Xu Wei's song "Life is not just a short road" is like a No.2 bus parked on the eighth floor, coming slowly around the circle of friends, one stop at a time, picking up passengers. When people reach middle age, they think of their mother's words many years ago: "Life is not only immediate, but also poetry and distant fields. You came into this world with your bare hands, desperate to find Na Pianhai. " Then, he wrote a song and gave a bowl of poetry and chicken soup to young people far away.
This is the high distance in Xu Wei's poems-two middle-aged men screamed at the top of their lungs, revealing a weak spirit.
Go out for a long trip at the age of eighteen;
Twenty-eight years old, no future;
38-year-old chicken feathers;
Forty-eight-year-old Gao and Xu Wei sang Poetry and the Distance.
-When did the poem and the distance draw an equal sign?
With what?
Poetry is not a reason to escape, it is a process of escape, and it is also a way of life before escape and after finding a home.
Poetry that can't pass is more of a spark that touches the soul.
Here, I won't discuss whether you are better or worse than the distance. A person who loves far away will lead a hard life. The reality of life is always mixed with faint youth flowing in the distance.
I want to say that the greatness of poetry is more obvious in the process of survival.
Lei Pingyang has a poem "Expressway", which describes the yearning of contemporary people for the Peach Blossom Garden. He wants to find a place to build a house. There are mountains, water and cultivated land, but there must be expressways. Reading books, growing vegetables, listening to birds and watching cars on the expressway;
I don't want to go anywhere.
I just want to live there and read some books.
The Book of Songs, The Analects of Confucius and Liaozhai; Grow some vegetables
Pumpkins, cabbages and pods; Listen to some birds chirping
Turtledove, sparrow, thrush ...
If you really have nothing to do.
Just let me sit under the eaves and listen to the sound of water quietly.
Look at the speeding cars on the road.
Repeat for me the pain of running at high speed all my life.
This kind of indulgence in the Peach Blossom Garden draws a beautiful image. Tao Yuanming planted beans at the foot of Nanshan, and began the life of Lao Lei. He reads books, grows vegetables and listens to birds, but he can't see the highway, so he can't use this three-dimensional way. He will only grope over and over again. Tao Yuanming's distance is in his heart, and Lei Pingyang's distance is on the highway.
Poetry and you, I thought of two people.
2
Not only getting along, but also distance is not an unreachable utopia. Maximum is the maximum distance.
Two orioles sing green willows, and a row of egrets go up to the sky-the life of a spiritual soul; The window contains autumn snow in Xiling, at the gate of Wu Dong Wan Li boating-if you are a member of a distant place, you will live in a humble room and wander in the Jianghu.
Master Gu Sui said that this poem is "really noble and great", the sentence "window contains" is a noble taste, and the sentence "door berth" is a great power.
This is Du Fu.
The greatest is the greatest distance, and Du Fu is the only one in ancient and modern times.
Only when Du Fu arrived did China's poems really have modernity, which closely combined heaven and earth with individuals. It can also be said that Du Fu was the first professional poet, and later poets could find their place in him. When I was reading Du Fu, I never felt that there was a space-time distance between me and him. He is by my side, and his soul hangs over the airspace of poetry.
Du Fu spent most of his life "muddling along" (quote here), floating between heaven and earth like Sha Ou. It is he who wrote you so brilliantly that the poem Two Orioles is the first quatrain in ancient and modern times, and there is no one.
The banks of the Yellow River were recovered by the imperial army-where are my wife and son? There is not a trace of sadness on their faces. However, I packed my books and poems crazily. His hometown is far away-Baishou must drink and sing. On a green spring day, that's the beginning of my return home. Although he can't run as fast as Li Bai in Jiangling in a day, he is also fast. He will soon "come back from this mountain, pass another mountain, come up from the south, and then go north-to my own town!" . This is a way home. Du Fu walked all his life and finally crossed the Wuxia Gorge in Baxia, but did not reach Xiangyang, not to mention his hometown Luoyang.
