Speaking of which, I am ashamed of being a liberal arts student. I can't judge poetry, I can only judge by intuition. After reading Yu Xiuhua's poems, there is a kind of dripping wet that hits the soul and tears the soul:
Actually, sleeping with you is similar to sleeping with you. It's nothing more than the force of collision between two bodies, nothing more than the flower pushed away by this force/nothing more than the spring imagined by this flower, which makes us mistakenly think that life has been reopened/half of China, and everything is happening: volcanoes are erupting, rivers are drying up .../I sleep with you in the rain of bullets/I press countless nights into the dawn to sleep with you. ...
There is no hypocrisy, no manners, no gorgeous language embellishment like ordinary poems-I like her, which may also be related to my own personality preferences, but I don't like poems embellished for language-reading it will even make my heart tremble, and a * * * voice is even more powerful than some so-called famous poems-that is, my level can't be read and appreciated-yes, it is power.
I took the risk of sharing that poem with a circle of friends-this topic is too impactful. Of course, not surprisingly, a friend asked me soon, why do you want to share this thing? What's wrong with you? What the hell is this?
Out of curiosity, I searched Yu Xiuhua on the Internet. However, it turned out to be just a peasant woman, who suffered from cerebral palsy due to miscarriage and lack of oxygen at birth, and was inconvenient to move. Only high school education.
Later, I bought two of her poems "Moonlight in the Left Hand" and "We loved and forgot" from the Internet. As soon as I bought it, I couldn't wait to open it. After watching one song, I want to watch the next one. It seems that every capital can give people a fresh feeling.
"Live like a clam, fetch water for cooking every day, take medicine on time/put yourself in it when the sun is fine, like putting a piece of dried tangerine peel" "So I hold down the snow inside again and again/they are too white and too close to spring" "I tell you a barnyard grass is scary/spring"
"The wind blew her skirt high, like a flower/it would fall at any moment/suddenly, she raised her hand and waved/kept waving to the sky. Until a tree blocked her. "
"How to rush out the lightning in my body, let the night fall/let all the paths embrace my way home and be illuminated by the moonlight/I must have a noise to face you/face myself with the same silence" ...
I don't have the ability to evaluate Yu Xiuhua's poems. I can only borrow the words of Liu Nian, editor of Poetry magazine: "She has no high walls, no bronze locks and dogs, and even no fence. You can easily walk in." "Her poems, in the poems of China poetesss, are as striking as putting murderers in a group of beautiful women-others are dressed neatly, painted with powder, sprayed with perfume, and written in black and white.
Although Yu Xiuhua denied his inspiration, it had a strong influence on my life at that time. In front of Yu Xiuhua, as usual, I once again felt my own smallness. In the muddleheaded life, she can still make life bloom with fresh flowers. What reason do I have to complain and slack off? People can't crawl on the ground all their lives and look up at others. Even if flower of life is not as bright and beautiful as others, even a small flower in the corner should be as fragrant as possible. Only in this way can we live up to our own life and let our soul look directly at others.
Then what is there to say? Read a book! Study!