more than the flower driven by this force.

It is nothing more than the imaginary spring of this flower, which makes us mistakenly think that life has been reopened.

In most parts of China, everything is happening: volcanoes erupt and rivers dry up.

Some neglected political prisoners and refugees

Elk and red-crowned crane at gunpoint all the way.

I slept with you through bullets.

I pushed countless nights to sleep with you at dawn.

I am countless, I met one, I sleep with you.

Of course, I will also be led astray by some butterflies.

Think of some praise as spring

Take a village similar to Hengdian as my hometown.

they

Are all necessary reasons for me to sleep with you.

I love you

Baba lives, draws water, cooks and takes medicine on time every day.

Put yourself in when the sun is clear, like putting a piece of dried tangerine peel.

Drink tea in turn: chrysanthemum, jasmine, rose and lemon.

These beautiful things seem to take me on the road of spring.

So I kept the snow in my heart again and again.

They are too white, too close to spring.

Read your poems in a clean yard. This kind of human thing

Trance is like a sparrow flying suddenly.

And time is bright. I'm not fit for grief.

If I send you a book, I won't send you poetry.

I will give you a book about plants and crops.

Tell you the difference between rice and barnyard grass

I tell you, barnyard grass is terrible.

spring