The poet solemnly promises: a full refund within a week for those who are not satisfied
The famous Jiangsu poet Monsoon's new poetry collection "Black Eyes" will be published by Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House in April 2021.
According to reports, "Black Eyes" includes the poet's return to poetry writing for nearly three years since the end of 2017, published in important domestic literary journals such as "Poetry Journal" and award-winning works. These poems are related to nostalgia and loved ones, to daily life and the affairs of the world, to the land and memories under the feet of the poet, to the feelings and love of home and country... The verses are concise and accurate, the emotions are sincere and frank, the artistic conception is lofty, the content is broad, and it is touching to read.
The book is beautifully bound and cutting-edge, with a total of 280 pages and 8.75 prints. The paperback is priced at 58 yuan and is now open to readers. The author does not intend to make money, and all those who book through the author himself are given a discount of 50 yuan (free postage) per book. There are also a small number of hardcover books that can be used as gift books to send friends, and those who need it can add WeChat jfjf6226 or 13952328226, no discount.
Poet monsoon recent photo
It is understood that the poet Monsoon now lives in Huai'an, Jiangsu Province. In 1987, he began to publish works, publishing poetry collections such as "Fellow Countryman" and "A Man and His Village". He has won the First Wenjie Poetry Award, the "Top Ten Works" Award of the Second Poetry Classics Award, the Top Ten Poets of the 2019 Year of Modern Youth, the Top Ten Poets of the Sixth Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala, etc., and his works have been selected into a variety of authoritative anthologies such as "Chinese Contemporary Poetry Review", "Fifty Years of Jiangsu Literature", "Jiangsu Centennial New Poetry Selection", and his representative works are "Laoxiang", "I Teach in the Countryside", "Poverty Alleviation Heart", etc. Adjunct professor of Huaiyin Normal University and other colleges and universities. Black Eyes is the poet's third book of poetry.
The poet Monsoon solemnly promised: whoever buys the collection of poems of "Black Eyes" will be refunded in full within a week.
(Sun Lianzhou)
Appendix 1: Selected Poems of the Monsoon (18 poems)
Towards the sea
She had many children, wrapped in the arms of the coastline like water molecules,
There wasn't a single one she loved.
Those gulls, those seaweeds and fish, those sails...
It was all hieroglyphs in her heart, touched by the waves over and over again.
And those islands, those floating lands,
Not an inch of flesh is superfluous.
She was too wide, like the sky had been buckled upside down on the surface.
Her love was so pervasive that I often couldn't walk out of the southeast and northwest.
To the sea, the sea is an old man, a mother-in-law.
She used blue to lift a piece of the sky above her head.
Towards the sea, the sea water often tickles and hangs on my face,
It was the guidance that was illuminated at sunrise in the east.
I am a man whose body is full of sea,
All the sour, sweet and bittersweet in the motherland, I will not refuse.
See the white clouds at Baiyun Airport
Look at baiyun airport, so many planes fly up and down.
They are also clouds, clouds of iron, clouds of steel.
The clouds in the sky are about to fall;
The clouds on the ground are about to fly into the clouds.
Clouds often pass by,
They say goodbye and reunite.
At this time, I was taking a passenger plane of China Eastern Airlines back to Huai'an,
Clad in armor, I was a bullet, flying in the air.
For many years I was led by a white cloud,
In a vast void, the southeast, southwest, and northwest fluttered.
Mom, how lonely and dangerous it is for people to walk on high places.
Emptyer than empty, whiter than white,
The sky was so destitute, like an empty village, a human heart.
Stir-fry time, some things are heard by Tintin Dangdang.
We children who have been thrown out by the earth,
Seeing the white clouds, tears immediately shed;
Thinking of my hometown, the inner tiles are instantly covered with frost.
request
Please give me a piece of land, small, slap bigger.
When spring comes, it can plant a few shallots,
Just write a few rows of greenery.
Please give me a piece of land, chop wood, feed the horses, chop vegetables, make tea...
How much love life gives me,
I have a lot of nostalgia for life.
Please give me a piece of land, not necessarily a flat tangible one...
It can be irregular, even with teeth and claws,
I'm running on it, just let me drop a few less heels.
Please give me a piece of land, you can take me away
That piece of land. It can be black, yellow, even ugly...
Years from now, as long as it can still recognize me,
Just bury my bones.
Grass house
Black leather dirt-faced guy
Like a small beast, it often tickles or haunts the place on my chest.
As the sun sets, the matchbox-like shadow is stretched long and long.
I trotted all the way to chase it,
The lamp flew into its arms like a lamp. The children of the country would rather believe in love,
I'd rather believe there's more warmth in the night.
A matchstick ran out of the paper-wrapped body,
Another matchstick also rushed out of its body.
The flesh of the grass house seems to have been sucked out of the ribs,
A big tree is high above the crowd looking,
A forest collectively lost its voice.
The hollowed-out sky is shaking,
The fate of the grass house is mostly like the past and present lives of matchboxes.
Some elements were dismantled by the rain,
Some birthmarks on paper were blown away by the wind.
Clay pots
High nose bridge, large face, wide skeleton, head wrinkles...
Hiding in the grass on the side of the road, refusing to come out, afraid of seeing passers-by,
The gray-brown expression seemed to have encountered another rain.
In fact, its stomach once had birdsong,
There was lightning coming. Its youth had been hollowed out by swords and swords.
When I thought so, it suddenly looked up at me.
