Zhu Keli, farmer, 1965, from Yinan, Shandong. He is a member of Chinese Writers Association and a contracted writer of Shandong Writers Association. Published poetry anthology "Far Autumn" and "Letters from Spring". In 2009, he won the 7th China Young Poets Award, the title of "Top Ten Peasant Poets in China" on 20 10, and the 2nd Taishan Literature and Art Award of Shandong Provincial Government on 2010. The masterpiece Far Autumn. Participated in the 23rd Youth Poetry Meeting of Poetry Publishing Society.
Chinese name: juchli.
Nationality: China.
Ethnic group: Han nationality
Place of birth: yinan county, Linyi, Shandong.
Date of birth: 1965
Occupation: poet
Masterpiece: Far Autumn
Works and honors
1993 is the early stage of Zuckley's poetry creation. Most of his works are rational reflections on natural scenery and close relatives' feelings. The topic is more like a propositional composition, such as: writing to Yihe, blue calico, reading others, mother in autumn sound, and writing to his wife. Entering the mature period after 2003, juchli's works mainly focus on homesickness and thinking about life; After 2008, juchli entered the harvest period, won the nomination award of China Star Poet in 2008, the 7th China Young Poet Award of Poetry Publishing House, and participated in the 23rd Youth Poetry Society of Poetry Publishing House.
He has published poems in Poetry Magazine, Selected Poems, Star, Yangtze Poetry Magazine, Green Wind, Flying, Literature Harbor, Times Literature, Shandong Literature, etc. Some of his poems were selected as People of the Year in China Poetry in 2004, 2005 and 2006.
resume
In the early 1980s, Zuckley, who graduated from high school, began to work as a carpenter in his spare time, making luggage case racks, chests of drawers, wardrobes and other furniture with tools such as planers, saws and Mo Dou.
From 65438 to 0985, Juchili contracted an orchard in partnership with villagers, and the idyllic living environment gradually created his dream of pursuing poetry creation.
From 65438 to 0995, juchli went to Furano City, Hokkaido, Japan on the recommendation of the government and worked as an agricultural trainee for half a year. After returning to the village, he built a plastic greenhouse and began to grow greenhouse vegetables by using the planting techniques he learned in Japan. Because of the pressure of life, I once gave up poetry writing.
In 2003, Juchili went to work in the reconstruction and expansion site of Xuzhou Power Plant in Jiangsu Province. Besides working as a carpenter on the construction site, he also moves bricks, builds walls and works as an electric welder. After work, Zuckley began to write poetry again.
In the second half of 2004, the editor of Poetry called juchli to inform him about the manuscript, which further strengthened his creative confidence. He refined his life experience into poetry, and his creative thinking became more and more mature. Since then, dozens of poems have been published in various journals of juchli every year.
In 2007, he participated in the 23rd Youth Poetry Meeting of Poetry Publishing Society.
2011/On February 9th, Zhu Keli's poetry collection Yuan Qiu won the second Taishan Literature and Art Award.
20 16 Attended the 10th National Congress of China Federation of Literary and Art Circles and the 9th National Congress of Chinese Writers Association.
works appreciation
Lost flowers
Those spring days in their hometown
A good man who collects herbs to treat his mother.
You are dutiful sons, but you must listen to my entreaties.
Don't go to my mother's grave
Pick those sweet wine roots that are in full bloom.
Sweet wine roots, they are on a mission.
Every spring, it will sprout in the woodland of my hometown.
Open bitter and sweet, miss flowers.
The wind direction will not change
Even in the rain.
Today, when I passed the city.
I saw carnations waiting for Mother World in the street.
When led by a pair of footsteps
There is only one wish in my heart, praying for a kind Chinese doctor.
Don't disturb the sweet wine root
Keep their flowers quiet.
Open it at my mother's grave.
Corn field
I'm just saying, I miss my hometown. Listen.
Corn fields in the moonlight
When the wind is quiet, the grasshopper sounds crisp.
And the night watchman snoring competition, and the fruit won.
When the wind blows, corn leaves clap their hands.
The happiness between these sisters
Make the whole cornfield warm and noisy.
On countless nights along the Yi River, these corn
These people bathed in moonlight, while enjoying themselves,
Will hold their children tightly.
Don't leave my hometown when I am far away.
I often wake up at night and often think I am there.
Among them
Or the appearance of vigils, the idea of traveling.
Give up completely in an instant
Go north in spring. South in autumn
Blessed is the sky that flies in array.
It is quiet and profound.
Shining with the light of compassion, making the earth more empty.
Fields and rivers that have heard the sound of vicissitudes of life geese
This is a blessing, and the blessing is for Mai Miaoqing.
And chrysanthemum yellow: the person who looks up
People whose eyes are pulled away and retracted.
Fortunately, they are more used to cold and heat.
Go to the north in spring and go to the south in autumn.
No one can change the direction of the seasons.
