There is no need to break the strings and lock the dust sound, the ancient west wind people have not stopped
At that time, I had just entered junior high school.
The Chinese teacher was born in the 1980s. She once said that she wanted to go to Xiamen.
I also saw on my father’s desk, a strange and faint handwriting, which wrote: “On your chest/I have become a singing iris. ”——Later, when I read Wuya in Shu Ting’s poems, I always thought about how happy and satisfied I would be if life had such a lasting poetic flavor. Until one day I heard someone say, "Shu Ting doesn't write poetry anymore." At that time, I just said that famous poets always take a short break from writing, and the same is true for Shu Ting. Her poems will never pass away - I never thought that one day it would be the same as "The Last". "Elegy" - a graduation trip, I didn't check the box under Xiamen, and finally didn't go.
In my heart, I know that maybe another elegy has already sounded, that song is dedicated to Shu Ting.
1 Open to Tumi
A long time ago, Jiang Yan lost a colored pen in his dream——
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He wrote down: Those who are in ecstasy can only say goodbye.
The fate of every given poet is almost unavoidable from the loss in his dream: in Emerson's wilderness, it is not just their lone shadows that cannot be seen through, but They are thousands of souls who think they are alone in mediocrity and loneliness - ideals that have been scattered by chaos, fragile bodies and burning lives that no longer have the ability to light up the night sky. There is no doubt that the poet's existence as a poet should be short rather than long, just like the prime of a star shortens according to the power law of increasing mass - when he writes an elegiac song and predicts a tragic farewell, it becomes a path to the future. The eternal road: Rilke once drafted an epitaph for himself, and then died dramatically because of the last image he left behind - Baudelaire wrote, "I broke my arm to embrace the white clouds - —" But he still wrote, holding up the incomparable Poe-like roses with his broken arms.
Shu Ting’s iris, after decades of galloping in the poetry world, the flowers have come to an end.
But this poet from Gulangyu, after two hundred lines of elegy, quit his music and nailed her rest firmly there. ——She did not come back, she stopped singing, locking the dream of the pilgrim who was excerpting "To the Oak" over and over in his notebook, so that the sound of the South China Sea could only be reproduced through unreal rotation. Someone said - "When there are no better poems for readers, I would rather stop singing. This is such a valuable attitude towards life and art!" But today, when I think about it, I still can't bear it, and I wrote my own elegy, How can it be called the eternal freeze? The greatest compassion people have for a poet is the compassion for his premature death, but this compassion is out of willingness; a poet's break with his colorful pen is compassion for his own loss, but he has no sympathy for the world. Rather than making us reminisce with reluctance: Tsvetaeva wrote in her letter to Pasternak - "Write poetry until it abandons you!"
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But she laid the groundwork for herself, and the flowers were in full bloom. Sleeping in endless embers.
2 True water has no fragrance
Guangling stops, it is Nie Zheng’s sword in the cold moon, passing through the vastness of life and death. Heartbroken.
Why stop writing?
Jaromil, the protagonist of Milan Kundera's "La vie est ailleurs", died when he was cut off from his spiritual doppelg?nger, Xavier, and thus gained Immortality that is half poetic: So, the literary young man who is half-informed said that there are only two endings for poets, either madness or death. Indeed, when the highest honor (although everything about it seems so questionable) is awarded to Haizi, who can only use his dream as a horse - to die early under the tracks -, when Gu Cheng's iconic trouser legs are stained with stains that cannot be washed. When Marina pulled the trigger and Baudelaire raised his arms and shouted on the road to the Tower of Doom, our poet was also following the path that has been applicable to the entire universe since ancient times. Path: T∝M-(ν-1), the poet's lifespan - here only refers to his life as a poet - is strictly limited by his wisdom and weight.
Walking toward the lonely land with inner peace is a beautiful ending.
However, for a poet whose weight is at a critical level, perhaps no matter what the reason is, it is impossible not to lament: Sanskrit Five The appearance is upright, elegant, clear, pure and full, and has been heard all over the world. If you get three or four of them, you will be called uncomprehensive. Even sages and great people are destined to have no chance of perfection. Perhaps, as a skylark that can no longer move the sky, it is no longer possible to fight against the deep wall; but extinguish the stars and candles, even the dim dreams will not exist, and we will be separated and go to the so-called love of life. , but it is a miss on the happiness of poetry and a bet on the future that is destined to be unwinnable.
She must have difficulties, or she may have exhausted her physical strength and all the imagination and emotion she could express. But when the elegy came out, she also gave up all the struggle and the perfection she pursued. Without the struggle of poetry, there would be no progress in poetry - she is the voice when everyone is silent, but she chooses to remain silent amidst the noise.
It is the final fight, but it is also a fight that cannot be done. In the so-called hundred flowers blooming, true water finally has no fragrance.
3 The sound of the ancient road
Why do you need to break the strings to lock the sound? The west wind of the ancient road is still there.
The poet is dead, but poetry and poetry still survive - living for themselves and the continuation of the poet!
I don’t know who, seeing Shu Ting stop, for the first time thought that this was the art of self-control. What is a self-controlled poet? ——A self-controlled poet, no matter how sophisticated his scholarship is, when he reaches the stage of Zhu Xi, it is completely based on the non-existence of Zi. Poetry is the victory of freedom. The existence of the fifth element must be for a cause that is a hundred times nobler than live a life. In such a cause, there are only the same kind of people: challengers with aggressive consciousness, passionate, seeing People with eternal light and poetry -; there is only one kind of preparer: a believer in poetry; there is only one kind of person who leaves: when all the self-struggle becomes ineffective, silence is the only, yet noble, way back:
This is doomed loneliness, the poet’s only stinginess and strict need to implement the rules.
So I saw the wasteland in the song "The Last Elegy". Where he couldn't bear to look at it, the poet stepped decisively into it. In that wilderness, there was no back of the kapok tree she once believed in, no light wishes she had tied to the branches, only spinning: Like all people who are unwilling to be mediocre and trample on poetry, she remembers her vows -
Not only do I love your majestic body,
I also love the position you insist on and the land under your feet.
But I also understand better why I gave up this position, and why I believe in the trembling of the eardrums and soul caused by muteness. That is not just an ordinary wisdom in life, because the poet is destined to be a poet's poem - including choosing his own death; it is the most extraordinary striving and the greatest continuation of the eternity of poetry, even if he cannot find the woman who once left his wife on Gulangyu Island. The traces of falling, her ribbons and wind chimes are still hung on the oak tree: the wind blows the bells, and what takes care of them in the dusk is the mind of the night and the quietness of poetry.
Perhaps Shu Ting will not come back.
The teacher later talked about Gulangyu Island. She said that Shu Ting no longer writes poems, and Gulangyu Island is no longer meaningful to me.
I should admit that I am arbitrary - injecting the poet's commonality into a poet's personality may be destined to be biased. However, this kind of independence is the source of all the true glory for Homer, Goethe, Rilke, Pasternak and even every glorious poet today; or, I am willing to stick to this persistence, That is to say, it is a continuation of the dream, because in today's world where idealists are scarce, and for every soul that is silent in order to shout for value, and is silent in order to experience the thunder, this is a kind of comforting respect. I have not actually opened Shu Ting's collection of essays "True Water Has No Fragrance", and I may never open it, but I seem to hear the clatter of horse hooves in her dream, sending her dream to the north and up the ocean current. , reaching the vastness of eternal life.
And remember this sentence: Poetry will live forever.
This song is dedicated to those who have dreams and those who have dreamed of poetry.