When China's poems went from onlookers to dispersed in a hubbub, Jiangxi Grain Rain Poetry Society experienced more than 50 years of ups and downs, which became an elegant cultural custom in Jiangxi, Grain Rain and the longest-lasting poetry activity in China.
In this hard city, there is no soft love, but there are poems that touch the heart.
Every year in April of wheat straw and Grain Rain season, a group of quiet poets, accompanied by spring buds, peel off their cocoons, purify their hidden thoughts and poems, calmly write a kind of local experience and memory, and delimit their own responsible fields for clearing and rain reading. Their voices are full of beautiful poems, and when they are exported, it is colorful spring. Let me tell you something.
Grain Rain Poetry Society, full of peach blossoms and green willows, has become a grand gathering of writers and poets. People put aside worldly chores and put mountains and rivers into the writing background with calm, simple poems full of love and wisdom, and bear the torture of history and the inheritance of human destiny. Grain Rain Poetry Festival, sponsored by Jingdezhen Federation of Literary and Art Circles and Writers Association and co-organized by Jiangxi Wuyuan Wine Co., Ltd., was held in Shuanglong Bay Agricultural Ecological Park near Yaoli, a famous scenic spot in Jiangxi Province.
That's great. This spring, walk with the poet.
Perhaps to echo the "Grain Rain" poetry meeting, it was sunny the day before, and it rained in Mao Mao early in the morning on 19, and our group rushed to Shuanglong Bay Agricultural Ecological Park hundreds of miles away.
Jingdezhen is a hilly area, surrounded by mountains and ups and downs. The air is so wet that it seems to be fished out of the water, and the breeze is mixed with flowers. The distant castle peak is shrouded in clouds and veils, just like a girl who is ashamed to lift the veil, and is affectionate. "When I first arrived, I was full of flowers, and today the roof is green." Jiangnan is good. She flowed through the Book of Songs, nourished the Tang poetry, nurtured the Song poetry, and infiltrated the Yuan Song. This season, writing and reading poems are half of the world of mortals and half of them are charming and elegant. The years are so quiet and deep.
Far away, Shuanglong Bay Agricultural Ecological Park is sitting in front of us with an elegant and refined attitude. The scenic spot is built between Huanglong Mountain and Qinglong Mountain, with two mountains sandwiched by rivers and a bay like a rainbow reflecting pearls. This beautiful rural manor integrates tourism, leisure, catering, breeding, farmhouse music, experience and culture, and is known as a bright pearl embedded in the East River of the Yangtze River. Tea, fruits, flowers and exotic trees are planted in the park, and porcelain, tea and red culture are integrated into it. There are not only ceramic production sightseeing, ceramic product display, orchard sightseeing area and agricultural product display area in the park, but also
We walked in with an umbrella, peach blossoms and pear blossoms in the park, tea gardens woke up early, all kinds of exotic flowers and herbs with different shapes, pavilions of antique gatehouses, hotels and restaurants decorated with dragon culture elements, all of which were surrounded by light smoke in the beautiful East River surrounded by rain and fog. 100 Many poets walked happily in the rain, laughing and frolicking, taking photos as a souvenir, and letting the drizzle wet their clothes and hair.
For us wandering in the city, the countryside is naturally the most provocative. A nostalgic golden song and a homesick song have become the yeast and distiller's yeast for brewing homesick wine. After years of fermentation, they have formed a lasting aftertaste. Today's rural areas in China are transforming into cities in China, and the countryside is drifting away. This agricultural ecological park once again provoked my homesickness for no reason.
The fallen leaves are still dancing in the dream.
This stream is as warm as spring in the wind.
The jungle salutes on the arc of the wind.
My frozen heart
There is no sorrow in spring.
Bamboo shoots arch out green hills layer by layer.
Soft time
Start touching brightly colored flowers.
What a quiet season.
Every inch of land
Covered with endless wheat straw.
……
In the fresh garden, the poet stood on the stage of spring and recited stories about spring, Grain Rain, rivers and crops with deep affection, without sadness or sigh. They regard language as father and mother, express it enthusiastically and sing devoutly. They use poetry to find old, familiar feelings, slow themselves down, and don't forget to appreciate the vicissitudes and sadness of the world with poetic feelings in the hurried years. Listen-
I am intoxicated in the fairy tales of spring.
Frogs hang upside down on sentimental ears of wheat.
The girl sang a slow hymn.
The touching smile is so rippling.
So pure and beautiful
Look at the flowers everywhere in the distance.
The mystery of a bird crossing the sky
Its transparent wings
Much like a dream dance costume.
Lightweight and poetic
No good injuries, no separation.
Spring.
Jump on the strings
Look at me affectionately in the call
Let me love the idea.
Fly gently in the spring breeze
An Yiru said: We are lucky to have a profound treasure and have studied it all our lives. We stood on the ruins of poetry and looked up at our predecessors. There is nothing we can do-the world itself creates poetry, not the pen in the hands of literati.
I can't write poetry. Every April, I know someone in the world is waiting for me, but I don't know who it is. For this, I am very happy every day. When I grew up with joy and melancholy and became a poem that can be recited, I found that I had never won a poem award, but I really liked it. Fortunately, as a former announcer, I had the opportunity to stand on the stage and express my deep love for Grain Rain's poems. To this end, I put down all my writing and devoted myself to this beautiful rhyming Guping tune.
There is always a poem, read one line, and two lines of tears continue; Looking back, I once went to 23 Li, and there were four or five smoke villages. ...
It has been raining, ink and ink are dyed, flowers and plants are polished, and the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River is vividly reflected in this brand-new ecological park. She is quiet and elegant, like a porcelain.
All the joy will eventually drift away.
I started the next wandering journey, from a city to a country, walking and entering the most beautiful rhyme; From a Tang poem to a Song poem, sit down and make the most beautiful words. On the deep blue starry sky hundreds of millions of light years away, there must be a gentle and compassionate force to hear my gratitude and bow slightly with my expectation:
Next April, a poem will warm the city again.