Shao Yongzhen
◎A lot of surplus
Kasuga
When the wind blows, the dye shop will open
Stiff limbs open slowly
Tens of millions of tiny gaps
Grain by grain of sunlight is thrown in
Finer wind wipes watering
The land begins from this moment on
With attitude
Rivers are never changed without permission
Stand your own way
The convection of air is slightly ostentatious
I see the time
Squeeze your eyes
The plants are green
The frog barked
People buried in the ground
Also woke up
Never take fire advice lightly
The maiden hanging from the branches inadvertently
Light yellow smile spring
I prefer to believe rumors
This secret weapon
Lethality is enormous and can be easily obtained
Fight off apathy, greed, delusions
Fall asleep with a pure body
Loved is more pure
In the afternoon, the poison did not hide for long
Spring will never let go of the leakers
Where there is no truth, I prefer to believe in expressions
Where there are no expressions, I'd rather trust plants
Some nights there was thunder in the air
Lightning and humans sing the opposite
And all the warnings didn't stop it
They're greener and more thorough
Blood
In the end, everything is fleeing
Her soul was silent
Wait for the hulling
She had been restless all her life
It has never been so peaceful
In the end nothing matters
Her gaze dimmed day by day
There's nothing in it
No longing, no surprises
There is no need and no hope
In the end there was nothing left
At least I couldn't see it in her eyes
There is no shape of anything
Move out when there is sun
Half-closed eyes in the sun
Then even those sprinkled on her
The light on his body is escaping
I hid my grief and kept calm
I leaned down and told her about that
She had told me about it repeatedly
Then she would laugh and purse her parched lips
This lip once kissed me
Now it doesn't have a trace of moisture
She gently held my hand
Just keep stroking like that
It's like wiping a holy relic over and over again
She stared at my hand and looked hard
It was as if I had seen something
She talked to herself
She was thinking
A profound question
There must be something
Impressed her
She was reluctant to put it down
I felt like she must have felt it
There was her blood running through it
The Poetry of The Demise
"When you think about the desolation of this world,
This incomparable desolation makes the world empty. ”
Snuffing out the lamp, he wrote these two verses
There is no further reading after that
To restore the darkness in the body
Reach the purity and depth of the ants
Love a word like you love someone
Love someone like a food
How hard
All that needs to be said is said
One sentence is one less
To be alive is to do subtraction
Delete the soul
Remove the bones
Give each other gifts to each other before you die
The bitterness of the only remaining flesh
The remaining days will be arranged like this:
Dig the hole in your heart and nibble it
Decaying willows
Yiyi, no hesitation, not willing to give up day and night
Finally hollowed out -
all
Or empty-handed
We are in our own empty bodies
Plant a few unnamed plants
……
I haven't done anything that should have been done yet
For example, love and yearning, repentance
And giving up
So many people in this world age every day
A lot of people die every day
Why can't you leave it to me
This woman named Shao Yongzhen
There are thousands of women named Jane
I only know one man named Shao Yongzhen
Eighty-five-year-old grandmother
She is my dearest relative
I also want to eat the pumpkin seeds you fried and pasted
I also want to see it every time I go back to my hometown
The old woman who was hunched over and crying
I also want to always come after me every time I walk away
"Come back early," the hoarse cries of the voice
You haven't had a few good days in eighty-five years
For eighty-five years I have eleven years is your twilight
For the remaining twenty-six years I'm just your morning
In the past, you always said that it is better to die than to live
Now you're vague, it's not interesting to live...