He has been wandering in the distance of his heart, and he has been sinking in the years. 59-year-old, wandering on the boat in Xiangjiang River all autumn and winter. Lying on the boat, he wrote the last long poem in his life. In this poem, he seemed to hear the drums in the distance, and the horn of battle washed away the last soul of the old man-the blood was still flowing, and the sound of the army was moved to this day.
A few days later, Du Fu died.
Legend has it that he suffered from a flood and went hungry for days on end. A friend gave him white wine beef, and he drank it and died. "Du Fu is dead"-this hypothesis is as imaginative as Li Bai's drunken death in the water eight years ago.
Unfortunately, this is not the case. Du Fu really died on the boat, but he died of illness.
Li Bai died on the way back from exile, and "exploring the moon in water" conforms to the romantic imagination of later generations. After all, he was so handsome that he was once portrayed as three people.
Pessoa said, my heart is slightly bigger than the whole universe. A word "omitted" outlines the calcium carbide spark between the heart and the universe. Du Fu's heart is with the universe.
three
Few people can compare with him in terms of time.
Few people can compare with him in longing for the distance.
Looking for poetry and distance in your life, few people can compare with him.
He is Pu Songling.
1660, Pu Songling, a 20-year-old Zichuan youth, came to Jinan, the provincial capital. Before that, he was the first in the city in junior high school and senior high school entrance examination. It seems that it is a piece of cake to pass the key line of the college entrance examination. More importantly, he was also favored by Shi, director of the provincial education department: "The young man is very good and has a bright future!"
As we all know, Pu Songling failed in the college entrance examination. From then on, he began to repeat classes year after year, becoming the most famous repeat student in the history of China. It was not until 17 1 1 year that the elderly aged 7 1 year entered the examination room for the last time. This time, it is not a formal college entrance examination, but Pei Wei. He is a junior college student, majoring in excavator repair technology. He only issued a diploma, not a degree certificate.
In the college entrance examination in Jinan, Pu Songling could not afford to stay in a high-end hotel because of lack of money, so he had to rent a house by Daming Lake. Cooking with a pool of lake water every morning, the wind blows, making my face smoky and smelling of porridge. Write a poem: "On the bank of Daming Lake, there is a haze, and three rooms are rented to writers. Millet is used for cooking in rice porridge, and garden vegetables are full of yellow flowers. Fortunately, there is no ditch to turn, and I dare to ask for praise. Half a pot of wine is drunk, although the green curtain has not been credited recently. "
He thought of his compatriot Wang Yuyang, also in this water area. 10 years ago, 24-year-old Wang Yuyang organized an autumn willow poetry club here, and four autumn willow poems were presented to the scene and won the national championship. They published, won prizes, joined the writers' association and won all the way. With this counterattack, Wang Yuyang became synonymous with young genius, and his reputation surpassed that of Han Han.
Pu Songling, however, not only failed in the college entrance examination, but also wrote poems for submission, without a rejection letter.
All his life, he wondered when I could die like a 24-year-old.
In the smog of Daming Lake, the figure of the loser Pu Songling looks lonely. It's good to talk about life in summer. Unfortunately, none of the beautiful women who later entered his novels to seduce scholars appeared in reality. He only has an ugly wife, Liu, who has loved him all his life, looked forward to it all his life and worked hard all his life.
And he himself yearned for the distance all his life, but stopped at the college entrance examination, wandering in the mountains and rivers of his hometown Zichuan all his life.
Only one year, when I was 3 1 year old, I was invited by my good friend Sun Hui, the county magistrate of Baoying County, Jiangsu Province, and worked as the director of the county office for one year in Baoying. His mistress entered his world, but nothing happened between them. Gu died of depression in his thirties. Later, Pu Songling wrote countless ghost fox fairies, and there should be the shadow of this woman.
On the moon, Nie came to Ning's bedside and said softly, "I don't sleep on a moonlit night. I hope I can cure my swallow. " Ning Cai Chen best decission to her, indifferent to beauty-unfortunately, without Xia Qing.
In reality, if you are still growing up, he joined the county writers association and wrote poems with a group of literary friends. Poetry can only be published in the county's own journals. He has been a private school teacher for decades.
It's dozens of miles from Bi's home to his new home, which outlines his lonely life.
