Star of the Week | Jiang Kangzheng: Slowly grouting life

author:China Writers Network
Star of the Week | Jiang Kangzheng: Slowly grouting life

"Star of the Week" is the key column of the original channel of China Writers Network, every day through the first and second review from the massive original author manuscripts to select 8 daily "key recommended" works, and then select the "Weekly Selection" works from it every week, and finally combine the "Weekly Selection" and the personal recommendation of each editor teacher to select a "Star of the Week", and distribute recommended words and recitations, which are jointly promoted on the website of China Writers Network and WeChat public account. The selection of "Star of the Week" is based on the quality of works, and at the same time, with reference to the quantity and quality of works published by this author on the website, covering genres such as novels, poetry, and prose, is a consideration of the overall level of a writer.

——Column host: Deng Jiefang

Star of the Week

Jiang Kangzheng

Star of the Week | Jiang Kangzheng: Slowly grouting life

Jiang Kangzheng, born in 1969, a native of Taixing, Jiangsu Province, is a teacher and a member of the Jiangsu Provincial Writers Association. He has published poems in "People's Literature", "Poetry Journal", "Beijing Literature", "Literature Harbor", "Chinese Poets", "Chinese Poetry", "Green Wind", etc., won the essay awards of "Poetry Journal" and "Chinese Poetry Journal", and was selected into the "Daily Good Poems" and "Chinese Good Poems" columns of the China Poetry Network, and the first senior research class students of Jiangsu Academy of Literature.

Slowly grout life

Readers: Hua Jiao, audio wide-angle anchor, the audio of this column is produced by Pin Reading Sound Studio. The recitation fragment is a blue font part.

Four o'clock in the afternoon

At four o'clock in the afternoon, get up, and I want to go out and see them.

There is no wind, the sun is still on the fire, and the weather is showing a rare warmth. After two icy colds, I came to them and snuggled up to each other. Atrophy. Tired. Bleak. Scorch. Silence. They must still have palpitations, and they can't look back on the past. The sun warms them in their arms, quietly, without noise or noise. After experiencing more, it will naturally become rich and deep.

Far and near, up and down, inside and out, so I looked around a few times.

The sage of camphor is the deepest: the leaves are curled and shrunk, the branches are silent, fortunately, there seems to be two or three winters away from the stumps and leaves, but there has always been only one winter in the world, one year.

Hai Tong was fine, still the oily hippie smiley face, it seemed that they had no heart and no lungs, and never intended to remember the disaster. A bird flew up, and it turned out that I had come to its doorstep. To whom is it going to ventilate the message? Does it have a lot of loved ones scattered in the depths of winter?

Five citron are placed at the highest point of the mother's body, and their peduncles are now inhabited by nine cows and two tigers.

eldest brother

Lying in the bed, the electric blanket warm and drying, I was reading a few poems, and the phone rang - an uncle in the family called. It meant that I would call my eldest brother to see if he was home. The eldest brother was worried that this uncle had too much wine and could not get home smoothly, so he followed him all the way until he slipped smoothly to the door of the house, and the eldest brother turned back.

I quickly called my eldest brother's cell phone, because it was eleven o'clock in the evening. Fortunately, the eldest brother also arrived home. In the phone, he wanted to say something to me again, but I was impatient and hung up.

Always, impatient with big brother people, almost nothing.

The jelly of our house

Suddenly remembered the freezing of our house.

My peach. In front of my house. My dog. My backyard. What can be called our family must be full of private attributes, and must have shared a period of time with us.

The water is not our house, and it is still the rain in the sky. They just happened to meet the eaves of our house, and from the eaves of our house they fell into our bucket of water – the blue bucket. This cold belongs to everyone, well, to our family. That very night, there was freezing in the blue bucket—there was freezing in our house.

