After reading a famous book, I believe you must have a lot to share, so it is necessary to write a book review! So how should I write my thoughts after reading? The following are two general poems about Gu Cheng that I compiled for you. They are for reference only, and I hope they will help you.
Reading Gu Cheng's poems is always a pleasure to challenge the imagination, because the world he wrote is a fairy tale world completely different from ours, a Hong Ying in the sky reflected by a lake with a transparent mind, which makes you forget the reality in color. In his poems, all the fantastic and lively imagination that people can't get rid of and stop is not a deliberate skill of the poet. In fact, a real poet rejects skill. The poet describes touching the truth with his eyes. He just records, not creates.
In other words, poetry is not the product of his inspiration, but the spirit flying from the opposite side. She may come from the jungle, from the stream, from the gently dancing wings of butterflies, from the mysterious depths of time.
The poem "Many times, like smoke" will also awaken our wonderful feelings. Time, as well as the past events related to time, when we stand somewhere and suddenly look back, we often feel confused. Qin Guan's "Man Ting Fang" contains "how many Penglai past events, how many haze in retrospect. Outside the sunset, crows return to ten thousand points, and flowing water flows around the lonely village. The prodigal son has cried for it many times.
The sunset in the west, the return of crows at ten thousand points, the silent running water flowing eastward, and the small village hidden in the mountains, everything is gently wrapped in a hazy mist, as if it were an ink painting with the theme of recalling the past, which makes people feel endless loneliness.
Closely related to this loneliness is time. Time is eternal, but the time related to the past is erratic. Every minute of our lives will be a thing of the past. This is our destiny, and we live in a haze all the time.
The sentence "Flowers and plants make a big smoke, little red eyes gloat" lets us see the silhouette of a poet facing the fire alone. As night falls, a fire is lit gently, and in those gentle flames, curled white smoke rises quietly. In the eyes of poets, the flickering flame is the eyes of smoke. The poet repeatedly lamented "it's a little late", because those beautiful flames will turn into "beautiful patterns, exquisite water bottles by candlelight" and the fire will go out, so we should all have had such an experience. When the fire is about to go out, the sparks flashing on the firewood have another breathtaking aesthetic feeling.
This kind of beauty is not a static mirror image, but is vividly depicted by the poet with the metaphor of "exquisite water bottle". It will cover the white smoke rising in the wind like a flower, and the dawn of the next day will follow. What happened yesterday has become a memory related to smoking. What was yesterday? There is a loud noise of "bullets hitting copper coins", a bright fire and a carnival related to sweetness.
These, on this day, just left some fragments that will sink into the port. "It's a little late", we once again heard the poet's sigh, because in time, many things have become irreparable old things, and everything that was so real before, including feelings and ideals, including success and failure, has become dust in time. On this day, what is suspended above the dream will be another situation.
The time related to last night has disappeared like fireworks drifting with the wind, taking away the sigh that the poet can't keep his old dreams. However, for life, light is an eternal stream, which has gone for thousands of years and will go on forever. In that case, is it necessary for people with light to sigh for the passing of last night? Lush years, golden years.
The smoke of the past is clear today. There are so many colors in life that we can't bear to give up. Just like the summer when I was a child, we walked barefoot in cool water, or rode bicycles and sang wildly in the storm. Just like when I was young, I walked hand in hand with my beloved girl, sharing the moonlight, countless misunderstandings and tears, and silent figure.
This is the fire we lit last night, but in fact, even when the fire is the most beautiful and warm, and people forget the time, we never expect that it can always accompany us through such a poetic long night. We just look at the smoky flowers in the sky and pray that we can have a dream with you at some time after dawn.
We have matured. Sometimes I think, maturity is really a sad word. When you say that you are mature, it means that you have completely given yourself to reality. We can use all kinds of beautiful and solemn words to package, such as kindness, duty, loyalty and so on. Our ego has been flattened by the reality, gradually adapted to various masks, and freely played various protagonists.
I'm not in the mood to look at the stars in life. We just sometimes look at the face that is no longer young and the hair that has faded gradually in the mirror, and a trace of desolation passes quietly in our hearts. Because the wind we don't care about has sent us into autumn. In view of this world we don't like, the impulse to escape seems to be gone.
We used to be that little tadpole, thinking that we could live in the water all our lives and be as lively as a fish, but time has turned us into frogs. This world is not a tadpole's. Its only fate is to grow up, that is, to lose itself, become another ugly body and live in a completely different way. Until the end. When you sing in Xiang Tao, will you still remember that dream?
