At five o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was still hanging in the blue sky, and the air conditioner was blowing in the house, bored. I accidentally saw a yellowed book in the corner of the desk. Out of curiosity, I rescued it from the dark and dusty corner. When I saw the title of the book, I couldn't help but be startled. It turned out to be "The Collected Poems of Gu Cheng" that I bought a few years ago. When I flipped through the first page, my friend mentioned it. The sentence is already a little blurry.
Make a pot of tea, open the poetry collection, and quietly enter the world of Gu Cheng's poetry.
How I wish there was a doorway
In the morning, the sun shines on the grass
We stood
Holding on to our door leaf
The door is low, but the sun is bright
The grass is bearing its seeds
The wind is shaking its leaves
We Standing, not talking
It’s very beautiful
There is a door, no need to open it
It’s ours, it’s very beautiful
Morning , still wandering in the dark night
Let’s give him the six-stringed harp
We won’t leave
We need land
We need to never be destroyed The land of
We have to ride it
through life
The land is rough and sometimes narrow
However, it has a history
There is a share of the sky, a share of the moon
A share of dew and morning
We love the land
We stand
Digging the soil with wooden shoes
The door is also hot in the sun
We lean on each other gently, it is very beautiful
The grass behind the wall
It will never grow up again
It only touches the sunlight with its fingertips
This poem is called "In Front of the Door" and was written in August 1982 , the poet Gu Cheng will not introduce too much here. I first met Gu Cheng because I accidentally saw the sentence in his "A Generation" - The night gave me black eyes, but I used them to find light. At that time, I was wondering what kind of person he was and how he could write such beautiful poems. I was curious to understand this poet, so I got out of control.
In the poem "In Front of the Door", there is no accumulation of gorgeous words, nor does it follow the rhythm of the poem. When you read it carefully, you will feel an ethereal purity coming to you, enjoying the tranquility and tranquility of life. good. The most beautiful poetry comes from life, and life is our best teacher. It teaches us to read poetry, and it teaches us to understand what we mean. All beauty comes from the most ordinary life. Life is the yearning for facing the sea and the flowers blooming in spring; life is also the freedom and satisfaction of "the grass is bearing its seeds, the wind is shaking its leaves, we stand and don't talk, it is very beautiful".