Wu Shaodong, a native of Hefei, Anhui Province, a member of the Chinese Writers Association, a director of the Chinese Poetry Society, a special researcher of the Institute of Natural Literature of Anhui University, the vice chairman of the Hefei Writers Association, and the director of the Poetry Committee, whose works have appeared in the Poetry Journal, The People's Literature, October, Chinese Writers, People's Daily, Xinhua Digest and other newspapers and periodicals, and have been selected into the "New China 70 Years Excellent Literary Works Library Poetry Volume", "Selected Chinese and Foreign Modern Poetry", "Selected Chinese Poems in the New Century", "Selected New Poems in the Hundred Years" and other anthologies, and many poems have been translated into English. French, Korean, Japanese, Spanish and other countries to communicate or compose music and sing. His early poems were collected in "Splendid Solitude", and he published geographical essays "The Most Beautiful Rivers and Lakes", poetry collections "Lixia Book" and "The Movement of All Things", and won many poetry awards.
The movement of all things
Wu Shaodong
Empty flower pots on the balcony
Early in the morning, I was awakened by the crispness of the neighbor's birdcage
The misty dawn had not yet dispersed
Lying in bed, thinking about the laziness of these four years
I have never raised a single bird with flowers and plants
Occasionally catch a sparrow that hits the glass
After stroking the wings, they also flew away
The balconies are full of empty flowerpots that have not been abandoned
Those flowers and plants have long since withered away
In the pot, only the soil that my mother had cultivated during her lifetime
Still there. I visited from time to time and watered when I was sad
Photo in this issue: Lonely City
Monument
When she was alive,
We erected a monument to her.
Engrave her name on the father's right,
One black, one red.
Every time she went to her father's grave, she wanted it
Staring at the tombstone said, still black is good, red
Garish. After her father left, her flames
It's gone out. Full of ashes.
Red and black, is heaven
On both sides of the curtain, she and her father
boundary. The cycle of birth and death is exactly the opposite of what we see.
She's going to cross.
This process of discoloration exhausted her
A lifetime of tenacity
On the day of Qingming,
I covered her with soft black.
Bluestone resurfacing, dark streaks, as if
Mother's twists and turns.
Her name, the strokes are straight, and the skimming is soft
There were no blunt cross-folds, like hers
Seventy-seven years of attitude.
Every stroke is the source, it is the gaze, it is all
A knife.
Will be three simple Kanji, by red
Blackened, exhausted
The strength of my suckling
I complained about her weakness. lifetime
Press yourself below others, below wheat, below
Rice, lower than the agriculture of one furrow and one furrow. And she
This should not have been the case. She has proud landscapes
There are children who have come out.
A few years ago, I was still complaining about her,
The last liter of wheat noodles of the waxing moon was given
Poor neighbors, let the young us, wait and see
Snow, floury white snow
She has repeatedly obstructed the restaurant to eat together.
Around the pot table, burn a table
We loved to eat meals as children, by the pool
Wash the dishes and laugh
We play cards and watch TV. And when
We got angry and insisted on going to the restaurant
She sat condescendingly at the table and took small bites
Complaining about the taste and price, I ate it
We imposed meals on her with a willingness
Her mother's surname was Liu.
I've always taken the weak text on the left as a whole
Her wholeness, while ignoring her right side—
Tough and strong.
She had been in the whistling square and rushed out
The sea of people, accompanied by the father of the parade. She had
On the banks of the mighty Yangtze River, we will overcome public opinion and ruin our families,
Healing my dying youth...
I can't forgive myself
Every word that was misunderstood and loudly said to my mother.
And now, there is only one cry
She couldn't hear anymore.
Under my knees, the grass returned to green, as I regretted.
Her tombstone,
This vertical bluestone engraved with her name,
It is the sail of redemption, the soul'
Lone peak, higher than
The top of my head
The spring breeze is wiping the sky over the tombstone,
I saw white clouds lifting up the lake
Her smiling face and signs with her father.
