Being controlled!
Summer is already
Gradually flickering out
A delicate little ash tree
quivering on large coal-like clouds
Silent scenery!
The bush scratches the clear glass of the air with its sharp branches
Its lovely hardness.
There is only a slender silver-white rag,
The end of a strap
hangs stiffly on the bush——
So many smiles and hugs
tangled in the branches of the world.
In the distance, the knotted ancient mountains
are like heavy hands
stirring again and again
They hold the dusk The fire, the smoking farm
The complete silence of the valley
and its smell of moss.
The farmer came in from the wild
His limbs hung to the ground
The cracked hoe was heavy on his shoulders
The hoe handle was on Bleeding, iron is bleeding.
His tools, his limbs
Heavier with every step
As if he were trudging home from life itself.
Like sparks in the smoke from the chimney,
the night is rising with all its
twinkling stars.
The slowly striking bells
rise and fall, introducing the turquoise night
It is as if the soul has been still since the beginning of time
motionless, and something else -
The countryside, perhaps - strikes,
But not with death approaching
As if this winter night , the winter sky, the winter ore
It is this bell, and the earth is its bell tongue
The cast earth is heavy and swaying
The soul is its sound.
Memories of ringing sounds
Float, the brain responds, while winter hammers its anvil.
It binds the hanging door of the sky with thin iron bars
Fruit, wheat, light and straw pass through this heavenly door
A whole summer poured out
This winter night
Like thought itself
Sparkling
Silvery white and dark Silence
Seals the moon on the world
A raven flies through the frozen space
And the silence cools -
Bones , can you hear the silence? ——
Molecules collide and make a tinkling sound.
In what glass cabinet
can the light flicker on such a winter night?
A branch
Raising its dagger over the frost
The black sigh of the lowlands
Floating - a crow's The army
swayed above the mist.
Winter night.
Like a smaller night within it
A freight train
Arriving at the moor
Stars swirling in its smoke
Stunned through
unfathomable infinity.
Light
Like a little mouse
scurrying along the frosted roof of the car.
Winter is still there
Flowing over the town
But the yellow winter night light
On the blue frost
Run towards the city on shining rails.
In the city, of the frozen night
The light builds its factories
Making the stabbing arms of pain.
Street lamps are like soaked straw
Falling on the edge of the city
Farther away, in the corner
A coat rustles, Shaking
The earth sat like a hunchback
But it was no use
Winter set foot on him.
In a tree with rusty leaves
Leaning from the darkness
I measure winter nights
Like property The owner
measures what he owns.
(Translated by Dong Jiping)
Appreciation
Yu Ruofu’s short life was poor and lonely. Perhaps this allowed him to experience and understand the world more deeply and more accurately. To grasp the world that brought him pain. Pouring this profound and accurate grasp into poetry has created Yuzhov's unique poetic style.
The poem "Winter Night" clearly demonstrates Yuzhov's extremely accurate grasp of the external world and inner soul. The strange language appears to be quite simple after careful understanding, and the strange imagery appears to be quite simple after slowly savoring it. It also makes people marvel at the crystal clear behind the mysterious veil. These, at least, are the tributaries that form the source of his poetic charm.
Although the poet's immediate sentence "Be controlled!" makes people a little confused, they can still make people feel the impact of the language and the passion surging in the poet's heart. According to the following verses, it can be inferred that the poet may be saying that summer has been "regulated". The second stanza mainly outlines the image of bushes, and the wording is very unfamiliar. Summer is like a candle that "flickers" and goes out, the lively scenery becomes silent, and only the bushes exist alone. In the poet's eyes, their branches are like sharp blades, stabbing hard into the glass-clear sky. A lonely ribbon hung from the bush, which attracted the poet's special attention. Although this silver-white rag looks a little lonely, the bushes surrounded by it bring it many smiles and hugs. Perhaps, this can be seen as the true desire of the poet's lonely heart. He felt like a rag hanging on a bush, shaking in the wind, dreaming of someone giving him a smile and a hug. The overall feeling of this section is dull, cold, and desolate, but it is also full of the poet's extreme desire for care for others.
In the third stanza, the poet's sight moves into the distance, allowing us to see the rolling mountains. Yuzhov's metaphor is very unique. The undulating mountains are like heavy hands rubbing back and forth. The selection of imagery is closely related to the poet's life. This big hand is a heavy hand, a working hand, connected to the laborers on the farm. The lights at dusk, the smoke in the farm, the silent valley, and the smell of moss are all intertwined in the mountains. This is the living environment of workers, and the poet expresses it concisely with the above-mentioned typical pictures.
If the third section focuses on the macro level, the fourth section focuses on the micro level. The poet carefully describes the scene of a farmer returning home after a long day's work. The limbs hanging to the ground, the cracked hoe, and the bloody hoe handle give readers a lot of room for imagination. The poet did not directly say how tired the farmer was, but the farmer's degree of tiredness was vividly expressed through his drooping limbs and damaged farm tools after a day's work. It can be said that "without a word, everything is romantic." The poet cries out for the farmer's fatigue, and his poems are filled with sorrow. Yuzhov has a deeper understanding of the farmers' plight: this heavy life is life itself, and after the arduous journey, you can return to your own home - your material and spiritual home. The poet asks us to think about the relationship between life itself and home: When can we stay away from the heavy life and freely return to our home? This is a problem that all living beings have to face. Yuzhov pondered similar issues in many of his poems, such as "The Weary Man" and "The poor are the most miserable people in the world".
In the following stanzas, the poet shows his feelings about winter nights from multiple angles, either directly or indirectly, writing about big scenes or small scenery, or specifically or generally. On a winter night, the twinkling stars are like sparks in the smoke emitted from the chimney, rising slowly with the sound of the bell; on a winter night, the sky is like a big bell, the earth is the tongue of the bell, and the heart is the sound; on a winter night, Sparkling like thoughts, breaking through the silent darkness; on a winter night, like a freight train, arriving at the swamp instead of the station; on a winter night, the stars hovered in the smoke, but they all staggered through the deep The unfathomable abyss is extinguished; in the winter night, there is still light rushing towards the city... The winter night that the poet feels is sometimes a silent darkness, sometimes a fleeting light, and there is a glimmer of hope in the heavy despair. The winter night that the poet feels is extremely lonely, but it also brings some comfort, such as the hug and smile of the bush. It can be said that winter nights entrust the poet's thoughts and feelings, which are mixed with despair and hope, pain and joy, and they are all the poet's ideological property. Perhaps that is why the poet says that he measures winter nights like a property owner measures what he owns. Winter nights and their reflections were the property of poor Yuzhov.
(Wang Wei)