Editor's Note On January 31, 2021, the Fourth National Member Congress of the Chinese Poetry Society was successfully held, and 170 people were elected as members of the Fourth Council of the Chinese Poetry Society. This WeChat public account will select the selected poems of directors and members on the basis of merit for the benefit of readers.
Jiang Bohan, real name Jiang Baolong, is a poet, novelist, playwright and film director. Shandong Jiaozhou Yanghe people. He currently lives in Beijing. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association, the China Filmmakers Association, the China Film Literature Society, and the Chinese Poetry Society. He is the author of "Growing Up with a Charming Aroma", "My Father and I Were and Present", and "Movies Are a Kind of Nostalgia". In 2004, he graduated from the Beijing Film Academy with a bachelor's degree in literature. His poetry works have appeared in "Poetry Journal", "Shilin", "Olive Green", "Qingdao Literature", "Tianjin Poet" and other publications. The poems were selected as "Poems of the North Drift" and "Good Poems of the Day" by China Poetry Network.
Thousands of lights
Jiang Bohan
The yard was full of the aroma of wheat grains
The yard was full of grains of wheat.
In summer, the thirty-six-degree countryside quietly overflows with the smell of wheat
The long vines of grapes on the banks of the Jiaolai River climb black and fish, bending along the wall
The golden grains of wheat jump the color of gold
The barking black dog in the depths of the courtyard was tired and spat out a rosy tongue
It resounded in the ears of the village. Next to the street gate, the pollen of the moon season beeps
The old grandmother who shook the fan, the ninety-year-old who lost her teeth
She picked out the weeds, a handful, bundled them into bundles, and kept them to burn
Father took a wooden shovel to lift the wheat grains, and the dust flew high in the air
Grains of wheat were golden and smashed on his father's back
My grandmother happily told my father that it was full
A yard of wheat grains, when the weather is good
Hurry into the granary.
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The river was silent
A bit cloudy afternoon
I walked in a leafy poplar forest by the river
The trees did not germinate
A wild magpie
Shout in the tree
More silent wilderness
Abandoned houses with red bricks overlapping on top of each other
Those old houses, the broken windows
The floor is full of broken glass, tiles, and only the path by the river
And the stone mill made me identify a rural moment of life
The rain never came down
There was no shadow of a fish jumping, and the river was silent
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Photo by Jiang Bohan
Look at the Thistle Gate
A plant thistle grows on the mound-
At the mouth of the ditch filled with iron fences,
I picked a flower bud and planted it in my study
Like a woman full of cheerful emotions
Fragrant.
They. The literati named Thistle Hill and Jicheng
- Jixian County in the Qin Dynasty.
The Thistle Gate Bridge crosses the rainy and dense
Smoke trees are vast. Jimen Avenue across the Yan Kingdom
Taxi drivers usually ask how to pronounce "fish knife grass"
Listen to their accents from Yanqing, Shunyi, Pinggu
They rarely came to Xitu City. But
A German film student said he rode a wild donkey in a zoo.
then. He studied at Peking University
It's still a rice paddy.
The appearance of frogs, wild ducks, swans, and migratory birds is spectacular.
Xiaoyue River, Pavilion Pavilion artificial repair.
Our lives are interesting.
Yellow Pavilion. There are also bungalows with vegetables, melons and fruits, and clear wells
He was talking when Diao Lingzi came from above our heads
caper. Then, sneak up on a park lounge chair and scratch your paws
Thistle Gate. It ceased to exist, and an earthen wall collapsed
Walk through the land where thousands of troops and horses have stepped on
Xifu begonia, weeping begonia, Venus begonia
- Indian magic surrounds Kublai Khan
Tramps, extras, unemployed youth
Choirs, falling in love or breaking up are staged in West Earth
Tucheng has become the home of people stopping in Beijing.
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The night was dark. Snow, soft underground
In yanjiao west, every snowflake drifts zero
It all seems to have an allegorical meaning.
Kids, rejoice, go build snow
Push open the back window - wanjia lights
In an instant, the bright moon above my head was brighter!
White night. Snow --
In this way, they love each other and go to the human world
snow. Archangel of the Frozen Plague
Solidify a sharp weapon, the ice skate of my childhood
- Want to stab the devil.
Holding a snowy holy dog, a docile old dog
Like a cotton set, rows of mud claws are spread out
Shrinking trembling dog legs, running children
Pick it up — in my arms, and be moved by this holiness
snow. Cold. Like crystal rock embedded in the earth
snow. I also understand warm storage. The garden at the fork of the trail
Except for distractions, there is no hesitation, flying
Covered with a patch of green holly trees.
I wanted to grasp the flowers one by one, and I was afraid that it would melt
Snow that brings comfort to my sorrows
Childlike freedom and happiness
Towards clarity, I open my heart
Tonight, it's like a whole new world
Coming. Look up, thousands of homes are lit.
We feel sad a lot of times
On Luyuan North Avenue, an ancient locust tree
What remains of the ruins is thick and leafy
As dusk approaches. - Thick eyebrow-like crown
Decorated with Songzhuang and Yanjiao on both sides, a white line
The plane streaked across the sky, clear and would be autumn blue
Thrown into the water of the Chaobai River. Poplars
Surrounded by a ball of fire, the distance was full of light
The Yanchao Bridge is like a five-stringed piano
Every pillar, every diagonal
Clearly visible. Dogtail grass under the feet, golden
The dandelion, the little walked gently. Song Zhuang's
Studios, demolitions everywhere; painters, going from place to place
The tin house of the artist Flower Talk was also doomed
She, had to move from North Temple North to North Temple South
We feel sad a lot of times, but
We all stuck with it. That's how life is, she said
Like the cicadas of summer, they are busy playing and singing.