This kind celestial sign
Relieved
Lonely
The night rain after autumn increased.
I rummaged through the books in my study
The sound of rain keeps me in my head.
Cabinets, tables, bedsides, messy memories
One by one, the thoughts are as follows
Lightning that tears the curtains
A letter fell from the fluffy "Ancient Literature Guanzhi"
It was the only letter my father had ever given me in his life.
I almost forgot the letter, but I'm sure it wasn't lost.
It's like kneeling in front of his tombstone during qingming, thinking of sneaking with his brother
Swimming in the river was punished by him for kneeling on the bluestone. Every line of words in the letter
All break through the limitations of the rules, like his hardness, like whipping
Our whip marks. This deep bluestone streak, like a blood vein.
When I was provoked by my son, I often whispered a drink to make him kneel on the floor.
At that moment I thought of my father
Remembering the whiplash of the rain. Remembering my own intermittent mistakes, thinking
Happiness all the time. Remembering the dark page of stationery,
If the street lamp is dim on a rainy night, the skin with his body temperature.
"Wu'er, see the words as they are: ... Parent word"
Oh Father, I want your words
Lights
Woke up drunk and walked in the dark
A cup. In my throat
A dry well was erected.
The riverbed of sleep, in the darkness
Dried up for a night
After entering middle age, some habits
Fixed. Wide inside, far outside
Believe in the power of slowness.
Blame the institutional mechanism, but also blame it
Their own decadence. The skin of my fingertips
Molting through layer after layer,
The swirls of circle after circle are still clear
Lift the cup of water, and Dawn has spawned
But I faintly saw the light on the floor.
Refracted, reflected piece of light.
At that moment, I was drowsy and convinced
It is a narrow light squeezed out of the kitchen.
I want to see my mother cooking breakfast for us
And she has been dead for many years
Sense of ceremony
Towards the evening, lie on the lawn and watch the clouds
Scales all over the sky. A big fish has no head and tail.
I recognized it as a cirrocumulus cloud, no cloud shadow
Fall on the turf of egalitarianism.
It's not like lightning and thunder under the clouds.
White, lacking in the ritual sense of rain
The sense of ceremony is very important.
Will make you understand the development of the next journey.
After making a wish, the candle will be blown out
After signing the agreement, they shake hands and clap their arms
Kissing the left eye will make you kiss her right eye
But cracked cirrocumulus clouds did not.
The precognition between us has been absent for too long.
You don't know what the fall meeting is going to discuss
We will never again make an alliance for one meeting
Smear the blood of the animals on their respective lips.
Will not be in the wilderness, cutting grass for incense,
For a vow not to be blown away by the wind.
We worked hard to piece together broken clay pots,
Want to put it on the shelf again, but always
I can't find the two pieces up and down.
Missing fish heads and tails could not be found.
That lost both ends, too
We are on both ends of the road.
One day white clouds, fragmented
Under the scaly sky,
The ritual I would most like to experience firsthand is
Holding his ashes, he walked by
The lawn that the lawn mower has just cut
Camphor in Gangnam
The days in Gangnam are happy.
This happiness is very direct, probably cloud shadow
Jump over yourself and project onto the jungle.
It could also be a long oblique sunlight,
The distant summit is bright.
My joy, simplicity, anytime, anywhere.
Those occasional phenomena always make me
The troubled mind calmed down like a gust of wind
Dangling through the camphor forest, the noise is so short
Does loving plants mean I'm getting old?
Whether or not it appears to be a permanence to a life
And the exuberant, reincarnation obsession?
Wander or stand in front of a camphor tree
Is it a recovery of the form of a past life?
Gaze at the village head alleys scattered, or among the mountains
When small areas of camphor are clustered, why
It excites me like a stream
Excited like a stream hitting a rock?
Face any camphor tree
I see myself as the kind of person who can hold a headache and cry.