I know why, but I can't say it
There is only remorse in saying it, and they all blame us for incompetence
From then on, when I called out to Grandma, no one agreed
This poor woman named Shao Yongzhen
Huge riddle
Guess what year and month I was born and died
When? My First Rebellion (or Surrender)
A dream that does not distinguish between true and false or a beast that awakens to a nightmare
It can be a tiger and leopard, a goat that has failed to be martyred, and a farewell to sorrow
Long-lost girlfriend, tyrant, or liar maker
He has been watching me silently since the day I was born
I don't know Ding, I almost never know—
My mother. The path of memory that gradually loses temperature
It can be you. Ice in the heart of the tree
The veins of stiff mulberry leaves in the pillow core
Silkworm all over transparent before eliminating the last darkness
Silk quietly expands the soft entanglement
Urgency is in the heart
Who died last night by the sound of boiling frogs
We tout each other for fun
As like as an apple to an oyster
I will be alone
Hug a lot of people at night
We talk nonsense all day long when we are full of wine and song
The rhetoric is vain and mistaken for sincerity
It weaves a web, autism, and briefly seals the body
Curled up in thoughts looking at the wind to make the rudder
Whether the wings in the flowers still care about the sound of the wind
Create new wind sounds
Life is like a mystery... The funeral was held as scheduled
If you are my friend
You should have guessed what year and month I was born and died
When? I asked the question for the first time
Whose water in the cup is shared
Preacher
The wilderness looked around, and the green was silent
People are once again standing tall on the top of the mountain
The scales are upside down And the bald branches are shining
I'm on my way
Covered with needle tips and mai mang
A moment to awaken the soul
It's here!
Wind from all angles
Sow the seeds of freedom
The sermon of the wind is sharp
And can't wait
The day of our salvation has come
We are occupied by the wind
This lonely and lonely liberation
This converges quickly and ferociously
——
The wind ignited everything
autumn rain
I'm not so miserable
Therefore, you can't experience the weight of autumn rain
Two o'clock three o'clock sound
That happened in the spring
Spring things
Real autumn rain
Or drain
Or silent
People trapped in the rain
I'm afraid I'm being miserable again
Autumn is like a man passing through sixty
An old man in his old age
The autumn rain is the cold sweat that they shed
serenade
Mountain Ridge Ditch
Tree roots from the top of the mountain
Chase down
Lips in summer
Moist and crispy
Cool valley breeze
Climb quietly to the top of the mountain
Lie on your back there
In the warm twin peaks
The moon is as soft as water
The moonlight that flows like water
A snake arched its body
Pull out the grass
pitfall
Something should come to mind at this time
But you may not remember anything
That's what other people say
Those bright and obscure
Fleeting
Untouchable
It's your own heart
There's always beating
But I don't know why
Who is swayed
floating
A teenage girl passed me
I went through the taste
Death, the distant breath, revives poetry.
The scavengers looked at the world
One hand shook
Stir in the trash
His hopes were more like those of his parents over the years
Hope for me
So light
So sacred
World: hot and cold, repetitive, impermanent
People are generally drifting around in the wind
So insignificant
One by one, life disappeared silently
They inhabit poetically
Next to the breath of death
So beautiful
So cool
relativity
Cherry leaned over and stared at life
Thornberry in her shadow
They lay in the palms of their spread green hands
Clear veins are feeding blood to the bright red heart
I know you Cherry said to Thornberry
But it may not be that deep
We have the same skin color
It's all flowing through our bodies
Sweet blood
Believe in the same aphorism
Always ready
For the sweetness of life
We are growing in
Brothers of different classes
Mutual jealousy
Pity each other
Nice to meet you
Thornberry shook his head in silence
Look up at you every day
I can only express it to you
Worship but this is not the case
Show that I know you
The secrets of our hearts
There have been differences since the time of youth
To later form
The gap is becoming more and more apparent
So as soon as I saw you
I thought of myself
You are the stars in the sky
I am an underground ant
We are not the same
But I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart
Let me reacquaint myself
The taste of our lives
Actually, it's not bad
Not bitter at all
It was just a serendipitous discovery
It's frustrating
You're sweeter than me, I'm sourer than you
This must be mentioned
Our natural ingredients are different
Not the same class at all
Toward the completion of a poem (creative talk)
Wen 丨 a lot of surplus
Out of gratitude, I had to finish, one poem after another.
I want to thank the talent, the inspiration, the laws of the universe. Thanks for bringing me to the confused reality, thanks for the words that came to the door. Thank you for coming uninvited and saying goodbye, and thank you for all the motivation that gave me to write. Out of gratitude, I had to finish one poem after another before continuing to complete new poems.
It's not that I write one poem, or many poems, every day. Writing poetry doesn't make money, it's not my job, it doesn't have quantifiable significance.
