A Conversation with a Tang Dynasty Poet To Li Shen
It was noon on the day of hoeing, and sweat was dripping from the soil. Who knows dishes on the menu, A Journey.
This is your poem. There are only two of your poems, but we have to keep learning them for generations.
Are you also a child of a farmer's family? I don't know if you are a child of a farmer's family, but I am, and I have experienced the scene you described.
Peasants are always a symbol of suffering. Should suffering belong to farmers? The sky is very broad and gloomy. Can we only bear it if we cannot resist?
Gold is in the fields of my hometown. When it's full. But I was thinking about elementary school textbooks, just like today's elementary school textbooks. Nowadays, farmers can welcome the harvest and harvest a lifetime of grain with a sickle. sunny. The smile was something you couldn’t see back then.
I listened to the constant sucking of time behind me again and again. Watching the blood all over the farmer's body flow from under his skin into the soil bit by bit. I clearly watched the farmers’ veins slowly protrude, and watched their plumpness gradually shrink. Until she leaves her last glance on the sleeping bed as light as a feather.
No matter how many poems you write, it is useless. One or two poems are enough for people to remember. Li Shen, you are a poet. When you lift the peasants up like gods, I see that you are an indispensable feather on the wings of the entire Tang Dynasty.
To Cui Hao
People who should leave have left, and people who shouldn’t have left have also left. After they leave, nothing can stay. Just like those yellow cranes, they are far less rich and delicate than human emotions, so they never come back. Whether it's a thousand years or ten thousand years, all that can be left is people's imagination.
Where is the hometown? The original people are all looking for your own hometown. Everyone knows that the place where they were born will also be their best destination.
I have been sitting like this since I woke up in the morning, wandering in the poems. I don’t know how many people I can see. How many people's hearts can I read? I just let my thoughts go and quietly thought about what you were thinking at that time.
I was about to close my eyes when I suddenly heard a distant whistle, a sound that sounded like a bird's call, so loud. I looked up at the sky, how I longed to see a big bird with wide wings and a long neck. I hope it is the bird people call the crane. But that's just my imagination. There are fewer and fewer of them now. The only ones that can be seen occasionally are in their protected areas!
I finally understood why my husband was worried while standing on the vast river.
Your gaze is so far away and so penetrating.