It's just like that
There is no evolution outside the mountain
Also forget about the thunderstorms of the past
For hundreds of years, I didn't ask about red dust
Use aroma to repel insects and ward off evil spirits
Be a solid father
The canopy is like an umbrella, sheltering future generations
There are dense lines in the body
There was an inch-by-inch resistance to the pain
There are also slowly expanding territories
Mid-Autumn Night against children
Before returning to school, he asked me to play again
Eleven years, has formed a habit.
In the first decade, he lost more and won less
At the beginning of the last decade, we won and lost in half
I understand the boy's mind.
He tried to defeat Lao Tzu in a way
Labels the speed and height at which they grow
As people enter middle age, I am accustomed to seeing success or failure
Three steps to the luoziguan, turning the mountains and turning the water
Hold on to the increasingly steep mast
Crossing oneself, crossing others.
That's how many things come about
Many things are not for outsiders
Outside the window, the moonlight was forcing the windowsill
He set up a cannon Prancing Horse, and I supported the Flying Elephant
Yixin sent a pawn across the Boundary River.
The increasingly meticulous steps of youth make me
Retreat after retreat.
And I was happy in my predicament
Father you left us for eleven years
Your pieces and board are still there.
The carriages and horses, the elephants and pawns are still there.
Every step he took, I did
Perceive the rules and intensity of your transmission.
We are united in one opposition after another,
Together, we will commemorate you again and again
Attachments
At this moment, I am looking at the swimming fish in the stream,
Thinking about it for the rest of my life and half of my life.
Everything has too much contamination, and fish except
Entrusted with water, only the last blade.
I can't get rid of too many things.
White tablets swallowed daily
A scar that permanently lies dormant in the abdomen
A string of Buddha beads that I often wear on my left hand.
I can't feel the weight
Take medication
I rely on a dose of white medicine
Settle down
Every morning, I rinse my mouth of hangovers
Swallow one grain and dissolve the blocks in the meridians
Let the blood of the horses run day and night
Slow down and run at a constant pace
Powerful hoof sounds, crossing
The oak tree that fell down, clear itself
It was another journey and another journey
The pills were white, like a chess piece
Lift the enclosed aluminum foil and lift it away
A dilemma in the body
It doesn't matter if you win or lose, the lifting flower
Gain qi by robbing
Fill in the traps with each step
I want to take you into medicine and melt into the flesh
Accompany me through the fleeting time
Contain my rage and wilting
Tell me to jump out of the daily pit
I see you as a calendar, thirty in one plate
Take one pill a day, month after month, forget the loss
Like highly skilled sappers, clear mines
Eliminate loud noises in the brain
In fact, I am still seeking
A dose of white medicine
Fill one blank with another
Tooth extraction
The female dentist will pull out the sick tooth
He came to me and said,
"Your teeth are biting too deeply
The wound is large and may hurt for a few days. ”
After my youth, I kept gritting my teeth
You can't let go, and you don't want to let go.
The saddest Chinese is in the chest.
I won't spit out half a word
The grief-stricken personnel affairs are over
The mountain that suppressed me has also been uprooted
I only use the mouth shape of the moon at night
Gasp and lick the notch with your tongue
Don't doubt the branch text I wrote
Those are sincere. those
Fish bubbles out of the water and cracked
I can tell the world
The flesh that began to age did not discourage me
Sycamore Song
I'm the one who is there
People who arrive in the sunset. You can
With the help of sundials, bells and the shadow of the tower
I've always been accurate in my calculations.
I will fall when it is cold
Charred scabs,
Every spring
Cut off arms grow out
Pain over the years
All these years
I didn't migrate, I didn't get
Pull out the deep mud. I'm right next to you
I have my rules of early summer.
Lost shade, make my sky
More open, I can see
Nailed to the night sky of Venus. I'm right there
Your way is
Next to the roaring garden
I am not with you.
The path I've been crossing
Lined with stone tablets
These lost arms of Hua Watch
It's not nothing —
There is no lush territory
Newborn branches will too
Hang a different world
Excerpted from "The Movement of All Things", by Wu Shaodong, published by Anhui Literature and Art Publishing House in April 2019