On the banks of Huanhua Creek, in a few thatched cottages, lived the sadness of a Tang Dynasty poet.
It was spring time, and I took off from Guan Gong’s hometown. With a respectful heart, I soared into the sky over the difficult road to Shu to go to Chengdu for a date with the poet.
Before getting off the plane, the enthusiasm of "two orioles singing in the green willows" came to my ears, and my eyes reflected the grand invitation of "a row of egrets ascending to the blue sky", and the "window contains the ever-changing snow of Xiling" , the beautiful scenery of "Dongwu Wanli Ship"...
For many years, I have always wanted to be there, go to the thatched cottage and knock on the poetic door. Although the mountains are endlessly high and the land is vast, we are finally here. I feel the beauty of the thatched cottage, elegant and dignified, verdant and profound. Walking in, the air is filled with the smell of flowers, plants and books. Taking a deep breath of the moist air, I just want to turn myself into a poem and blend into the scenery of the thatched cottage with grass growing and orioles flying.
I originally thought that only those who were born in the Tang Dynasty, had a lot of poetry, and had a chance to come to Du Fu Thatched Cottage. Thousands of years later, you can suddenly cross the threshold without knocking on the heavy door, spend time with the thatched cottage, and pick up the emotional poems left here by the poet. "The flower path has never been swept by visitors, but now the gate is opened for you." A sense of intimacy that he had never experienced before came to his heart. The poet came from the thatched cottage, lowered his head and stroked his beard, strolled among thousands of green bamboos, and walked along the stream. Wandering on the small bridge, leaning on the plum blossoms and tall nan, I chanted lowly, and the clear poetry attracted me to the room and the hall.
The floating clouds have been floating around for thousands of years, which is a past event in Shu. Walking along the bluestone road shaded by green bamboo, you can see the shadow of Shaoguang. In the second year of Qianyuan of the Tang Dynasty (759), in order to avoid the Anshi Rebellion and find support for his livelihood, Du Fu, with his wife and daughter, trekked to Sichuan and came to Huanhua Creek. There is a sentence in his poem "Tang Cheng": "For the time being, the flying crows will count their eggs, and the swallows will come frequently to make their new nests." It tells the scene and mood when the thatched cottage was built. Finally, he can shake off the dust from his body, he can finally stop his tired steps, and he no longer worries about food and clothing. The poet's poetic heart stretches like the grass in early spring.
“At the head of the Huanhua Stream, the owner is Bulintangyou.” In fact, Du Fu’s thatched cottage at that time was “one acre in Zhumaochu”, which was a small place and very simple. People living in small bridges and flowing water can read and recite poems and enjoy themselves. This is a wish of all literati, and the poet Du Fu is not like this. Although the hut is small, it feels like home. Perhaps it was the soft time in Chengdu, or the bright spring scene in the thatched cottage, which gradually healed the vicissitudes in his heart. The poet spent his happiest and most stable dream here. It reminds me of a line in Du Fu's poem: "The old wife draws paper to make a chess game, and the child knocks needles to make a fishing hook." In this thatched cottage far away from the turmoil, such a peaceful and peaceful picture must have been staged thousands of years ago. As I walked along the stream bank of the thatched cottage, I seemed to still be able to see Du Fu fishing while leaning on the railing. Who would break the plum blossoms and cross the thin willow stone bridge just to leave behind this wisp of cold fragrance for those who come after me? At this time, I imagined that I was a neighbor of Du Fu's thatched cottage, leaning on a bamboo stick, holding a pot of old wine, lightly knocking on the firewood door, and said: "I bring my own aged wine, how many cups can I have?"
