One weekend in early spring, I strolled around the mountain road in the park. Sometimes it is open, sometimes it is winding and quiet, and the sun is scattered on the newly sprouted buds, bright flowers and tender green willow tips. Sometimes, the breeze blows gently, bringing the smell of lilacs. Roy is still gray and bare, but the grass and trees nearby are full of vitality. "Spring blossoms and everything is brilliant" is the scene before us. This sentence flashed in my mind, impartial, all kinds of modalities that everything should have in early spring. My heart suddenly trembled, and I was stunned by the poet's wonderful observation and concise expression. After a thousand years of time and space, I really felt that poetry was beside me for the first time. The original poems have become a part of the body, so you don't have to think about them deliberately. It only takes a moment and some scenes, and they are naturally awakened.
So, don't tell children that poetry is useless. Things that we think are useless often become a part of our lives unconsciously, guiding us to meet nature, teaching us how to talk with lakes and mountains, and listening to the rhythm and affection of life in a silent voice. There is a kind of knowledge that needs no words. It only needs experience and feeling, through which we can finally reach the ultimate meaning of truth, goodness and beauty.
Mr. Wang Zengqi likes reading "useless books" best. When he was preparing for the National The National SouthWest Associated University in Kunming, besides textbooks, he only brought Selected Novels of Shen Congwen and Hunter's Notes. It's all novels. What's the use? These two books laid the basic style of Mr. Wang Zengqi's later novels. If novels are still his major, reading Yuan Mei's "Eating Menu in the Garden" is purely a hobby of eating goods, so I pushed it off. He read a series of miscellaneous books in order to study a certain food. So now you are reading "Plants on Earth" by Wang Zengqi. You are attracted by the delicious food and the scenery everywhere because you read useless books. Who would have thought that in the 2 1 century today, Mr. Wang Zengqi's daily narrative about diet and literature has become a classic. Isn't this the biggest pursuit of "leisure and tranquility" and "poetic life" by the public? I think Wang Lao is so popular now. Apart from his simplicity and aftertaste, the most important thing is that he found poetry in his daily life, which is the most important meaning of life.
On a spring outing eight years ago, Taohua Island in northern Zhejiang, I first saw Shili Taolin. I can only see pink. I don't know what to say at the moment, but I was shocked by the beautiful scenery in front of me. What comes to mind repeatedly is the phrase "Run away and burn your glory" in the Book of Songs. Only with your own eyes can you understand the enthusiasm described in the poem. The same color is pink, the cherry blossoms are too light, the begonia is too charming, the lovesickness is space spirit, and the roses are too realistic. Only this peach blossom is vigorous as a dream. I suddenly understood why Tao Yuanming wanted to put a paradise with "traffic across the building, birds and dogs whispering, fertile fields, beautiful ponds and green bamboos" at the end of Taolin. "There are no miscellaneous trees in it, and English is colorful." Only in this way, in the illusory silence and beauty, the eternal Peach Blossom Garden has been achieved in the hearts of the world. The peach grove in reality is more beautiful only when it meets this poem-only when it transcends reality and embraces the beauty of culture and imagination is it poetic.
I think it's more than that. The question is not whether you can express it, but whether you can feel it, and the best feeling is accompanied by culture and imagination. As Han Dong, the third generation poet, described in his masterpiece The Wild Goose Pagoda, when facing such places of interest as the Wild Goose Pagoda, contemporary people no longer look into the depths of history and culture, but extend endless associations to explore and explore the hidden deep meaning behind the image. People just stood on the threshold of the new era and made a long-distance aesthetic concern. No elegance, no loftiness, no hero. Everything is dull, lazy and boring, and such existence cannot be called poetry.
Is there a moment when you suddenly feel very tired on the way to and from work from nine to five, and always feel that daily necessities are just daily necessities, and occasionally your thoughts will jump out of this endless crowd and yearn for a quiet corner? Are you looking forward to holding a cup of green tea or coffee and reading a casual book quietly? Or just came to the community under the magnolia tree, looking at the dancing moon, suddenly thought of Li Bai's sentence "I sing." The moon encourages me and I dance. "After my shadow tumbled? That's poetic. Although you didn't really dance or sing, your mind broke free from the fetters of reality for the first time, facing your deep self and talking to the moon. "Until, holding up my cup, I asked the bright moon, which brought me my shadow and made the three of us", this conversation was actually just myself, rich and silent. This is a lonely individual, alone bearing the weight or imperfection of the world and himself. Only in this way can we complete a spiritual journey of self-return and freedom in the dialogue with the universe and poetry.
Beautiful romance means poetry, and freedom of mind means distance.
Wang Xiaobo, a maverick, said: "It is not enough for a person to have only this life. He should also have a poetic world. "
Far, poetry is near.
In this fast-paced era, in this increasingly noisy world, in this era when time is divided into pieces, few people read poetry. It seems that poetry has become the most useless thing in this era. It is far from the reality of mortgage, car loan, school district housing and vegetable market. People are more willing to start with a stroke and read a poisoned chicken soup, which makes people excited for a while and then return to mediocrity. Why do we always look far away, but don't start reading poems from nearby?