It was thick, round, and several centimeters above the mouth of the barrel. With a cold face, he stayed in front of our house for several days. We go in the door or go out and glance at it a few times; One look, it melts itself a little. Melt a little, melt a little more; It is increasingly intermingling with our breath and the morning and evening. When it could be turned freely in the bucket, I used to try to catch it, shake hands with it, and communicate with it. However, its thickness still surprised me. I know that it came with great affection. To your home, too.

Then it was gone—our family's freeze, gone. Another chill was about to sweep in, and at dinner today, I missed it a little. Put the blue bucket in its old place, so that it can be familiar with the road, as if leaving a lamp for it.


A seventy-seven-year-old grandmother bought herself a hat; Before leaving, I took a fancy to a men's hat, and the left was compared to the right. Ask her, and she says buy one for her son, who is in his fifties and works in a greenhouse.

The news of the cooling of the strong wind has long been released, and there is a low temperature of minus seven or eight degrees Celsius the next day.

The wind blew on the mother, but the warmth of her heart was in her son.

A counterfeit coin

A customer came in, familiar with the face, and could not call out her name exactly. She picked something up, paid for it, a hundred-dollar note, and handed it to me: You look at the money for the truth or not. Even said it several times, and the more she said this, the more embarrassed I was to look at the money carefully, take it, and find change.

She turned and walked away, and I pulled out my money and looked at it again: fake. For me, this is the first counterfeit I received. Several counterfeit bills in our house were collected by my lover. At this point, our husband and wife are fifty steps and a hundred steps of laughter.

I carried this counterfeit coin with me and from time to time, I took it out and looked at it.

Bamboo plaque

On the surface of the water, a round bamboo plaque floated over. Thirty years ago, this was a family's "heavy weapon", and we had to rely on it for many things. Bask in the sun, want it; Raise the field, want it; Hoarding, covering, cool... All of them. It can't be broken; Once it's bad, it's bad, and almost nothing can be done. So the smith who hoped to have a repair came into the door.

But today we throw it straight into the water, how far to roll as far as possible. There is a lot of sadness and loss in my heart.

But, but... How many "buts" do I have to say to be surprised?

A round bamboo plaque floated over!

Loquat blossoms

When I walked out of the bathroom, it was dark.

I came to the loquat tree, tiptoed to the loquat flower, and sniffed. An elegant scent lingered on the tip of my nose, much like the smell of shampoo coming out, was it because I was taking a shower? That way, I'll go eat a pot of spicy hot later, and then come back and see what kind of taste they make to entertain me? Thinking so, I smiled dumbly, looked up, and the moon began to shine, gradually highlighting from the night sky. She also seemed to be so "fluttering" a smile, and the laughter turned into a bird still walking in the sky at night.

When I wiped my back just now, I asked Lao Shen intentionally or unconsciously, asking him what the taste of loquat flowers was, and he said he didn't pay attention. A seventy-year-old man did not pay attention to a loquat tree. Indeed, life is too busy: busy with yourself, busy with others, serious things, chores. In the blink of an eye, old; Blink again, the loess is a pluck. The loquat tree does not understand human affairs, nor does it despise the world, according to its own rhythm, winter flowers!

I also learned that loquat trees bloom in winter. The first time I came to this bathroom, this loquat tree in the yard caught my attention because it was in bloom! I was so amazed that I couldn't speak: didn't it know it was the big winter? In the wind and frost, rain and snow, it is stunned to blossom vigorously? The world is always like this, and the cold will surprise me.

So, I came back today, the bath is fake, see the flowers is real. The sky was still very bright, so I pulled out my phone and took a picture of this cluster of flowers.

sweet osmanthus

In the dark, two young men walked past the gate of our school. The strong fragrance of osmanthus flowers took care of them.

"Why is there still a osmanthus flower, not thanks?"

They must be from Gangnam.

In my circle of friends, some people posted osmanthus flowers in July, Qianqian and Qiaoqiao.

It's October.

I really wanted to take them into the campus, show them the osmanthus flowers full of branches, and tell them a secret: the laurel tree will bear fruit. The laurel tree that bore fruit last year has bloomed relatively little this year, and it is recuperating and accumulating strength.

