Poetry Space | Zhang Er Stick: Sudden Memories (12 songs)

Suddenly there is a memory

(12 tracks)

□ Zhang Er stick

Collection

All the mothers, from the fields

Returning from farming, gathered under our roofs

A mother in her twenties, cooking wood

A thirty-year-old mother, holding me to breastfeed

A mother in her forties, pounding a bundle of pods

A mother in her fifties, full of white hair

Pushing a flat car, uphill, gasping for air

A mother in her sixties, lying quietly on a clay kang

Sick, taking medicine, struggling again and again

Want to sit up. The last mother

Skinny as a piece of paper, unconscious there

We shouted at you, wanting to be one year old and one year old

Shout you back. But you are

Without a word, he gulped down his breath

It was as if, with all his might, he would bring poverty into poverty

And a sick life, swallow back

Thin body

Visiting relatives

In the mobile phone, there are several photos of the mother

Every time I look at it, it's like a great one

A long journey to visit relatives

I finally became, a chattering son

The mother, on the other hand, is always the opposite of before

Looked at me silently again and again

The son she left behind

She doesn't ask or advise. Like one

Strangers who are extremely angry... Like one

I have not yet learned how to persuade and how to comfort

How to rebuke the mother. I had to

While staring at her,

Cover your mouth tightly, afraid

Revealed, a trace

The bad news that I'm living on earth

Old vows

I swore I would never use it again

Wither, to embellish the rose. With gaunt

to describe the moon. I don't mean to write

Episodes of lambs sobbing, sick dogs creeping

I also swore not to depict the tramp

The back of the rickety does not outline the dumb

The corners of the lips are cracked, and they don't go through the interpretation over and over again

The cloudy tears of the blind, the clear snot of the orphans

But it was too late, I had already been killed

This one has nothing to do with each other, and yet

Messy plot, kneaded

A pile of gossipy waste paper

Every page is densely packed

Packed with masked people, parasites, voyeurs...

- They are all kinds of people, born from me

It made me feel unable to choose the way out of writing

Spend their days, unspeakable...

The gold in the shipwreck is still in the relentless mud and sand

Secret flickering. Who in a past life, lost in the ferry of the baby

It is already a child and grandchild around the knee. Past lives, devoured me

The river, now rushing, roared

Like a great, another call to this life

Oh, I'm long past the age of death

You cannot give a pure virgin body for you

I was suspicious, worried, and added a lot of malice

with hostility. Big river, I don't deserve it anymore

With you, forget about it. I'm all over the place

Dam embankments, fishing mines, sewage outlets, I am afraid

No matter how big the rivers are, they can't tolerate it

My tyranny, my dirtiness...

Flea market

As with all flea markets

Here, there are also second-hand doors and windows, furniture, electrical appliances

They will carry the imprint of one home and live in another

They will be rearranged from their territory and replayed

Respective functions. The big brother pedaling the tricycle

Know where they come from and where they go. He does it every day

Rushing on the road, gently carrying them

Like a person who sends relatives, but also like a person who sends the end

Hand shadow play

The lights are on. Small hostel for guests

Curled up on that dirty iron-framed bed

Against the white walls, endlessly

Fiddling, ten withered fingers

Like a slave, ten obedient slaves

He commanded them to nod their heads and kneel down to say goodbye

A second ago, watch them put on the wine

The next second, let them leave their hometown

He watched them, down the mine, and climbed the scaffolding

There is no way to get a salary, there is no separation of flesh and bones...

