Library in Smederevo (outer five songs)
Zhang Xinquan
Three thousand books in the Ministry of Foreign Languages
There are only two books by Chinese writers
One is Mr. Zou Difan's "Ode to Peace"
(Dear Mr. Zou has been ancient)
The other is Gidimaga's Poetry.
Two half-printed sheets with a table of contents attached to the back of the book
The administrator is like taking out the treasure
Solemnly hold the book to us
Know that we know two poets
Immediately respond with surprise and envy
She said there are too few works by Chinese writers
So our collections
Not rich yet
I appreciated her gold-like honesty
Take her actual beauty lightly
There is no doubt that it needs to be made up
I immediately asked the translator to give a solemn compliment
She has a richly educated, structured nose
And two sapphire-like eyeballs...
As I parted, I patted it
Thirty-two open Maga
And by his side
Leave a small book
Three people for the crowd. It snows here in winter
Three books were put on the shelf
It's a stove
Friends
Leave a mess at the table
We stood up and said
It's time to go home
When you say this
We're actually trying to say it
Don't go tonight, accompany you
Sleep on top of your feet
It was raining lightly outside
We slowly
Wear a trench coat
If you wear it fast
I felt that I couldn't stand you any more
You come from a very tired road
You are our friend
We want to pave the way for friendship
A sofa
Talk to you, talk about poetry
Like before
Well-intentioned sarcasm and attack
Sing happy or sad songs
Then, who holds a wine bottle
Snore
Then, the window said squarely
It's dawn...
now
We all have our own nests
We never enjoyed it again
That all-nighter of joy
Leave lonely friends at the hostel
We hardened our hearts and went out
Towards home
Chop wood stacks
Chopping wood stacks in the hinterland of Ailao Mountain
In the midst of great recklessness and silence
Neatly placed in front of some thatched huts
Or, between the fence-like trees
So pure and harmonious to lean together
Let you touch a kind of folk custom
A kind of calmness and self-confidence that transcends matter
Many desires are so dwarfed
Only for the straw hut to weigh itself for the fire pit
In the hinterland of Mount Ailao, the section cut out by an axe is revealed
Let me be in awe, let me despise many shallow passions
Good dog
Good dogs sit at the door
Sharp eyes, airy and exuberant
The tail is a section of hard bone
Never shake
Good dogs rarely open their mouths
Even if you throw in the peach
I can't change it
Thanks for the boogie
The moon is dark and the wind is high, and good dogs are on the only way
Waiting for the miscreants. Just a string of laryngeal sounds
The uninvited guests were all over the body
Good dog walking in the courtyard dam
To the pigs that are full of food, the cattle that are resting on plowing
Conduct a courtesy visit
Take a friendly sniff and snort
Soothe the loneliness and confusion of destiny
Deport harassing roosters
Lead a few cubs and go outside the pen to bask in the sun
I've looked closely at a good dog
Alert as an eagle on a string
Angry is similar to a cheetah
The most is the silent night when the mourning disappears
The dog's eyes lit up in front of the owner's grave
There is a cold that is forced to dew into ice...
Good dog gone
I put it on my back
Placed in the center of this poem
Look at the knife scar on a cowboy's face
God put his face on it
The last process
Left to earthly
A knife
That's the hardest, too
One of the most spectacular processes
Cloudy or cloudy
When the sun sprays blood
Knife down
The wound starts from the brow bone
Tuck it in the corner of your mouth
You can't make a mistake
Once special
facelift
Done in a killing fashion
A creation
Where the knife shines
Fall down Gou Ann and mediocrity
Green and black
Deep in the prairie
Knife marks hissed on the horse's back
Above life and death
shine upon
Second Brother Han was gone
The news that Second Brother Han is gone
Definitely not in the newspaper
Cleaner Han Er Brother
Second brother Han who loves to whistle
Salary of 2,000, one thousand and four per month
To the second brother of Han to his country wife
A thrush nesting between branches
School bags in and out of the gatehouse
They all knew him and knew him well
Legend has it that there is a wren in the community
When he heard the whistle, he cried:
Brother Han, hello
Second Brother Han let the trash cans in the compound
Enjoy baby-level treatment
Usually wipe yourself with a rag, and spray water for bathing at festivals
When Brother Han rests, he loves to use a broom
Write a woman's name
It was written on the ground dipped in water
When the water trail dried up, Second Brother Han left
Brother Han said that rural women should not publish...
