After the rainstorm
(7 songs)
□ Song Garden
After the rainstorm, come to Deqiu Garden
The rainstorm rained for a while,
The park is littered with stuff.
Before the typhoon came,
I drove here.
There are female and marine scents in the cicadas
Serenity from near and far.
A cicada is a choir,
They connect our nerves.
Mandala Garden Cafe on the second floor,
Spire-capped wooden buildings, the sound of cicadas
Penetrate red brick green willow. Mandarin ducks on the lawn
Comb the feathers. Gray birds are preying.
Strong winds blow the fruit from the tree to the ground.
The kite spins on the branches.
I held out my palm,
Fingers exposed. The size of the cicadas,
Assists the swing of the fingers. As if I really became
The conductor of this heaven and earth. I walked on the tracks
At one point stayed at the Garden Hotel. As
The only poet-in-residence here, he was
await. The phone rang, water on the branches
Blow to the face. He spoke on the phone
There was a fish jumping in the sound.
It was as if he was talking to someone else.
If it wasn't for him saying:
"Song Yuanyuan, come to the house quickly."
Small poems
Being sick made me start thinking.
Don't think about why you're sick
Think about nature.
The nurse pulled down the curtains
Gray's left hand and right hand came back to me like a right hand.
Friends sent flowers on top
Gathered fear.
I obey the scent of flowers
Eat an apple
It's thinking with your mouth.
Days in town
You become poorer.
People who visit you keep bringing outgoing news
The only thing that refuses to talk about himself is that he refuses to
Thank you for bringing me a joyful sleep.
Prism
In the glass house,
Be a folk poet.
Camphor trees are higher than buildings,
Rain fell from high to low.
The wind and rain are fine, and the oblique shot is reached
On the glass, like a sentence
A voice is heard in a poem.
What a small idea that was.
It can be seen, but it can't
Say it easily.
Punch the glass and draw
Think in light and dark:
A person's life can be incorporated.
I can't go on metaphysically,
I pushed open the glass window and pulled a leaf
Together with the raindrops above.
The leaves are intact and the raindrops are deforming.
I write poetry on the leaves and look at it
Slowly become loose and blurry,
Like a graffiti painting.
Someone called my nickname in the next room,
She shouted loudly
It's not too much like shouting a familiar name.
Regrets
At this moment when the wind is loud,
I'm used to reverie at the stairs.
In an off-the-beaten-path world
Create a spiritual universe.
New news keeps coming from BOSS Direct Hire:
"Sir, your resume is great. It's just that
Not a good match for our position.
It's a pity. "I think of Du Fu's words,
No regrets, no regrets, no worries.
What's the pity,
I rejoice.
She was anxious.
If it weren't for the need to survive, I'd rather
It has been idle like this.
The wind was a little stronger because
There was a constant ticking sound coming from the phone.
Stairs
There are overlapping waves churning,
It seems to be going up the stairs
And these sentences of mine are swept away.
The windows were slammed shut by the wind
Suddenly turn the window into a window.
Empty stairs
I'm used to sitting on empty stairs,
It's not just from my past
Experience of being trapped in an elevator.
The empty staircase is rarely walked around, it is
Like an ignored presence.
Vacant, waiting for the empty man to appear.
The probability that I am in the empty staircase
At least once a week.
In a structuralist environment,
Thinking will have a sense of place.
The risk factor is low.
Bare cotton layer of the chair,
Keep it in a chair position.
I sat up, the weight of life
It was concave. Like a patient
Finally found the right location.
The opening and closing of the elevator, the entry and exit of people,
Scratches on the walls, dripping mops.
A little spider landed on my phone screen
It climbed up again along the spider's web.
If one day you ask me where I'm going to take you,
I hope, loose and crumbling, to sit like this.
Fits together like two steps,
The empty staircase leaves it willfully empty.
Walking alone by the river
Walking alone by the river. Reflection of the building opposite
It's a little nicer than the mansions on the shore.
Old Man Su and Old Man Shen at work
One held the cart and the other shoveled dirt into it
Their aging is obscured by reflections.
Direct sunlight, let a 30-year-old beech tree
Hold high ideals facing the sky.
Children in red hats, flying like kites.
Workers gliding down from the tower crane
Live in a mobile tent surrounded by trees.
The man who used to walk by the river was like a cannon
One will pierce itself into the earth, and the other will shoot into the air.
Now he's dive underwater. The dark river surface is sparkling.
Rain's childhood
People who write love rain.
This is also speculation.
In the previous poem I said I liked it
guess. Speculation is the written word of guessing.
Our memories of the world in the rain
More than the memory of a sunny day,
These are two memories that surround me.
The rain gathers us together,
From a departure arrives at the soul of man.
As a child I loved running in the rain,
At the village's threshing ground.
Running after the rain, running and running
Childhood was lost. Now we run too
Running is to hide from a rain.
On the way to the funeral of the eldest bride, I held the portrait
We were drenched in rain
Looking back on her troubled life in the rain.
On the way back, my cousin and I
Walking in the rain, the rain flooded his age
And the youth of youth.
The crops on both sides of the road are tender and green, like childhood.
An era of rain
There is a valve of the era.
We just walked like this, back to our childhood.
—END—
Yangtze River Literature and Art, No. 3, 2022
Responsible Editor | Ding East Asia
▲Song Garden |
Song Garden, real name Song Jiabin. Born in 1985 in Huaiyuan, Anhui Province, he now lives in Shanghai. In 2014, he won the first prize of the Shenzhen "Good Neighbor Literature Award" and participated in the fifth "October Poetry Conference" of October Magazine that year. In 2021, he won the 6th Yangtze River Annual Young Poet Award.