Autumn light is a thousand acres, a weedy tree

At this time, if you can still see the figure of the barnyard, then it must be nine deaths.

I decided to go looking for the weeds. I don't know why I suddenly had a weedy in my heart.

It's in the rice fields; But when you go to the rice field, you may not be able to see the barnyard - tens of acres and hundreds of acres of rice, so pure, not a single barnyard.

At the beginning, barnyards and seedlings were born together and could be mixed. My mother would bend over in the fields all day long, pluck the barnyard, throw it on the path, and kill it. My mother also asked me to identify rice seedlings and barnyards. As soon as she said it, I remembered, following my mother, pulling out the barnyard.

But my mother didn't say it repeatedly, and I couldn't remember it, so that now I was at a loss in my heart and couldn't remember it at all.

However, now it is possible to see at a glance that the weeds are coming. It was a section higher than a neat rice, and the brown ears had tiny grains, squeezed together, densely packed, much like a harvest, the size of goosebumps. The families of those with fierce hearts continued to kill them all, carrying scythes, digging up the roots and throwing them far away.

At this time, it is also heavy, like rice; Like rice, it swayed the sun; Everything is like it, stretching itself in the autumn wind. - It is different from all things, it has no reincarnation.

I pinched its two spikes and tied them to the reflective mirror of my battery car, one left and one right. As I went, they shook their bodies doubly, as proud as two flags, waving through the market.

My kitten

The little girl jumped up and down and came in.

It was my cat who attracted her over. As she approached, she waved her hand, and the mouth of "kitten, kitten" seemed to come from the same fresh branch as it.

"Uncle, what's the kitten's name?"

"Snow White."

In fact, not long ago, it was also named "Ultraman" by me. It was a naughty little boy who had to chase me and ask for a name for him. Suddenly, the little boy admired the Ultraman.

"Kitten, Snow White!"

"Mom, Snow White!" The little girl ran out, waved her arm at her mother, and then turned and pointed to our cat.

Give the idiom grout for autumn

My uncle and I decided to go to his teacher.

The uncle said that his teacher either did not open his mouth, and as soon as he opened his mouth, it was an idiom. Later, the uncle exploded a foul mouth: Mom's. This "mother's" suddenly hung my appetite high, and the desire to meet this idiom-filled teacher was very high, as high as the Eiffel Tower.

My uncle is in fifth grade, or fourth grade.

To visit my aunt's teacher, you have to walk through many, many farmlands. The fields were emerald green with peanuts, rows of corn were pregnant with hexagome, and insects were flying in the flowers, just like my dazed and lively state of mind at that time.

My uncle is in front, I am after; Sometimes, I rush ahead and my uncle falls behind. Those field paths remember our young and hurried steps. We are only concerned with idioms,—— fields of early autumn, as if we were going to hurriedly open the idiom dictionary. The vines are stumbling, the body is toeless, and the autumn breeze is light.

Everything is in the grout.

In a hurry, when I came to the school, I suddenly realized: Today is Sunday. The classroom door was locked, and we looked inside, looking for the blackboard. The blackboard was clean, virgin piece of land. The uncle pointed to the corner in front of the podium and said: His teacher, standing there, facing everyone, with an easy-going face, the idiom ran out of his mouth one by one; Sometimes, I would turn around and write idioms on the blackboard, casually, casually, and appropriately.

My uncle's story made me feel that his classroom was full of moments, vivid and angry; I even saw my uncle's eyes, which were as clear as water and sparkling when they met his teacher, with those idioms.

This review 1:

Wang Qinghui

The new life of life

In this group of note-taking essays, the author uses sincere and sincere brushstrokes to show us a series of scenes and observations of daily life, and identifies the author's continuous true feelings for his family, life and the world by intercepting ordinary daily scenes and the feelings and tastes arising from them. The pictures shown to us in the text are not complete, the perspective is not neat, and there are hardly any major social topics involved, but these do not prevent us from seeing from the author's personal aesthetic outlook and spiritual history from the frugal and easy text. Therefore, it can be said that this group of essays shows us a world of precious spiritual outlook, and life has also been enriched and reborn in a literary way.

