The man who recited the poem in the wind was far away from me

Author: Uyandiri

It seems that in every town there will always be a few literati who think of themselves as high and crazy in the eyes of others. Our town is naturally no exception, plus there is a key high school in the county here, and there are not a few people who dance and ink.

As a young man, I felt talented. Earlier, I wrote a 200,000-word novel and submitted it to the Provincial People's Publishing House, and finally did not receive a rejection letter. Later, he wrote hundreds of poems, specially selected "Poetry Journal", "Stars" and other famous journals to submit, the result is naturally stone sinking into the sea, inevitably complaining that the editor does not know BMW Liangju.

Writing poetry naturally cannot be self-congratulatory, but also to mix with the "circle of friends". And I, on the other hand, am very arrogant in my bones, and there are few literati who can look up to me, so I wrote poetry as loneliness. Originally, there were a few literary friends of the same age who interacted, but some of them went to the county normal school, and some went to work in the county town, leaving me in the town to endure the situation. We have a Chinese teacher named Li in our high school, who is very prestigious in the local area. He is rigorous and does not smile, and his poetry is also a decent old style of poetry, which is a perfect fit between people and poetry. Teacher Li did not teach me, I was a classmate with his nephew, so I saw him on weekdays, I was respectful to him, and his old man was also polite to me. So, for this elder poet, I can't have an unfettered relationship with him.

Engaged in propaganda work in the town, I helped the town cultural station to edit the literary internal magazine "Cultivation" in my spare time, attracting literary friends around me, and slowly accumulated a little literary name. Friends from the county town and other townships came to discuss literature with me, and the gray life seemed to have slowly gained some color.

One day, a calligrapher came to me from the county seat and gave me a work, which read: Humble and Simple Cheng. I now feel that he is writing about who I am today, not who I was in my 20s. At that time, the cells of my body were full of pride, and I hated that I couldn't walk and my nostrils were facing the sky. I often practice sandbags, throwing knives, qigong, air guns, ready to step up and catch a hit-and-run driver. All I do is I don't want to live like a weak student. However, his own foundation is poor, and he has not mixed with tough guys when he is old. It seems that the calligrapher was a god man, and while spurring me, he accurately foresaw my future.

Another time, a literary friend came from 40 miles away and talked to me all night about literature and ideals. I've been forgetting this for a long time. Until recently when he called to tell me something else, it occurred to me that he was the one buried deep in my memory. Look at my memory, one day it will be stupid. So, I have to write something before the idiot, otherwise I will forget myself, and who else will remember that I have passed through this world?

Fate always has its own arrangement, and a poet broke into my life, and this person is Teacher Cui. Teacher Cui is a tall man with a long face and teaches at a junior high school in a foreign country. One day, 50-year-old teacher Cui actually returned home from middle school in order to write poetry. Teacher Li and Teacher Cui are from the same village, and the distance between our two villages is only three or four kilometers. My grandmother's mother's family and a distant relative belonged to this village. My father was tall and had a long face, somewhat similar to Teacher Cui. My grandmother died early, and the only thing I knew with her relatives was a woman who had married into our village, who was also very tall, and she called me my father's cousin. At that time, Mr. Cui had already published poetry in some journals, and his works were also in the poetry collection of the Provincial Publishing House. However, he felt that his poetry had the flavor of certain eras, did not adapt to the literary style of the new era, and needed to be transformed. This kind of enlightenment is invaluable. And I happened to be writing new poems, and I began to have a small literary name in the local area, a magazine in Liaoning published my poems, a poetry collection in the regional literary federation included one of my poems, and a newspaper in the province published my prose. It is estimated that Teacher Cui, who returned home, heard about me and took the initiative to take his own works to discuss with me. I'm embarrassed to say it bluntly, but to make some specious points. Teacher Cui was in a hurry and called me "teacher", this elderly person's seductive approach was simply amazing, making people feel helpless.