For many people, there is no difference between writing one poem and writing ten thousand poems. It is nothing more than a way of internal consumption of life, but it is a little higher than ordinary consumption. For me, this determination is equally valid and true. I do need such consumption. It makes me feel like I'm being consumed. And life is filled with this waste, it decays faster and lighter.
This will help us fly.
I may also write the same poem over and over again. Like our constant introspection and repentance.
The poems that we have completed must have really been completed. Just like those who have been loved by us, we don't necessarily have love.
And the love of poetry is a huge void. No matter how much effort you make, you can't make up for it, and you can fill her up and move toward perfection.
In the pursuit of perfection, I will write endlessly.
Just like the rotation and rotation of the planet, we know that it is because of gravity, and the gravitational force that makes our brains run at high speed is the language that flies in the sky, attracting us, seducing us, and repelling us. Get a wonderful experience in the countless times towards the completion of a poem.
And we are being created, disturbed by the rays of inspiration.
We go back to the part repeatedly, and we want to grab the whole, such a contradictory search.
It's hard to say how long it will last, but as long as life exists, the perfect thing will exist—the goal of pursuing perfection will exist. The movement of words will exist. The order of poetry will exist. Effort will exist.
Inadvertently tearing perfectly is not necessarily a failure. Every time it is done effectively, it needs to be destroyed to allow the freshness to reveal the flaws and new loopholes to be revealed.
The cracks in language must be opened before we can get in and we can get out.
That's how we go in and out of a poem, surrounded by it, annihilated by it, swallowed up by it, accepted by it, rejected by it. Give her pleasure, and she will also get pleasure.
One poem can make us finish, and ten thousand poems can make us finish.
Or, so, the truth: it wasn't us who finished it. It can never be done. And orientation is completion.
Just like our life, living for a hundred years is a lifetime, and living a day is also a lifetime.
Our life, born towards death, and when we are alive, it is impossible to complete death.
Life is broadened in subtle emotions (commentary)
Wen 丨 Ji Kaiqin
I stubbornly believe that Many Yu is one of the finest poets in my reading range, although poetry may not necessarily be his mainstream creation. His profound knowledge, complex works and maverick lifestyle have become a unique spiritual landscape of contemporary literature.
"I see the time / Squeeze my eyes / The plants are green / The frogs are barking / The people buried in the ground / Also awake" - "Spring Day"
This winter afternoon became more and more warm in the superfluous verses. I thought that all writing, whether poetry or fiction, was like a window open to the reader. We can directly or indirectly enter the author's heart and wander in the human world outlined for us by the author. No matter what kind of landscape the world presents to us, it must be the most beautiful realm created by the author's heart, bringing his perception and understanding of the real world in which we live. The world is built on the basis of feelings, layer by layer. Xu's superfluous group poem "Shao Yongzhen" presents the reader with such a realm of truth and perfection.
"In the end nothing matters / Her gaze darkens day by day / There is nothing in it / In the end there is nothing / At least I can't see the shape of anything in her eyes ... She gently held my hand / just kept stroking it / like repeatedly wiping a holy relic" – "Bloodline"
The group of poems "Shao Yongzhen" runs through the poet's true experience of life from beginning to end. Life is rich and varied, and if a man can control his language freely, then his writing is full of vitality. This is the case with many of the remaining poems. He writes about his hometown, writes about family affection, writes about the hardships and reflections in his life... Over the years, he has formed his own outlook on life and values. Although we are all writing about everything around us, and we are digging into the dimension of life to varying degrees, it is not enough. There are many remnants of depth that are beyond ordinary people.
The scavenger looked at the world / One hand buzzed / stirred in the trash can. / His hopes, much like those of his parents over the years / Their hopes for me / So light, / So sacred. - "Gone with the Wind"
Behind everyone's life, there may be a pair of expectant eyes. In the past ten years of interaction with Superfluous, I have seen a son of a mountain walking in the bustling world with the calm and silence of a mountain. He carried the thickness of the mountain on his back, carried the high hopes of his relatives, and used words to ram an indestructible homeland. This home is material, but also spiritual. Everyone's hometown is different from the hometown of others, and many Yu write about his relatives, his hometown, and in the traces of his life growth, the hometown occupies an important position.
