Stone's creation has its theory and truth, but in my opinion, poetry theory and creation are not necessarily the same. Some people may talk about a set of theories, but the examination of their creative achievements is lacking. This so-called poet will eventually be swept away by the ruthless river and buried in the rotting quagmire of time.
I have read a lot of Shi's poems, and what impressed me the most was not The Jade Bird, The Taonv or The Shepherd, Why Don't You Go Home (the above poems were his own), but a short poem Epitaph, as follows:
epitaph
You are here, in such a beautiful spring.
I woke up from the cold winter.
Feel the warmth of stepping.
2000.5
This short poem shocked my soul, no less than a lyric poem with thousands of words. This reminds me of many poems I have read before, such as Dickinson's "I die for beauty, until I die":
I died for beauty and for the grave.
(449)
I died for beauty and for the grave.
I'm barely used to it.
A martyr who died for the truth
Became my immediate neighbor—
He asked me softly, "Why did you die?"
I replied, "for beauty."
He said, "I support truth, truth and beauty-
Is one, we are brothers "-
In this way, just like relatives meet at night-
We whispered on the other side of the room—
Until the moss grows to our lips—
Cover up our names—
Comparatively speaking, both poems adopt a peculiar perspective, observing life from the perspective of the deceased, thus gaining an unusual aesthetic feeling.
I again remind of Dai Wangshu's famous short poem "Xiao Hong's Tomb":
Xiaohong's tomb is occupied by the mouth.
After six hours of lonely journey,
Put a bunch of camellia on your head,
I waited,
The night is long,
You are lying and listening to Haitao's gossip.
This impromptu work was praised as a "great poem" by Cang Di, which revealed the great sorrow of human life and death. A bosom friend approached him, but he could only watch the fire from the other side. The living worship a bunch of flowers, but the dead don't know. Dai Wangshu's conclusion with the phrase "lying down and listening to Haitao's gossip" is nothing more than the poet's wishful speculation. However, it is this humble remark that improves the taste of the whole poem: the living will continue to wait in this dark and turbid world, expecting the early arrival of light in the middle of the long night; The dead are gone, alleviating the pain of life and lying leisurely listening to the whispers of the waves.
Looking back at Shi's Epitaph: "You are here in such a good spring", the first sentence is extraordinary, giving people a sense of surprise, thus setting a clear tone for the whole poem. In this beautiful spring in Tomb-Sweeping Day (of course, you don't need to stop in Tomb-Sweeping Day on this day), a relative and friend will come to visit him in the suburbs for a spring outing, and the deceased will certainly be surprised. The second sentence, "I woke up from the cold winter", describes that the deceased had been hibernating for a long time and the grave was deserted. He has mastered the boring life of seclusion. The ending sentence "I feel the warmth coming from stepping" responds to the first sentence, which constitutes the circular structure of the whole poem and also strengthens the sense of joy in the first sentence. It is worth noting that this sentence is a wonderful use of synaesthesia: "step by step" conveys a squeaky auditory feeling, while the word "warm" at the end conveys a tactile feeling. It is in this superb technique that the poet completed his own artistic communication with euphemistic affection.
The title of this poem is also noteworthy. It should be said that this is another great artistic imagination of the poet. As the name implies, the epitaph contains the name, birthplace, date of birth, time of death and other information of the deceased. But the poet named a poem that conveyed the feelings of the deceased to the living as "epitaph". Does this euphemistically express some kind of resentment of the deceased towards the living?
In the final analysis, the deceased knows, sleeps under the spring, and does not forget the living; We should be ashamed that we are fickle widows. ...
Written in my spare time, September 2005 13.