The life scene with strong personal color and time atmosphere, cast with full enthusiasm and calm scrutiny, makes the text without too much lyricism, can directly show the rhythm of the heart. In the universe of life, we see the goodwill and understanding of an ordinary person in life, and what is particularly valuable is that he has faithfully remembered the changes of the times and the growth of life in a quiet way.

We are constantly experiencing changes in the world, large and small, where the solid parts often remind us of the foothold of our own lives, and those that disappear without attention, often inadvertently and quietly change the way we see the world. To live in literature and to be born again means to establish a comprehensive and true connection between us and ourselves in literature, as the subject of our own emotional value. The strength and motivation of writing comes from this, and the eternal value of literature also comes from this.

(Wang Qinghui, Associate Researcher, Creative Research Department, China Writers Association)

This issue reviews2:

Wild water

Life is the source and fertile soil of literature, and literature is the reflection and extraction of life. A thoughtful writer will always immerse himself in the calm river of life, use the tip of the pen to open the floating debris, scoop the part below the surface of the water, and reflect life with a clean mirror image. "Slowly Grouting Life" is like a group of loose songs without a rhythm, using the technique of white painting to capture several fragments of daily life, which not only expresses personal feelings, but also reflects the hearts of the world's people.

After winter, camphor and sea tung do not forget to nurture fruit seeds. The drunken brother-in-law and the eldest brother take care of each other. The old lady's hat gives her 50-something son who works in a vegetable greenhouse the warmth of winter. The solid frozen ice in the blue bucket permeates the daily life of mortals. The section on the teacher of the uncle with a distinct personality, although he did not see his person after reading, he heard his voice first.

In Jiang Kangzheng's personal portfolio, there are not many articles. "The Glowing River Mussel" is a novel published in the magazine "Short Story", about a teenager who perseveres in search of the lost river mussel, alluding to the teenager's longing for his runaway mother and his desire for missing maternal love. In "That Soulful Song and Cry Fifty Years Ago", the two generations of great-grandmother and aunt cried excitedly when they saw each other, and watched each other when the yin and yang were separated. "A Long Look Back on the Silk Road" selects several fragments from the trip to the west to reflect the softness of the human heart with a small view of the earth, as well as the awe and yearning for the majestic history of the Great Northwest.

A common feature of these prose works is that they string together the fragments of what they see and hear in their daily walks, like pearls picked up with their hearts. These pearls shine with light, or warmth, or speculation, or contemplation, and reflect a sense of compassion and reality in the daily fireworks.

Compared with several other essays in the author's space, especially "A Long Look Back on the Silk Road", this "Life of Slow Grouting seems to jump more in the selection of fragmented materials, and the concentration of slurry is also diluted, so it feels difficult to taste a concentrated theme. Perhaps, the essence of life is the filling - the five flavors in the slurry. Or, then use slow grouting to make up for the gaps in the daily ubiquity, so that the cornerstone of life is more solid.

(Ye Shui, Vice Chairman of Weinan Writers Association, Shaanxi Province, Director of Novel Professional Committee)

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Learn more about Jiang Kangzheng's work

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Star of the Week | Huang Aihua: Windmill in 1982

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Star of the Week | Little Snowman: White Porphyry (Outer Five)

Star of the Week | Gadai Cai Rang: Zongjiao Lu Kang (Outer Song)

Star of the Week | Ma Youfu: Qinghai Flower Affair

Star of the Week | Beijun: Planting a Pot of Inner Sunshine (Group Poem)

Star of the Week | Zhang Sushan: A Tale of Finding a House in Beijing

Editor: Deng Jiefang

Second instance: Liu Ya

Third instance: Chen Tao, Wang Yang

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