His fingers were getting busier and busier, more and more

Not enough, and that wall

Always indifferent. Until he was tired

Clench your fists and place ten rough fingers

Curl up like ten untied sinners

Kneel in the palm of your hand. And that wall

Finally empty, as if

The execution ground that was cleaned

The leveled cemetery

Late night line

He patted himself on the shoulder again and said something

Let's go, like an old nerd

Urging himself, he embarked on the poor road of catching up with the exam

I carry, this old baggage-like body

In the pitch-black room, walking back and forth

Take a house and walk into the shape of thousands of mountains and rivers

There must be someone like me who is tireless

In the house in the middle of the night, walking trembling and majestic

Without a word. Walking upside down, hysterical

Walk like going down the South Sea and going up to the Dharma Field. Go

Like a lost goose, a dog that has lost its family

As I walked, I cried. Walking

As we walked, this cramped room spread out

Boundless road of no return

A county newspaper on a certain day of a month in 2003

The last edition, still flooded with ads

The man who sold the house for treatment should have it now

New residence. The Chinese medicine doctor who peddled miracle medicines

Maybe it has moved out of this small city. One

On the search notice, the lost old man

Probably never to come back, he must still be there

Walking, maybe you have become personable

juvenile. The factory that produces toilet paper, necessarily

Developed into a high-end real estate. And that one

Admissions to the school, I never heard of again

Maybe even its students have forgotten

His own alma mater. I was under an old couch

This old newspaper was found. When I finish reading it gently

Only to know that this newspaper came from a distant place

And strange place. I never did

I've been there and accidentally found out

It's a day in the past, this moment

I was in a trance and panicked. As if, everything in this newspaper

Wrapped around me, become again

Countless people who have witnessed joy and sorrow, but they are like this

It doesn't matter to you, you have to go day by day

The old monk settled in and spent it

Look away

Looking further afield, every one

Houses are like randomly placed stones

The door and the chimney were gone. From further afield

Looking at it, the streets are like a long line, and the crowds are like ants

You don't see a shred of life

Ah, you can't see, they're alive too

Stay up all night and stay alive. Symbolic, alive

False throat

These days, I practice tiger whistles during the day

At night, imitate the cry of an ape. I'll make a sound

Thunder, wisps of mourning, roars of rage

For a moment, I was a twilight elephant

For a moment, I was a she-wolf who had lost her son

I use this pair of all the sorrows and joys in the world

The fake voice of the only portrait has been interpreted

Now, I'm shouting the drums again

One side slapped the shocked wood. I don't know

This voice of good and evil

How much sorrow and joy are there, lingering

How much mood. My useless fake voice

No one can be spared, and no one can be saved

Maybe, I was born to be

A person who is deaf and dumb will not be repeated again and again

Caught up in an endless verbal battle with oneself

Fake dead

Every day there are people suspended to death, every day

Some people pretended to be seriously ill and pretended to breathe

He dodged the wrapping of the shouyi, the wreath covering

With another, very different face

Attending a bleak funeral. He looked

Forged body of himself, bowed, prostrated

I plan to pull down a pair of ties, and I can't cry

He couldn't bear to be himself, that's it

Was hastily buried, gritted teeth decided

Summon back, the reincarnated self

Come to the funeral, this dead self

Hostage-taking

Countless rivers, both sides of the river that have been deeply hated

Holding hostage, all the way to the wind and dust servants

Imprisoned in the boundless sea

- This azure prison

The water of the Yellow River cannot escape, the water of the Yangtze River

There is no escape, the Mississippi River, nor can it escape

What a river of life sentences

The waves that are deeply angry with each flower are endless

Whipped, like a whip made of buffalo skin

Unscrupulous, it fell on the scalper

—END—

Yangtze River Literature and Art, No. 4, 2022

Responsible Editor | Ding East Asia

▲Zhang Er stick |

Zhang Ergun, whose real name is Zhang Changchun, was born in 1982 in Dai County, Shanxi. Contracted professional writer of Wuhan University of Literature. He has published poetry collections such as "Moving Mountains to Send" and "Into the Forest", and has won the Annual Young Poet Award of "Poetry Journal", the Chinese Young Poet Award, the Zhao Shuli Literature Award, the Yellow River Literature Award, the Western Literature Award, and the "Yangtze River Literature and Art" Biennial Award.