The poet fixed his eyes on the autumn fields, and bundles of straw without ears hung upside down on the ground. Fatigue and silence remind the poet of his equally tired and silent mother, so countless golden rice bundles in the field have become countless tired mothers and great fatigue on his shoulders. The rice bundle is great because of the bumper harvest, and the mother is great because of the birth of life.
The poet's meditation deepened, and she thought of history. In front of the great mother, history also seems insignificant, "just a river flowing under her feet", but what remains forever is her "tired" and "silent" posture. The poet uses the arrangement, organization and observation methods from me to things-from things to me to break the subject "I" into an object, and combines calm observation with profound thinking to make his poems rich in connotation and thought-provoking.
Creative background:
Regarding the writing of this poem, the author himself said: "This poem was written in the 1940s, when I was studying in the Philosophy Department of The National SouthWest Associated University, Kunming."
On a golden evening in Kunming, I walked from the suburbs to the girls' dormitory next to Xiaoximenli Street. Walking along a running water and trees, my right hand suddenly flashed into my field of vision. Bundles of harvested rice were spread out and stood in the harvested rice fields. The setting sun was as golden as gold, but all of them hung their ears slightly, looking a little tired, quiet and lonely.
Looking up into the distance, I saw the faint blue distant mountains, which seemed far and near. The water flows silently, and its disappearance is not so great compared with the meditation of golden rice bundles, but the meditation of rice bundles is our eternal miss.
Looking back on the philosophy courses and literature courses in universities in the 1940s, what I left in my mind was not specific knowledge, but the wine brewed by philosophy and literature, especially poetry. It is full of fragrance. Whenever a scene touches my soul, I am intoxicated by the smell of this wine and can't help writing poems. Maybe this is the call of the poet God to me. "