Cold view in winter
The one who sells brine tofu comes from Baoding
Middle-aged man, pedaling, facing the wind
Rushing diagonally from Yanling Road
Life, really an accelerated train
train. There was no danger, he said with a smile
I parked on the side of the road and he rubbed the rough one
Hands, can not hold a fruit knife
The tofu on the tricycle froze into ice, and the white baggage was curled up
Beijing 7 winds, minus 19 degrees
His fleece hat was blown on the ground and rolled, and he hurried back again
How much this piece of tofu is counted, you weigh it
His eyes widened, frightened eyes: my tofu
You just let it go for three days and three nights and it won't be bad, so you can eat it
If you can't find me again, go to the path in the corner and shout
The wind poured into the chest, and the flying sand and stones hit the face
I pushed hard and walked forward
Tonight, pregnant wife
She wanted to eat a meal of brine tofu from her hometown.
Red-billed Mountain
early morning. Shan Ji, Ji Zi Yan Red
I was shouting in front of my window, and the fog filled the whole bamboo forest
I got up from the bed and looked into the distance, through
In a thin layer of yarn. A red mouth
The mountain was already flying, flapping its wings, behind the twelve
Like a dream inn inn, I was wrapped up
Love, like a baby. Got a real heart package. Twin Rivers Cave
My Psalms: Stalactites, stalactites with pointed tips,
Like the needle cone in the mother's hand, the hand with the sole of the shoe is old and formed
Billions of years! The mother's back was too heavy
The river meanders and the building mountains are in full bloom
Praise God! Sprinkle the most beautiful garden in the world
I wrote poems, praised my mother, and sang the praises behind the twelve
I write about your amorous love—women, feeding these mountains and rivers.
This big red bird, it doesn't like to dream
Twelve behind the landscape and trees, birds and flowers
purple. When the huge figure of the wing was cast in Zunyi, my heart
Bouncing up, I'm a running beast
Sunshine and rain dew - gifts
My psalms are light and simple, and it has since taken off its clumsy coat
Back to the twelve, back to the pure self.
The sun is rotten red
When I was young
My grandmother would always say: Today
Li Dong. It frosts at night.
She moved the "Sun Rotten Red" on the windowsill into the house
The lid that covered half of the water tank was wet, this festival
Like the New Year, lead the whole family to eat a meal of dumplings
How important it is in her heart.
Later, every year to Li Winter
I always have to repeat,
Grandmother's tone, today Li Dong
Look at the geranium on the windowsill and sprinkle a little water
It seems that the villages, streets, houses of that time
All wrapped around the flowers— under the colorful sky
I didn't have a sad childhood at all
Because of this, my grandmother had a pot of blooming sunburn.
Father's sketches
Father. Three feet of pulpit, above your head
The white chalk ends are like flying snowflakes;
The child's expression is intoxicating, your happy smile;
Father. You're at the New Year's party, taking the lead in the show
The child burst into applause – a moving character
Like a donkey gnawing on the hair, a donkey bark
Realistic donkey, lol! Yikes!
For the sound of the program, the ambient sound on the stage
Throughout the morning, waiting in the bazaar, you carry a tape recorder
But the donkey still didn't bark
The green cabbage on the floor cart was sold out
The sun was shining in the afternoon, and the crowd at the next set dispersed
Father watched in disappointment as the donkey departed, whew! Yikes!
Excited donkeys, lifting up dust, vegetable farmers' money bags
Gross tickets. Turning blank tape, tape recorder rustling
Father painstakingly rehearsed a skit and squatted in the market
Another bazaar, a gray pure donkey came here
A cart of potatoes, dirt-stained skins, plucked around in my father's hands
Eat the yellow sand, my father bought back a pocket
Father said
The old farmer skimmed the reins and bowed his head in the donkey's ear and muttered twice
Taking two steps backwards, the donkey began to bark, as if he understood what the character was
Father's single-card tape recorder was on the stage, and the green curtain of the theater was raised
Exaggerated shaver, big scissors, big white coat
A child starring in a realistic city of small characters -
Bustling and moving to the stage, this is the first time in Zhangying Middle School.
Father. Three-foot podium, forty years of hard work
Fathers in the crowd, chalk in the sun shine like a beam of light shining on the stage
White-haired father, you planted it with one hand
Peach plum by plant. Finally, more beautiful
spring. Father, you idiotic honest man
But he fell on the podium. The donkey, in pain
Break our hearts.
The blizzard blew wind
The blizzard blew wind like the roar of a horse
My father pushed the cart in front and I pushed and ran in the back
The most difficult thing to walk is the yellow mud head of the Mountain Xiang family, like an iron knot
On a rainy day, the car rumbles and does not turn
The spokes were also jammed. Father stopped and took a breath
Waiting for me. Such bad weather
Half a day to pick out the mud lumps, entangled wheat straw grass
The winter wheat on the side of the road was hungry and thirsty, and I was crying
Want to skip school. But I cried with the weather
The wind continued to blow. Snow fell on the neck and warmed up
Instantly flowing into sweat. When I push up the hill
Seeing the home in the distance, there was a sharp pain
Mother's heart. A seven- or eight-year-old
Go away—father's desire
Not necessarily a good thing. Frozen my young boy on the way to school
Mind, the blizzard blew the wind through the dead branches
Father. His painted
The old bullock cart, creaking all over the place
Dale.