Now it's the wren
In the press release, Brother Wren said:
Brother Han is gone! Brother Han is gone!
That day, Second Brother Han leaned over
Salvage floating debris in the lake
Suddenly I fell asleep...
When lifted ashore to press the chest for rescue
Second Brother Han let out a long breath
It was long, like a whistle
I and Lu Xun Literature Prize (Essay)
The first Lu Xun Literature Award called for sichuan poetry in the second half of 1997. Because of the tight time, I made a lot of phone calls in the Star Editorial Department, and I did not hesitate to verbalize, ding, and urge the poets on the other end of the phone. A week later, more than twenty volumes of poems were sent or sent.
Due to the fact that books must be used to participate in the review, and there are restrictions on the publication time, some poets have lost the opportunity because they do not have poetry collections, and some have books, but they are not within the time limit and have to give up.
Sending the poetry collection to the Creation and Creation Department, I finally "made a difference", thinking that if any of them won the award, it would not be worth my hard work.
One day, I was reading the manuscript, and an editor came to me and said, Teacher Zhang, why don't you "smash" your own book? I said, it's all frivolous stuff, it's written in a general way, and it's also free to send. The editor also said, may not be a book reluctant? Send it to try it... A few days later, on the postal road from Chengdu to Beijing, there was a thin mail, which contained my poetry collection "Birds Falling in the Folk" (later I heard that if I sent it a day later, the initial evaluation would "close").
I couldn't have imagined that the pie of "Lu Award" actually hit my head! Heavens, I am not only the collector and submitter of the Sichuan Provincial Poetry Collection, but also the only winner of the final prize in Sichuan, and now, I don't know how many topics should be on my head!
At the beginning of April 1998, I received a notice from the Chinese Writers Association that "Birds Fall on the Folk" won the poetry award of the first Lu Xun Literature Award, and invited me to attend the award ceremony at the Great Hall of the People on April 20.
So, go to the capital. That night, the finance officer came to the hotel room to hand out the bonus, and I just happened to go out. The next morning, a female financier approached me at the award ceremony, signed it, and insisted that I order money in person. At that time, the eyes of the people were in full view, the opening of the conference was imminent, and on such an occasion, it was really an obstacle to the view to order a pile of banknotes of one hundred yuan, fifty yuan, and ten yuan. I quickly told her in burnt salt Mandarin, don't order, less don't be more, you must be refunded!
At the end of the conference, the writers all took photos with the podium as the background. A foreigner (probably a reporter) saw that I was idle, so he came over and asked about the amount of the bonus repeatedly. I mysteriously told him that the amount was too great to tell you, you know, and would definitely be jealous... The mobile phone rang, and the daughter asked in Chengdu, Brother Xinquan, how much is the bonus? I replied vaguely, double digits. The daughter "sighed" and teased: "We are still waiting for the floating wealth."
After returning to Chengdu, the provincial party committee commended Mr. Wang Huo (the winner of the 4th Mao Dun Literature Award) and me in the conference room on the fourth floor of the Federation of Literature and Literature. I took a big red envelope from the head of the Propaganda Department with a cover that said 2,000 yuan (supposedly, the provincial meaning is that the bonus cannot exceed Beijing). When I held the big envelope high, there was a round of applause in the hall, even if it was awarded 200,000 yuan.
Zhang Xinquan, born in 1941, a native of Fushun, Sichuan, is a special writer of Chengdu University of Literature. Winner of the first Lu Xun Literature Award and the Fifth Guo Moruo Poetry Award.