One day, Wang Yuyang, who had worked as a public security minister and literary and art leader, returned to his hometown and came to Zichuan County next door to meet with literary and art circles in this county. Pu Songling came running with a stack of poems-the little author met the great writer, and I felt like flying. Bi, chairman of the County Writers Association, said: "This is Comrade Pu Songling, a private teacher. He has graduated from high school for many years and is still trying to prepare for the exam. "
Wang Yuyang took Pu Songling's poems, thinking that the level of grassroots writers was certainly not much better. After reading the letter, Mr Yu Yang was very satisfied with his understanding and smoothed his beard. He wants to say that you'd better teach it well. Poetry is really not your thing, but what he blurted out was, "Do you write anything else?"
Pu Songling muttered, "Write some ... novels."
In that era when poetry dominated the Jianghu, writing novels was unpopular. Comrade Xiao Sheng Jr. of Lanling wrote novels without leaving his name, but Cao Xueqin left his name, which makes people puzzled: Is this Cao Xueqin selling vegetables in xishan village? Unlike now, the fame of novelists has overshadowed that of poets, and novels have become the core of literature.
Wang Yuyang could not restrain his curiosity and asked him to read it quickly. Pu Songling turned in some newly written articles with trepidation and stared at the boss's face. I saw that the boss was angry, called several times good, and repeatedly told Pu Songling to continue writing, which was awesome.
Is it true that rural teacher Pu Songling almost jumped out of his chest? Writing novels can also be awesome?
The following year, Wang Yuyang sent a poem to Pu Songling: "After listening to gossip, it rained like silk in the bean shed. I should be tired of talking and listening to ghosts singing in the autumn grave. "
In every subsequent edition of Strange Tales from a Lonely Studio, Pu Songling put this poem in the preface or postscript. With the support of celebrities, novels may sell more. Unfortunately, none of these novels were sold before his death.
The miserable life was accompanied by Pu Songling's life. So far, few people in the world know about Wang Yuyang, but few people don't know about Pu Songling. Numerous ghost fox fairies he fantasized about entered the diaosi's computers.
Pu Songling's novels are poems.
Retire home in old age, with children and grandchildren around their knees. At the age of 74, his wife Liu died of illness. On the fifth day of the first month of the second year, my father died, regardless of the cold, and went to the cemetery to pay homage. After he came back, he coughed, wheezed, his ribs ached and his diet was greatly reduced. On the Lantern Festival, he asked his son to pick up his fourth brother Pu, and the two brothers were reunited in bed for a few days. /kloc-On the morning of October 22nd, Pu passed away. On the same night, Pu Songling "sat in the window and died".
This small room can only accommodate one person. If you walk upright, you will touch the top of your head. He named it "Liaozhai", which is the most famous hut in the history of China literature.
He died in it.
four
The distance is too far, and the land under your feet is so barren.
Russian poet Mandelshtam wrote a short poem in exile:
You took my sea, my jump and the sky.
It can only make my heel struggle and support on the violent earth.
Where can I draw a clever calculation?
You can't take away the muttering in my mouth.
When it becomes a luxury, distance is just a line flowing in the sky, it doesn't matter, and there is a phrase "mumbling between lips and teeth." Here, your lips are you, and grunting is your distance in the thunder and lightning.
Du Fu wanders around the Jianghu, and what he does is to live. Pu Songling was at loggerheads in his hometown, welcoming the sunrise and seeing off the sunset glow. Their poems and novels all point to the distance and the land under their feet.
Hometown is a place we will always miss and escape from.
I can't go far, but in my life, I have completed the ritual of my life.
There is no "poem" with peace of mind, even in the Antarctic, it is inseparable.
Even if you are in Lijiang, Dali, you can't escape the bondage of fate. While taking oxygen, you linger in teahouses and restaurants, thinking about selfies and other photos in your circle of friends.
You can't be Du Fu or Pu Songling. In fact, few people want to be them, but their world is so rich. The distance is so far away that even Du Fu, who has been walking, has not grasped the tail of the distance. But they are still in this world, coming and going, drifting, dying one by one.
Their hearts are huge, and their souls are circulated in the form of poems.