Poetry | Feng Guoping: Villages on the Banks of the Ba River (Group poems)

Text/Feng Guoping

The village where I lived as a child has become a green industrial park, and I would like to remember the old garden in the form of poetry. - Caption

A village on the banks of the Ba River

To the east of Sichuan, Pyeongchang, with a population of one million

From Wangjiatuo to the upper reaches of the Fengtan River

The banks of the Ba River paint my village

There is my country and orchard

There is my blood and mountain springs that have flowed for so many years

There are also my simple folks

The last ballad

Blooming wild kapok and flute sounds

Rising over the village

Try to get close to the peaks of Yue'er's bank

35 years ago

Her mother, who has died of illness, is also getting old

Everything is covered up by pain

In my heart, I was confused

Last spring

The abundant rain has spoiled the crops of the land

At this time, the land of the old garden was extremely desolate

I seemed to see my grandmother holding a straw in her hand

Walk through the colours of time and light up the fireworks of the ages

Let the cooking smoke soak the dusk again

I can't know the joy and tears

How to sprinkle the river on the banks of the Ba River

Stirring this mighty spring breeze

I really want to cry

The village that nurtured me on the banks of the Ba River

Pieces of wild chrysanthemums trembled in the depths of winter

And in April the rains water the cloves and wheat mang

The brightest place on a midsummer night

Still burning open

Acacia flowers are fragrant

In the village where I was once born, spring

When they arrived, the acacia flowers in the village were fragrant

In the joys and laughter of childhood

We look for lost and colorful fallen English

Look for some specific interpretation of your hometown

The acacia flowers are fragrant, and the air emits a dark fragrance

How beautiful it is, it exists in the chapters of memory

Accompanied by the figure of his brother constantly running

The fragrance of locust flowers is wafting and tightly pervading

At the moment, however, the village was speechless

The still stout locust tree at the side of the dam was speechless

Like a mother's emotion, deeply rooted in the yellow earth

Let us think, let us be ignorant

An unforgettable ballad

The oil lamp of childhood

The oil lamps of childhood, one by one, filled the village

The village is transformed into a sultry flower tree

A wooden lattice window is a green leaf

Half-concealed with the fragrance of oil lamps

The night wind blew, and the village was filled with whispers of happiness

The city's electric lights are like plastic flowers

Than the oil lamps of the village lack warmth and spirituality

Return from the harvested wheat fields

We led the buffalo on their backs to the moonlight and grass

In the distance I saw my mother under the oil lamp

We are working hard to make a living for us

Under the wooden lattice window emitted the light of the oil lamp, accompanying

Grandma's nursery rhymes are traveling through the time and space of memory

Burning and illuminating childhood in the distance

A poem of spring

Our star of faith shines with dazzling brilliance

Rise from the sky, in the act of spring

I was reading this scroll about spring on the balcony

And many things outside of concepts

This spring the rains are falling

On the sunny land, I miss my hometown mountain forest

of vegetation, nostalgia for grain and rice

Nostalgic bluestone slabs covered with thick moss

Nostalgic for the abundant harvest of autumn as well as some

The weeds of thought. My brothers and sisters are fathers and sisters

Hard and busy in labor, in busy labor

Singing, during the seasons of the year

Joy and glory are also nurtured in me

Indelible pain and sorrow

Spring

The roads of the home have been covered by industrial parks

I'm in a place called Red Arch Building in Rongcheng

Look out over the house

I saw a blanket of snow

Poetic perch

On the edge of Rongcheng, in the spring

Nostalgic for some things about the village in my hometown

The warm and cold spring breeze made my tears roll

Flags have been unfurled on the flat land

Spin in front of my eyes

On the slopes of Changling, which were once covered with folds

Father's worn-out straw hat

How much joy and fragrance was given to July

Will the bees bee next year come back

We were drifting away from the village

My poems are the wind blowing from the fields of my hometown

It reverberates through the city's skyscrapers

I called out calmly, in the vanishing village

The industrial park is gradually growing taller buildings

At the Red Arch, go to the right side of the Gaosheng Bridge

Inspiration sometimes washes over me in waves

I am a stubborn stone in my hometown, living hard

I hold the golden jade good fortune, the wooden stone former alliance

Wait for the land that once nurtured me

Gratitude and bearing happen there

A tragic affair

Of course, I chose my former home

The heart faces the test of amphibiousness

I trace many concepts in the village

With a pen, I have perfected my life and my value

At the moment, thousands of miles away

The years are speechless, the village is speechless

Parting time

The tall yellow oak tree stood speechless in the wind

【About the Author】

Feng Guoping is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society, the Chinese Essayist Society, the Sichuan Writers Association, and the vice chairman of the Chengdu Xindu District Writers Association. He has published many literary works in national newspapers and magazines such as People's Daily, Guangming Daily, Economic Daily, China Culture Daily, Stars, Young Writers, Mangzhong, Poetry Monthly, Youth Poetry, Poetry Tide, and Shilin.