Yan Zhen can't fly out of The Book of Songs.
Leave the birds behind, and home is the eternal hometown.
Those who open their pockets to welcome the wheat season and autumn harvest
Blessed and clumsy by nature.
They haven't grown the wings of migratory birds yet
I was thinking at that time.
Five straw houses due south and north.
There are three eaves before and after, and the roof is high.
There are wild animals guarding the sky at both ends.
The plum trees in the yard bear fruit every year.
This astringent fruit has not matured for a long time.
My beautiful mother used to do housework.
My sister led me to the forest farm to mow the grass.
The locust tree scratched the coarse vest.
On the other side of the Yi River, there are a group of sisters with bare legs.
Hang clothes on the beach.
Sister said that there would be a person there.
Be my daughter-in-law in the future
At that time, my clothes were thin.
At that time, mowing during the day and dreaming at night.
Love my sister.
Pick up your schoolbag and go to school. Love abacus
I never thought about wealth outside my body.
I don't care, a laundry sister.
Is quietly growing up for me
I remember cooking and smoking.
I remember cooking and smoking.
I remember the young mother closest to the kitchen smoke.
Pancakes are ugly and black
There are dried sweet potatoes in autumn.
The sky is blue, never to return.
Mulberries turn red and apricots are in May.
Know your family with a sickle and a hat.
Smoke bends when it sees the wind.
As thin as home
Silent as a mother.
I remember cooking and smoking.
In spring, when the grain reserves reached the lowest point, the green and yellow colors did not pick up.
The smoke of homesickness drifted away feebly.
I remember my mother sewing a schoolbag by the fire.
Then sew my crotch tight.
Many years ago, I stood on a green hill.
Many years ago, I stood on a green hill.
The grass is full and the birds are singing.
The stream beside me flowed away happily.
I use bamboo flute.
Gently call away the cattle and sheep.
A hare ran into the meadow.
There are two clouds running like horses, erratic.
Three turtledoves fly to the forest farm.
A group of brightly colored sisters waded across the stream.
Meet to pick mulberry in the mountains
Many years ago, I stood on a green hill.
Look up and see Panshan Highway.
To a mysterious place in the distance
An endless tile cloud on the horizon.
Once motionless, but now I don't know where to go.
Well water loves river water.
Accustomed to a kind of loneliness and waiting.
Spiritual ear
Listen to the murmur of the river.
Like family; Women and old people in the village
Holding a cherry tree.
Sing every night
The sky of the well
So small, so far away, the heart of a well
This is a smooth mirror.
Quiet and exquisite
When familiar faces reappear
It is willing to express its own voice.
I just like the deep sky.
I just like the village under my sky.
I just love this passing river.
time goes by
apple orchard
I need to describe it to you, that piece.
The lost apple orchard belongs to its leaves. bud
The branch was bent by the fruit.
The fruit picker in the autumn wind, her slender waist
And vivid time details.
The big truck that reappeared in my dream.
Put away yesterday's apples.
Say goodbye to the corner and wave when I turn around.
The familiar orchard suddenly
Has disappeared.
I believe those apple trees are just
Move to another place near mountains and water.
One day I will be able to travel again.
Suddenly recognize those, quietly lift the spring.
Lost flowers
return
Time's up. Take advantage of the autumn wind.
I should follow a fallen leaf.
Go back to your village
Someone asked me where I have been all these years, and I don't know.
I've put the road I've traveled
Twist into a transparent thread.
Hide in your mouth and wait to come back and turn around.
So that I can firmly tie myself to this birthplace.
It's time for plants to say goodbye to each other.
Hedgehog is busy carrying firewood home.
The ant got off the tree, and the frog was going to hibernate by the river without its tail.
I came back just in time.
Facing Qiucun, I want to tell about my funeral.
Wait until spring to bite the cocoon shell. Please allow me.
Fly among the flowers
Love on thick soil
A hundred years later, people will look through it occasionally.
These poems are not gorgeous.
People will ignore my hand, selfish love.
I don't know. I was so stupid.
Inaction and ignorance
I left my compliments.
I am very modest.
Quietly came into this world and quietly left.
I admire cooking smoke and agricultural technology.
Bend over countless times, that's
Labor is the result. I praise motherwort, which is beneficial to insects and birds.
Believe in the light of God.
Just above your head.
Time is pressing, and I have begun to pray with my heart.
Desire is as small as the smell of bitter herbs.
I stepped on the dirt. Look up and sing
A poem with a weak voice on this thick soil
I am used to looking up to the north.
In those years in Xuzhou, every night,
I like to be next to the train tracks.
Looking up to the north, the lights on the hillside in the distance
Stars on the top of the mountain
I don't know how many times I blinked my eyes south.
Even when I get home, when the stars are all over the sky.
I prefer to be behind the village.
Look north several times.
There seems to be another one under the seven stars.
A worrying village