Nishikawa's poem is

Author Nishikawa (1963-). 1982 ——1985 studied in English Department of Peking University, during which she organized "Peking University Poetry Society" with Haizi and Luo Yihe. Nishikawa is one of the most striking young poets after the wave of misty poetry. However, unlike most third-generation poets, he attracted attention as soon as he entered the poetry world, not because of his sharp confrontation with the misty poetry model, but because another world quickly pointed to "ontological poetry" (or "meta-poetry"). From the form of poetry, it is surprising that after only a very short "apprenticeship", he quickly ended the stumbling state, but showed maturity in the aesthetic orientation and detailed skills of poetry. From the early 1980s to the mid-1980s, Xichuan's poems were pure and stable in texture, especially in response to the long poem "Rainy Season", which made Xichuan form a unique monism in the dimension of "ontological poetry", known as "Xichuan style", and influenced many poets' expression of "artistic theme" and formal self-discipline.

Compared with the poems of the 1990s, the poems of the 1980s in Nishikawa have great differences and fractures. The former should at least be regarded as an imperfect attempt to move towards the latter, if not eclipsed. However, if we look at it from another angle of thinking and problem consciousness, Nishikawa's poems in the 1980s are far from exhausted. Du Fu is a prominent example-your deep love accommodates it.

So much sunshine and rain; So much sadness.

You finally turned it into a song.

Numerous autumnal equinoxes point to tonight.

I finally fell in love with the fading in front of me

Streets and pine forests

Between two big rivers, where you used to rest.

Country inn, I finally heard it.

One voice: majestic, firm and calm.

Like a strong peony blooming late in Chang 'an.

In the dark ages

You are the only soul.

Beautiful mountains and rivers must be trusted.

Your thinness, this easily destroyed civilization.

It must be touched by you and then saved.

You have courage bordering on stupidity.

Listen to the tilted candle in your heart.

You've never even heard of Keats and Ye Zhi.

Autumn wind, blowing the bright moon on the top of the mountain.

Crow, break down your door.

The emperor's chariots and horses rumbled by.

Then hunger and robbers.

But great art is not a sword.

It comes from goodness and tends to be pure.

Thousands of luxury houses cover the whole world.

You built them to remember these things.

Women and men on the road

And saving is futile, and you know better than us.

The future is just the past.

The so-called hope is just fate (unexpectedly 1997)