Qinglangege, a native of Inner Mongolia. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association. Director of the National Public Security Poetry and Poetry Society. Contracted writer of the All-China Public Security Federation of Literature and Literature. His works have been published in various newspapers and periodicals such as "People's Literature", "Chinese Writers", "Poetry Journal", "People's Public Security Daily" and other newspapers and annual anthologies. He has participated in the 27th Youth Poetry Society of the Poetry Journal and the Fifth New Wave Poetry Society of People's Literature. A student of the 36th Advanced Research Class of Lu Xun Academy of Literature. He is the author of the poetry collection "If It is Amber", "Church in stone", "Pre-trial Notes" and so on.
Sharpen the knife sticker
Father was seventy-one years old
He always chose to be on a sunny afternoon
Sharpen the knife for his daughters
It was a way to prove that he loved them
The sharpest way
Father doesn't like to laugh
My father loved to wear white clothes
My father was taller than me when he was younger and now shorter than me
Father was the cleanest man I had ever met
If I am in pain
I only allowed my father to be alone
Stroke my cheek
(In fact, I never asked my father.)
Talk about what I've endured
pain. ）
The sound of father sharpening his knife was very small
But the peace he brought me was so great
At the moment, I'm stewing meat on the side
I watched my father sharpen the knife for me
When I was very young
Father was like that, he stewed meat on the side
Sharpen the knife while...
He grinds and grinds and I grow up, he grinds and grinds
It grinds me into a handle
Sharp knives
But how much blood I shed, Father didn't know
But how rotten I was, Father didn't know
It's like I don't know my father, just like my father doesn't
He's polished
Every handle
knife
Parting with hair
I've learned all sorts of things
Parting action
Like a wave of the hand
Like hugging or kissing
But when I parted from my thick hair
I was instantly removed from the angel
Turned into a poisonous snake
I don't want to part with my hair
I like it
The feeling of beauty of the green silk ring sideburns
I covet the burning heat of beauty
I commanded that my hair must care about how my head felt
But they don't listen to me
My head's
Jiangshan Sheji
Full of ink and ink
The arrogance of "Ode to The Wind and Grace" flashes and moves
Those shameless hairs
Just go. They will one day be resurrected
That's my destiny
As if with
The meeting of all things
Like my soul
Looking for another shell
Just when I met
Vampires
Just as a white butterfly flew out of me...
They, left for me, life itself, carnival
I, thus appear
Magnificent mountains and rivers
At the end of the year, to my lover
This year, my breasts dried up a bit again
This year, I added a lot of bad tempers that fell from the sky
This year, you keep coming from distant orchards
Pick up delicious fruit for me
This year, the breeze blew through our beds
...... And what I still give them is my false loneliness
I really shouldn't be alone anymore
Every time you wake up in your arms
The love I receive, parallel to my heart, is always so real
Or rather, nothing can separate us
Distance counts
What is the limb that I slowed down
Tick-tock time is nothing
What about a cave house that will never be built
This year, I had a disaster
Once, I wandered among the clear radiance of the grass and trees
I almost fell...
I think of the grass and trees as you
I think of the interplay of light and shadow as you
This year, I couldn't prove my existence, nor could I prove it
Your non-existence...
This year, I occasionally laughed and cried occasionally
Occasionally cut a few strands of gray hair
Forget some humiliation once in a while
This year, I was raised by you to die and live
This year, I finally learned to be like you
Hanging your head, but not discouraged...
And these can't replace the surge in my chest every time I think of you
wave......
Only they can sink deep into your tidal flats
Become overwhelmed by me
The secret of the soul
If grief is also a fire
If sorrow is also a fire,
Then only sorrow can extinguish it.
I saw the sadness, it was like
The remains of the moon, intruding
Me, dear life. It calls me
Dear ones, who cried recklessly, who murmured,
As if I, the lover of blue eyes,
Ravages. Stomp me. its
Coming, always like this, scorching.
It commands me not to fall asleep, but to be awake;
It prays to me, to love it as it is
A fire. Sometimes, it doesn't look either
I—even if, at a glance.
It pretends to be solemn and disguises debauchery;
It waits for the flowers to fall when they bloom.
If it will be me with immortality
Linked together, it is wrong.
I'm a fire,
Whoever sets me on fire, he has to set me on fire—
extinguish.
Recommended words
Qinglang gege is good at grasping the symbolic body or body details to deduce/trace the context of the character story, and uses the symbolic body to spiral in the depths to expand the imagination to tell the desolate fate. For the poem of the self, as long as she grasps a characteristic point to borrow power, she can exert force for her concept of life, and the narrative is tortuous and thoughtful, transparent and in place. For public security theme poetry, she takes the method of analogy/contrast/intervention in her own feelings for universal physical evidence in an attempt to use poetic means to detective, to restore the more ordinary and perceptible image of the victim or murderer, so as to help affect the reader's understanding, change the particularity into universality, change personality into commonality, let the protagonist of this kind of poetry close to "us", close to the emotions and thoughts of human instincts, and thus pour out sympathy at the humanistic level and identify the stubborn diseases of human nature. Qinglange's poetry has technique but not deep, but it is difficult to imitate, the key is that she insists on writing from an objectified perspective, and always adheres to the warm immersion and recognition of things. (Wen Jingtian Brief Comment)