With the interaction with Teacher Cui, I have a deeper understanding of him. Teacher Cui's father threw in the pen in his early years, and when Teacher Cui was two years old, his father sacrificed his life for the country, and the father and son only met once, or in the early childhood when Teacher Cui had no memory. When I was a child, my father became the object of struggle, often locked up in a dark room and criticized. In order to give me a good environment to grow up, send me to live in my grandmother's house. By the time I came home when I was growing up, my father was seriously ill and depressed a few years later. My earliest memory of my father is that he was criticized for not being able to walk, wearing a white top hat, sitting on a trolley and being pushed by others, with a dark and undignified face. It is better to recall this picture often in his life than to have no memory of his father by Teacher Cui. After going through the hardships of life, let our friendship between the two of us deepen. In those years, Teacher Cui and I walked around like relatives, and every New Year's Festival, we would visit his house and stay for dinner. During this period, I was also tricked by Teacher Cui once. One day, he took two collections of grammatical poems in exchange for two selected copies of modern poetry that I had just bought, and although reluctantly, he had to be given up.

And Teacher Cui encouraged each other, our literary creation gradually entered a better state, and more and more literary friends gathered together. What surprised me the most was that Teacher Li also condescended to my cottage and participated in our small gatherings many times. Chatting happily, drinking to the fullest, and writing some vivid sentences in a slightly drunk Chinese thoughts. He will also be drunk, not knowing the east, west, south, and north, and saying something that is not marginal. A large number of literary friends, young and old, the few people who have the most contacts, are still from the village of Grandma's mother's family. This fate cannot be stopped.

The hometown is on an unobstructed plain, and the spring and winter are particularly windy. The place where I work is not far from Teacher Cui's house. Sometimes they visit each other, sometimes they meet unexpectedly on the street. In particular, Teacher Cui has written a more proud new work, and he will always be eager to find someone to communicate. So, during that time, there will be such a scene: two people, one tall and one short, one fat and one thin, standing in the wind, one person holding a few pieces of paper that have been blown by the wind, and reciting the above verses aloud. The strong wind blew Teacher Cui's poems to the passers-by, who got these scattered verses and often looked at the two of us hard and walked away with a meaningful smile.

After a few years, I left the town to do political and legal work in the county. At that time, the most prominent thing was to hitchhike in a police uniform, and the farthest one was to stop a pair of large trucks and cross 5 counties before getting off. However, I still like to ride a bicycle and run freely. Almost every month, I would ride to Talk to Teacher Cui about poetry, and he also went to the county town to find me several times. In those years, Mr. Cui became famous and became a poet in the county, not only publishing more than 100 poems, but also publishing several poetry collections. My job, on the other hand, is to write judicial cases, research reports, practice grappling, go to the detention center to pick up a prisoner, guard a safe pistol on duty at night, and even go to the street to wear civilian duty. Of course, outside of work, he also wrote several poems that he thought he could get his hands on, and successively published them in some poetry journals and newspapers.

Later, I joined a financial institution and went to work in a financial media in Beijing, and slowly had less opportunity to meet with Teacher Cui. During his time in Beijing, he visited the editors of several literary journals, and originally wanted to talk about literature together, but it turned out that they were full of thoughts about how to pull advertisements, how to organize activities to go out to make money, different ways, no conspiracy, and then broke off contact. At this time, I will think of the days of drinking and singing with Teacher Cui, those times that are gone forever.

After that, the family settled in the provincial city. Fortunately, I entered a good literary circle in the provincial capital, met a large number of literary friends, and entered a new realm of my literary creation. Novels, essays and poems have been published in professional literary journals at home and abroad such as "Shanxi Literature", "Shandong Literature", "Green Wind", "Vientiane", etc., and have published novel works and poetry collections, as well as poems, novels and reportage literature in many essays such as "Chinese Writers" and the National Miniature Literature Competition, and have become members of the Provincial Writers Association and the Poetry Society.

Maybe life has been given too many expectations, so every day is busy. Busy with work, busy with creation, gradually forgetting that I did not know how long I had not contacted Teacher Cui. Until one day, a literary friend in my hometown called and told me that Teacher Cui had passed away. The man who recited the poem to me in the winter wind was gone. In the blink of an eye, the winter solstice season, the wind cooled down on this day, early in the morning, I stood in the cold wind of the drifting snow, remembered the beautiful encounters with Teacher Cui, and remembered the poems that Teacher Cui read to me in the wind that year:

At the edge of a lotus pond covered in ice and snow

Lying on the side is a bend of the ancient willow

The roots and whiskers, exposing the hardships of the years

Chest and abdomen, cracking the grudge of fate

However, hold the earth tightly

In the cold sunset

With affectionate greenery

Summoning bright spring

One point number strange on the wind literature and art