Du Fu is not a relegated fairy, who can serve as a knight in the world and be domineering; nor is he Tao Qian, who completely retreats to Nanshan and guards his countryside alone. He was a Du Gongbu who cared about the country and the people, and could not forget his ambition to "serve the kings, Yao and Shun, and then make the customs pure." Even if he could never return to Chang'an again in his life, he would not waste the time and money. He would sit under the green lantern, covered with clothes, and use his thin pen tip to carve out poems about his family and country stroke by stroke. In the past four years, more than 240 poems have been written, adding eternal poetic charm to the simple Chaimen. Containing blood and fire, dissolving poverty and tears, how much grief and indignation, how much accusation, how much hope, silently seep into the poem, turning into a cry of life, just like the cry of a sword in a box.
I often wonder, what kind of iron shoulders can I bear to carry the tragic fate of a dynasty that turns from prosperity to decline? What kind of heart does it take to tolerate the sorrow of all living beings in the cracks?
In that turbulent era, a great and lonely soul was like a leaf in the wind, being ruthlessly knocked down, then raised high, drifting to an unknown distance. Therefore, I can't imagine how Du Fu carried everything with his weak body. Driving a flat boat through the surging river, I can imagine the difficulty of Du Fu going upstream. As he walked on the downhill road of the Tang Dynasty, he was destined to bow his waist and lower his head, counting the sufferings of the people bit by bit. Although life has been like "knocking on the door of the rich in the morning, and following the fat horse in the evening. The broken cup and cold food, the sadness is hidden everywhere", but Du Fu actually endured it!
A poem may be the best portrayal of Du Fu: "In a gloomy era, he is the only soul!" I have always believed that it is precisely because of Du Fu's own civilian nature that the poems and all living beings feel the same. Interconnected, poetry is no longer synonymous with elegance, just like dandelion seeds, taking root and sprouting wherever they fall...
A bronze statue of Du Fu stands out. The poet is sitting on his knees, with a poem spread out on his knees, and his body is bent into a thin arc, as if it is difficult to bear the excessive weight of fate. But his head was held high, his face was thin and aloof, and his eyes were deep and distant. Many tourists stopped here to take photos and were willing to touch Du Fu's hand caressing the scroll of poetry.
Those are a pair of bony hands. After being touched thousands of times, they have become even thinner, revealing a bronze background. The faint luster is warm and charming. It is not difficult for you to feel his body temperature and feel his strong pulse...
Unfortunate fate, good times do not last long. This thatched cottage on the bank of Huanhua Stream failed to become his home in the end. In the first year of Emperor Yongtai of the Tang Dynasty (AD 765), his friend Jiannan Jiedushi Yan Wu, who always cared for him and supported him, died of illness. The poet lost his only support in Chengdu and had to reluctantly leave this thatched cottage that brought him some stability and some comfort.
Du Fu left quietly. This patriotic poet has always belonged to the world of war, destined to wander around. He left this simple thatched cottage with a heart that cares about the people. I don’t know if he took this path lined with red walls and shaded by bamboos that time. But once I left, I never came back...
It was a humble house, but I dreamed of helping the world. A song called "Song of Thatched Cottage Broken by the Autumn Wind" unforgettably tells the story of a windy and rainy thatched cottage more than 1,400 years ago. "There are tens of thousands of mansions in Ande, which shelter all the poor people from all over the world. They are as peaceful as a mountain, unshakable by wind and rain. Woohoo! When I suddenly see this house in front of my eyes, it will be enough for my house to be broken and frozen to death!" This simple thatched hut encountered many misfortunes. The autumn wind thousands of years ago was teetering on the edge of the poet's helpless cries, shivering in the cold rain of the long night, and endangered by the panic of his wife and children...
When the snow-capped mountains hide their heroic appearance , when the river is no longer surging, when life has turned into silence, even if you climb all the famous buildings and take pictures of the railings all over the world, this simple and low thatched house swaying in the wind and rain is the warmest heart of the scholars in the world.
A couplet written by Gu Fuchu of the Qing Dynasty said: "In different generations, how many poets are there in such a country, with dragons and flags and tigers crouching? My husband also lives in exile, and there is a long flow of heaven and earth, and a white moon breeze clears a thatched cottage."
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Hey! Weisi people, with whom shall I return?