When I was in middle school, I wrote the composition assigned by my teacher as a novel and was praised. 1977. So I decided to write a novel and become a novelist. 1979, I went to college and concentrated on reading and writing novels. I don't want to go to class at all, but I hit a wall everywhere. The reason is that I was young, 20 years old, didn't have much contact with people, didn't know much about people, didn't know life, didn't know the times, didn't know the society, didn't know what others looked like, and didn't know what others thought. But the life of 3. 1 Where did I go to learn about society? It is said that words speak from the heart, and poetry is the most direct voice. People who write poems write their own hearts, so I found poems and wrote them, hoping to understand others, the times and the society through poems and help me write novels. How naive this idea is, it is simply the idea of addition and subtraction, and four operations are impossible, let alone algebraic geometry. As far as the novel is concerned, I entered the wrong door. "Fight for crossing, fight for crossing, and go into the depths of the lotus by mistake."
I admit that I have experienced many vicissitudes "img _ height =" 481"img _ width =" 640 "data-src ="//imgq7.q578.com/ef/0908/3a786f1c33f6c005.jpg ".
Life is often the wrong result. I read poetry, forgot novels, fell in love with poetry, and even tried to express myself with branches. When I first read Pushkin, Byron, Keats and Shelley, I was most impressed by two long poems, Byron's Don Juan. Prometheus of Shelley was liberated. This can be said to be the romantic or classical period of my poetry. But soon, at 1980, I accidentally came into contact with "Misty Poetry" on the wall of the star art exhibition in the art museum, and Byron, Shelley and Pushkin almost ended in one second. See North Island's Stars Are Always Stars? "There are crooked shadows of the dead in the sky", "Maybe it's the wind, and only when I guess my mood can I feel lyrical for me", "I put the besieged city on the mountain in the north, like holding a high chain, like holding a baby who just died, and it is still twitching in my hands" ... I was shocked by these poems.
I began to enter modernist poetry, even modernist novels, and found Kafka. I also began to try to write imagery poems. Our class has established a poetry club and a mimeographed poetry magazine. I wrote a series of short poems, such as "The Hazy of Drunk Poetry and Dream Painting", "Impression of Sunset", "Yuanmingyuan" and "X Melody", which became the main force of the poetry club and poetry magazine in our class. These poems are impressive, obviously influenced by obscure poems, and bear the imprint of Don Juan and Prometheus. At that time, in the literary competition, millions of horseshoes crossed the small bridge and could not squeeze in at all, but they kept squeezing and squeezing. At this time, I stopped thinking about novels and forgot to understand society and others through poetry. I just want to be a poet.
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In early spring, our class went to Badaling Great Wall. I remember we got off the train and decided to take an asphalt mountain road to the foot of the Great Wall. We have more than 50 men and women, collectively in a long snake formation, dancing "sixteen steps" (a kind of quasi-disco) all the way on the expressway. It was really the 1980s when the ice melted, but it was not the scene of spring. The trees are not green, the flowers are not in bloom, and some cold bushes and valleys along the road are still covered with ice and snow, but the snow is already flowing downwards. In the process of our jumping, every glance in the distance is impressive, just like a painting. Bushes, colors, snow water, the whole valley have something to do with me, and they are very close. After I came back, that painting became something I will never forget. It impressed me more than the Great Wall. At that time, I saw a poem by the poet Ren Hongyuan, written in the form of spring or month. The "I" at the beginning of the poem is complete, and he is using "I" to speak, narrate and express his feelings. This is the first time I clearly know that people can also write with "I", which was like opening my eyes. So I suddenly used the snow in the valley as "I" to write away and wrote "Snow Dream":
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This is the first time I have written a poem in an anthropomorphic way. Very smooth, at one go. Thank you very much, Mr Ren Hongyuan. At that time, the university I went to was the Second Branch of Beijing Normal University, which was located in the West Brick Hutong of Caishikou, separated from an alley of Fayuan Temple. Teacher Ren teaches in a branch school. A branch is on Baiguang Road, not far from our school. I went to a branch in Baiguang Road to listen to a lecture on Mr. Ren's poems. I was deeply impressed by two things that time. One is that Mr. Ren mentioned Gu Cheng in his lecture, and they once talked about poetry together. He knows Gu Cheng. Gu Cheng, like Beidao, Munk and He Jiang, is an idol in my mind. When Mr. Ren and Gu Cheng talked about poetry, they suddenly narrowed the distance between me and Gu Cheng. The second thing is that Mr. Ren mentioned "dialectics of nature". I have only heard of "materialist dialectics" before, but I have never heard of "dialectics of nature", which is very new. At the same time, it also got rid of the traditional or old ideology and represented a kind of ideological liberation. About 30 or 35 years later, I met Mr Ren Hongyuan at another meeting. He looks the same, still so thin, but he has white hair and white eyebrows. I mentioned the past and that I was taught to write poetry by a teacher. Teacher Ren passed away last year, and now I can't help but deeply miss this poetry predecessor and teacher, miss 198 1 year, miss the Great Wall, miss the desolate and warm valley and the river in early spring.
The product Snow Dream was sent to Zhao, editor-in-chief of Shanghai Germination magazine. He wrote back to me earlier, saying that he had given the poem Yuanmingyuan to Zhao. Although this poem is useless, he wants me to give it to him again. I have a hunch that this poem may work. On the one hand, it is not a wild submission, but a targeted one. Another thing, this poem is good, and it surprised me a little after my imagination was released. It turns out that poetry can still be written like this! Sure enough, Zhao wrote back to me soon, saying that I had recently prepared a collection of poems for college students, and my poems were adopted! At that time, my excitement was beyond words. In the issue of 1982, 1 1, Germination officially published my poem. I think at that moment, I have been printed in history.
As if in a word, I really started to be myself. Later, I went to Tibet and taught in a middle school surrounded by a temple and mountain village on the outskirts of Lhasa. I became a teacher like Wittgenstein in a mountain village in Austria, interacting with children and mountains every day. I really sit on the top of the mountain like snow. Will I go to Tibet without that poem? If there were no Tibet, would I have walked along the bumpy road of writing? Can you write "new prose" like "Tianhu" and "tibetan songs"? Can you write Masked City and Tianzang? Would it be better without these? I would rather use a pseudonym later, but I used my real name when I published Snow Dream.
I admit that I have experienced many vicissitudes "img _ height =" 429 "img _ width =" 641"data-src ="//imgq7.q578.com/ef/0908/3852f4311b "
After becoming a novelist, I gradually forgot the poems of previous lives. But at 20 10, almost 30 years after that poem, Ji Xuemeng echoed in my life again. When I went to Luyuan that year, there was a poetry meeting in my class. No one knows that I am a poet. While others were reading poems, I suddenly remembered the valley of 198 1. After 30 years, I can't help but have mixed feelings. So I recited "Snow Dream", which immediately ignited the enthusiasm of my classmates and took everyone back to many years ago, back to the beginning of reform and opening up, and everything was completely transformed.
I heard my own voice again, the voice of that era. I know that everyone heard it from the footsteps of earlier years. What did I see, and so did my classmates: not only weeds, valleys, snow water, the Great Wall, fire. ...
"I admit that I have experienced many vicissitudes." -I heard Nie Luda's voice.