Searching for the Throbbing of the Soul (Self-Prologue)
For a long time, my life and study have been in the area of northern Hunan and southern Hunan. It is located at the junction of the Jianghan Plain in the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze River and the hilly area of the Mufu Mountains, with both rivers and rivers, lakes and harbors, and mountains and hills. The Book of Poetry describes this place: "There are trees in the south, and they are tired and tired." Gentlemen have wine, and guest-style banquets are appeased. During the Three Kingdoms period, Sun Quan had a poetic cloud: "Pucao Qianli, Qiu shang gu lei, Pu Pu May, ChuanGu to Ming." "There is more Meng Haoran's "August Lake level, the meaning is too clear." "This is a place rich in poetry, and wandering in this poetry town, the soul can live poetically.
Born and raised in Si, he is intentionally and invisibly infused with poetry. So I was eager to try. I have tried to write ancient poetry, but I was bound by the law and turned to neo-free poetry to find space. Slowly I found that writing poetry is to find poetry, a poem originally exists, but it is hidden in the soul, I want to go to the mountains and rivers to find it, to the original life to feel, to be full of piety, with a sincere heart, to release every window of the soul, mobilize every nerve of emotion, open every three poetry eyes on the forehead, as a result, I found that a poem is in life, stinging in the dark, I want to climb the high mountain jungle with both hands to hold it, dive into the turbulence of the river to grasp it, grasp it, Go back in time to the memory of the past and pluck it out! In the sunrise rising in the township, in the shadow of the busyness of life, in the crying of the baby, in the father's vegetable garden, in the stone of the old house in the country, on the slice of memory... Stop it, wrap it up, hold it tight! When I grasped its tail, the moment it slipped off the tip of my pen, it was as if the soul had cracked a hole and shone with dazzling light! It was as if I had suddenly received an oracle in my sleep, and I was awakened!
Le Verdee, in his Reflections on Poetry, also understands it this way: "Poetry exists in what we are seeking. Poetry exists in us, but not by the people we have now, but by the kind of people we want to be. Poetry exists where we want to go, but not there yet. ”
Therefore, in order to become a person who can dominate poetry, in order to be able to reach the place where I want to go and find the truth of poetry, I am like a father who is a day by day, pulling and running towards the sun in my heart day and night. Like a Sisyphus, pushing and rolling the same stone repeatedly every day, the sun is the poem of the ideal of the father, and the process of pushing the stone is the poem of Sisyphus. I am the Father of the Sun, and I am Sisyphus who pushes the stone.
The area where I work has more than a hundred miles of Linjiang River embankment, often after a busy day, cloaked in dust and fatigue, sitting alone on the zhouzhu by the river for a long time, when the sky is sunset in the west, the river bank is grassy, the river is swirling in front of me, a person suddenly sits, suddenly walks slowly, looks at the river, looks at the sand gull, thinks about the day and the earth for a long time, and sighs steeply, is this not poetry? So I wrote "The Man Walked a Long Way by the River." And the seasons change quickly, the grass is yellow, the river breeze is fluttering, I wandered on the cold riverbank, watching the fog on the river surface dissipate, listening to the long whistle of the passing ships. Er, the fog dissipated, the river was turbulent, the waves and sand rolled, and the boats that went up the river struggled to climb forward, splitting the waves and breaking the sand, and the boats that went down the river went downwind. Going up and down the river is like different lives between people, so he had a flash of inspiration and wrote "A Boat That Flows Backwards into a River". Walking in a village near the river, due to the slow sale of vegetables, the onion field is full of decay. When the fellow cut the onion, I was choked to tears by the spicy taste, at that time, I screamed secretly, a throbbing in my heart, the poem came, I want to catch it! So I wrote a draft of Lost. Of course, this was a few years ago, and now that the precision poverty alleviation is accurate, the vegetables here are no longer worried about sales, and the vegetable farmers' eyes are no longer melancholy tears, but a joyful life. In fact, these poems are originally hidden there, and poetic people can find them and present them.
The wise poets are more determined to make these poems bloom gorgeously, they are the ones who can completely dominate those poems. They were able to get to where poetry existed without much effort. I am not a brilliant poet, but every time I reach the source of a poem, I am sincere, pleasant, and awe-inspiring, because they wash my soul, and they are equivalent to my spiritual world, the spiritual world of mankind. Sincere people find sincere poetry, and the refreshing and bright heart is filled with positive energy, while the low-character person can only write obscene and low-grade funny words. I want to make my pen leave a sincere word, a clean soul, so that every work can give myself and the world a throbbing and trembling of the heart! It was as if I had a thousand-year covenant with every poem in the darkness, in some twilight cloud or on some dawn dew, where it was waiting for me, greeting me, and smiling at me, and it would be a poet's greatest regret to pass by them because of indifference, numbness, and sluggishness!
No matter how noisy the world is, no matter how noisy desire and fame and fortune, the poet is ultimately presented by the text. For me, what I have to do in the future is not only to find a poem, but also to find a better poem, and strive to present a better text. This requires an ability, an ability to perceive life, an ability to perceive the world, a strong reading ability, a ability to control the current new poetic context, an ability to separate the human heart and soul from the events of the red dust. Wait a minute.
Finding the throbbing of the soul requires life experience and life experience, the former requires you to use the flesh to cross, the latter requires you to have a strong stomach, to absorb, to digest, and then extract your attitude and aesthetic vision of life. How to classify and absorb, how to summarize and digest? Zhang Zhihao believes, "Let the language get rid of rigidity and craftsmanship, let the silent words make a sound, and create a sense of picture; let the sound and picture under the pen be refreshing, fully awaken certain fragments of life in the depths of our memories, and thus obtain a sense of pleasure in the soul." ”
Zhang Zhihao also wrote in his work "Writing Poetry is...": "Writing poetry is a job you have never done before... Writing poetry is when you climb onto the seesaw alone / There sits an invisible big guy at that end / / I still remember my screams / Writing poetry is the scream in memory and the heartbeat when you remember it. "It turns out that this is the surprise and feedback of finding a good poem. My relationship with poetry is like this: in the search and be sought, I feel sadness, tranquility, bitterness, sweetness, accident, surprise, throbbing...
May 10, 2021 at Stone Mouth