As the most popular writer of the post-80s generation, Many Yu has appeared on The China Good Book List and major best-seller lists, with readers all over the country. As the founder of well-known independent brands such as Kafka Independent Bookstore, he started from scratch, his daily life is complicated, and his masterpieces are frequent, which requires a strong idea as a support. I think all this may have stemmed from the teachings of the mountains and the people of the hometown.
"Go to the earth!" ...... At that time, the earth was like a ladder / My father and fellow countrymen I missed day and night / They just followed this ladder / Went to the western heavens" - "The Earth"
He weaves his hometown into a net, the past of his youth, and his relatives are in this net. His tightly woven web is tough and warm with a fine thread of life, full of rich pastoral style.
"You haven't had a good few days in eighty-five years/ In eighty-five years I've had eleven years as your twilight / The remaining twenty-six years I'm just your morning" - Shao Yongzhen
His writing about his hometown is fresh and natural, with a simplicity that does not understand the world, and a sincere and spontaneous style. But much more than that. He wrote all the worldly phenomena into poetry. He expanded the subject matter of poetry, and the tedious life can be included in poetry. This group of his poems is rich in content, delicate in emotion, and varied in style. His perception of life flows in the form of verses, the form is eclectic, free to relax, he let me see a three-dimensional, rich, even humorous much more.
In a sense, I think many yu are deliberately broadening the scope of poetry and giving modern poetry more possibilities. Turn the impossible into the possible, and change the narrow into the vast. He used his own writing practice to tell us that poetry can be informal, big grin, and can do whatever you want, as if it were a person. Small family jasper is a kind of beauty, and wild and uninhibited is also a kind of beauty. Excess writing falls into the latter category. It seems that many of the poems written by Yu seem to be unpolished. His language is not exquisite and elegant, like a trimmed flowerbed, a straight street tree—sentences like that are too rigid, serious, and lack lively and vivid. Accustomed to watching elaborate, rhetorical poetry, Xu's superfluous writing seems to be a little more wild, more free. When I say "wild", I should be understood as similar to the mountains and wild, but not chaotic, complex but not complex, original taste and original ecology. It is this "wildness" that sets him apart from others. His praise or criticism is sincere, not deliberately expanding, nor deliberately avoiding or narrowing. From him, I saw that in modern urban life, a generation of people are struggling in confusion and fighting in progress. The spirit of "fighting" in many yu personalities can also be glimpsed from this.
"We are occupied by the wind / This lonely and lonely liberation / This rapid and ferocious convergence - the wind ignites everything" – The Evangelist
In any case, in the group of poems "Shao Yongzhen", in addition to expressing the chant to his hometown, the poet is more about going to the self, analyzing the self, emphasizing the spiritual trajectory and mental journey of the self. These verses are meandering, the imagery jumps, and a few sentences are even deep and obscure, not only related to his own poetic qualities, but also related to his living environment since childhood. With its depth, the mountain shapes the poet, and the poet also obtains a deep spiritual space beyond ordinary people. This group of poems embodies the poet's philosophical reflections on life.
The characteristics of language will not be repeated here. Readers who read it themselves will have a better experience. I thought that a poem written to the extreme, more natural, language is just its gorgeous coat.
Xu's "Shao Yongzhen" is an inscription of his hometown and an engraving of urban life.
(Excerpted from the second half of Yanhe Magazine, No. 2, 2022)
Many Yu was born in Anhui in 1983. His works have been published in Beijing Literature, Tianya, October, Poetry Journal and other journals, and have been selected into the "Centennial Series of Chinese New Poetry" and "Selected Chinese Poetry Annuals". Some of his works have been translated into English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Korean, Arabic and other languages and published abroad. He is the author of more than 20 novels, poems, essays, dramas and other works.
Ji Kaiqin was born in 1981 in Shou County, Anhui Province. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association. He is the author of four poems, including "Cultivating a Soft Heart". He has won the Anhui Provincial Government Social Science (Literature) Award, the Chinese Red Sorghum Poetry Award, etc. Participated in the 33rd Youth Poetry Festival of the Poetry Journal.