Guo Feng’s prose

"A Touch of Life" Guo Feng

When I was a boy, I always liked to stand on the hills and listen to the sound of the wind, and lie in the wilderness and watch the clouds fly. My days passed lightly. Like a dream. Everything is intoxicating, everything is beautiful.

What is beauty? I couldn't tell it at that time. Living in the wilderness of the North, I just feel that the world is infinitely vast. In early spring, when you step on the moist soil and step on the newly sprouted grass, your heart will be filled with trembling joy. If you find a small flower that has just bloomed in the field, you can stare at it blankly for a long time, as if you are afraid of blaspheming the meaning of life. Holy, I want to pick it but don’t dare to pick it. When autumn comes, the vast plains are really amazing! From the sky to the earth, the colorful colors change every day, keeping your eyes busy. When the west wind gets stronger and the yellow leaves leave their branches, I always sigh for no reason.

Those childish actions are actually just a vague and superficial feeling! After growing up a little, I became homeless in the endless flames. The strange thing is: I don't have much pain, but I am secretly happy to take advantage of this opportunity to enjoy the scenery of mountains and rivers. I took many beautiful scenes that touched my heart: the desolate sunset at Stone City, the soft moonlight at West Lake, the long rolling flow of the Yangtze River... What is even more unforgettable is that time when I wandered on the stem of the Xiangjiang River, a stream of autumn water, blue It is as clear as a mirror. On the mountain peaks on the other side, the red leaves have turned into a cloud. In the clear autumn light, the lonely village is faint and the fishermen sing slowly. ah! Isn't this the realm of gods? Therefore, he made a wish: in the future, he would live in seclusion here with two or three close friends. Several acres of land, a few shelves of books, a volume of poems, life was like a cloud that relaxed and relaxed...

At that time, young dreams were too young, and beautiful fantasies were too beautiful! Who is not young? Who hasn’t had beautiful dreams? But who is like me who is addicted to dreams and never wakes up? It is better to say that I am like the spider that weaves its web in the corner of the house. It is better to say that the spider that weaves its web is like me, cramping its life in a small corner and then weaving it into a lonely world. In this way, I sat alone in the world of literature, facing this colorful life with a smile. Let those who pay attention to me sigh, let those who understand me be silent, let those who are jealous of me ridicule.

This is helpless. I am me, I have been wallowing in the sea of ??people for more than 30 years, and I am still so naive or stupid! In the days when you need to tighten your belt, you still don’t believe in the power of money; when your children are grown up, you still worship poetry and superstitize beauty; you let many prosperous opportunities slip through your fingers without being moved, but I often try my best to capture the feelings passing through my soul. Some people say that the deeper you get involved in the world and the older you are, the more mature your thoughts will be. The authenticity of this sentence makes me wonder, why after all the vicissitudes of life, my soul is still as naive as a child?

The energy I had in climbing high mountains and deep valleys when I was young still remains interesting to this day. Moreover, as long as there is a quiet and beautiful world, I can enjoy it for a long time. The paths we walk every day, the coconut shadows that flutter all year round, a bright sunshine, a moment of tranquility, a flying flower, a fresh green leaf... These capitals exude a refreshing sweetness, and have a mellow taste in the ordinary. When I was young, I liked to climb the statues of history and listen to the beating hearts of the world. Now, I feel that a cold night cry and a village slang have given me a lot of understanding. Living in the mundane world, I often find that many things have new meanings every day. Sometimes in absolute silence, there are often harmonious sounds of nature that fill my ears. Call it reality or fantasy, I always feel that this colorful world is always enlightening me, enriching me, and beautifying me.

But, what is beauty? I couldn't say it when I was young, and I can't say it now. If we say that beauty is truth, beauty is eternity. However, the truth is like a golden lizard, sometimes it changes color, and eternity is mysterious, and sometimes it is no different from an instant. These are questions that I cannot understand. However, I hope that my life will be like the ray of light in the blue sky. The clouds, even though they are so faint and faint, are enough for me.

Guo Feng, a native of Xuzhou, Jiangsu, is a famous Taiwanese poet and essayist. He is a writer with strong national consciousness and traditional consciousness. After arriving in Taiwan, he often expressed his sincere love for his hometown through his memories of the Huanghuai Plain.

Guo Feng is currently the president and editor-in-chief of the bimonthly magazine "SHKP Literature". In high school, he published a long narrative poem "North" in "Treasure Island Literature and Art" and attracted much attention in the literary world. Since 1950, he has become a " He is a major contributor to publications such as "Half Moon Literature and Art", "Chinese Literature and Art", "Ta Kung Pao", "Youth of the Times", "Wild Wind", "Treasure Island" and other publications. Since 1988, he has contributed day and night to the exchanges between Taiwanese literature and mainland Chinese literature. He was busy and established the "Guo Feng Literary Award" at Peking University. His works were published in prose collections: "Early Spring Bouquet", "September Eyes", "Trees in Hometown", "Eternal Island"; poetry collection: "Guo Feng's Poems" "Selection", "First Belief", "Song of the Sea"; collection of essays: "Holding High the Banner of National Literature", etc.