Maybe it's true. It's a little late. However, when the whole world's sunshine shines on me, I can still clearly recall the shape of the smoke that night.
Reading Gu Cheng's poems is always a pleasure to challenge the imagination, because the world he wrote is a fairy tale world completely different from ours, a Hong Ying in the sky reflected by the transparent lake of the soul, which makes you forget the reality in the colorful. In his poems, all the fantastic and lively imagination that people can't get rid of and stop is not a deliberate skill of the poet. In fact, a real poet rejects skill. The poet describes touching the truth with his eyes. He just records, not creates. In other words, poetry is not the product of his inspiration, but an elf flying from the opposite side. She may come from the jungle, from the stream, from the gently dancing wings of butterflies, from the mysterious depths of time.
The poem "Many times, like smoke" will also awaken our wonderful feelings. Time, as well as the past events related to time, when we stand somewhere and suddenly look back, we often feel confused. Qin Guan's "Man Ting Fang" contains "how many Penglai past events, how many haze in retrospect. Outside the sunset, crows return to ten thousand points, and flowing water flows around the lonely village. I don't know how many times the prodigal son turned around and cried for it. The sunset in the west, the return of crows at ten thousand points, the silent running water flowing eastward, and the small village hidden in the mountains, everything is gently wrapped in a hazy mist, as if it were an ink painting with the theme of recalling the past, which makes people feel endless loneliness.
Closely related to this loneliness is time. Time is eternal, but the time related to the past is erratic. Every minute of our lives will be a thing of the past. This is our destiny, and we live in a haze all the time.
The sentence "Flowers and plants make a big smoke, little red eyes gloat" lets us see the silhouette of a poet facing the fire alone. As night falls, a fire is lit gently, and in those gentle flames, curled white smoke rises quietly. In the eyes of poets, the flickering flame is the eyes of smoke. The poet repeatedly lamented that "it's a little late", because those beautiful flames will all turn into "beautiful patterns, exquisite water bottles by candlelight" and the fire will soon go out. We should all have had this experience. When the fire is about to go out, the sparks flashing on the firewood have another breathtaking aesthetic feeling. This kind of beauty is not a static mirror image, but is vividly depicted by the poet with the metaphor of "exquisite water bottle". It will cover the white smoke rising in the wind like a flower, and the dawn of the next day will follow. What happened yesterday has become a memory related to smoking. What was it yesterday? There is a loud noise of "bullets hitting copper coins", a bright fire and a carnival related to sweetness. These, today only leave some fragments that will sink into the port. "It's a little late", we once again heard the poet's sigh, because in time, many things have become irreparable old things, and everything that was once so real, including love and ideals, including success and failure, has become dust in time. Today, suspended in a dream, will be another situation.
The time related to last night has disappeared like fireworks drifting with the wind, taking away the sigh that the poet can't keep his old dreams. However, for life, light is an eternal stream, which has gone for thousands of years and will go on forever. In that case, is it necessary for people with light to sigh for the passing of last night? Lush years, golden years. The smoke of the past is clear today. There are so many colors in life that we can't bear to give up. Just like the summer when I was a child, we walked barefoot in cool water, or rode bicycles and sang wildly in the storm. Just like when I was young, I walked hand in hand with my beloved girl in the shade, the moonlight shared by * * *, countless misunderstandings and tears, and the silent figure. This is the fire we lit last night, but in fact, even when the fire was the best and warmest and people forgot the time, we didn't expect it. It can always accompany us through such a poetic long night. We just look at the smoky flowers in the sky and pray that we can have a dream with you at some time after dawn.
We have matured. Sometimes I think, maturity is really a sad word. When you say that you are mature, it means that you have completely given yourself to reality. We can use all kinds of beautiful and solemn words to package, such as kindness, responsibility, loyalty and so on. One of us was smoothed by the water of reality, and the other gradually adapted to various masks and freely played various roles. There is no longer the mood of looking up at the stars in life. We just sometimes look at the face that is no longer young and the hair that has faded gradually in the mirror, and a trace of desolation passes quietly in our hearts. Because the wind we don't care about has sent us into autumn. Facing the world we don't like, the impulse to escape seems to have disappeared. We used to be that little tadpole, thinking that we could live in the water all our lives and be as lively as a fish, but time has turned us into frogs. This world is not a tadpole's. Its only fate is to grow up, that is, to lose itself, become another ugly body and live in a completely different way. Until the end. When you sing in Xiang Tao, will you still remember that dream?
Maybe it's true. It's a little late. However, when the whole world's sunshine shines on me, I can still clearly recall the shape of the smoke that night.