When I got home, I was surprised in the mirror:
My looks inherit everything about it.
Oh, the clay pot that has been buried deep in the grass for a long time,
Much like my long-lost ancestors.
Dark weapon
First a fairy came out of the body of the sky,
As you walk, you become a group of pairs.
They have made the human world a secret place.
I shouted snow,
None of them took care of me, one by one, and took care of themselves
Underwear, white coat.
There is too much unknowable in this world, and black,
Need more soft fingers to touch, or unpack,
More white is needed to apply.
And this white also smeared me with fullness,
The wind pushed me far away, as if I were a moving snowman,
It was as if I had become a part of this winter.
When the sun came out, I was crying a lot.
Snow, you are the only dark weapon of the earth this winter,
But I was silent.
garden
"When a woman walks, her body moves like a garden."
Their bodies contain grass, dewdrops, birdsong, stones, streams, sunshine,
And the beautiful snowflakes, oh, this garden of spring all seasons!
Thanks to God, these gardens belong to the men.
God is fair and has given me one. No, it's two —"
Another garden was married yesterday, well, my little daughter!
Mushrooms
It was raining, and I was walking in front with an umbrella,
They mimicked me and lined up behind them.
I'm like a foreman,
Take a group of kids through this messy...
They burrow out of their gray faces and scramble upwards.
In order not to let a partner fall alone,
Their bodies are next to each other, and they are united.
It was clear, and I put away my umbrella.
But they kept the umbrella on their shoulders and did not unload it.
way out
Grasshoppers in glass bottles, fluttering,
Fluttering from east to west, fluttering from south to north,
The road to come has been tightened by a hat.
Somewhere in the park, and a birdcage
Eye view. They are also rich people in life,
They are carried in mid-air by the hands of the spring wind to dance,
Wings, guarded by their own estates.
Swinging around, these two different styles of grandfather clocks,
I am counting the spring and autumn of another stubble.
Thinking of a patch of blue, they have a throat of pharyngitis
Formulaic cold screams.
Suddenly, it seems that there is a way out;
In the fluttering sound, there was never a way out.
letter
Hello dude, see the letter!
That familiar greeting, along with the city where you live,
Already pushed farther by the starlight.
Yes, no one beat me
I'm more familiar with your voice, I'm more familiar with your old face.
Wild grass grows haphazardly over the slopes on both sides of the mountain,
A mountain road in the middle, combing out your bipartite head.
Yes, our tempers are a little irritable,
Whenever I can't wait to open that kraft paper wrapped expression,
Your wild grass will be eager to break free of the seal,
Like a lion swooping in, rubbing my face.
In today's WeChat era, your handwriting is uniformly neat,
Imitation Song or zhengkai, all of them
Sitting precariously, a bit like the city's false formal clothes,
It's also a bit like your morals.
Never see your paper letter again,
Never smell your sniffles and hand temperature on paper again.
The 6-digit postal code has been idle, empty nest,
No one wants to fill in the birds.
The old site of childhood has been forgotten as a search notice.
Fast, just a second,
Fingers that leave you too late to ponder send a wrong command.
You try to apply, wipe or withdraw,
Yet it was all in vain.
The trees that have been modified have long since missed the dappled shadows.
In fact, faith is not something else, it is an old,
Time has made our old ones old again.
In the skin of life, I have already gained
Fifty-one old—dude, I remember
You're one more old than I am!
lighter
The lighter is often carried in my arms,
Ten years, twenty years, or even more years.
It wanders with me in the world,
Over time, it grew into my right hand
Sixth finger.
It is loyal,
It is held in a ball with five other fingers.
It has fire in its heart, an old tree that has been around for years
Wrinkles are often recognized by it,
And I was the one who ran out of the tree.
Someone was crying at some point,
The lighter stood up quite slender,
The tall building that stands in the G area of the Moon Season Garden.
With a click, the window light came on,
I heard a ringing finger with a gear
Commanding a slow retreat at night from a high place.
Mid-Autumn Moon
In the heights, it cannot speak,
With one mouth, it opens up another destiny: tears!
White, fat, smooth forehead...
It's not actually as soft as it looks.
Its fist often hits the left or right ventricle of the human heart,
It's just one of countless kinds of stones I've come across.
It's hard, it hurts on the tip of your tongue.
A sickle is copied in heaven,
I never worried about how dangerous it would be to fall into the human world.
There are so many lonely people on the earth,
Only there are scars hidden in the heart.
It can run, at bends in the river.
In the provinces, when the running water is exhausted
It and I are a pair of brothers who hug and cry, good brothers!
The world's business
It's okay to drink. The sky is so empty,
When it is lonely, it will count the stars,
A few days of things.
Drink when you have something to do. There is a stubborn disease in the abdomen
Will go to find Chinese medicine. Will
Take the pulse and listen to the heart sounds.
You say you hate yourself,
Like the drunkard who hated the corner of the tavern last night:
While guessing the liquor order with his teeth and claws,
While pretending to please this unscrupulous world.
Entanglement of two jujube trees
There are two date trees in the yard:
One grows in the yard, and the other grows all year round outside the yard of the world
run. This year is in a hurry to return.
In December, the snow is whiter than tears,
Messier and crazy than scrawled wrinkles.
I stood on the earth and struggled to write: Home, home!
As it was written, the jujube tree turned white.
This winter, the date tree in the house could not afford to be sick.
The jujube tree with rocky muscles.
It was hollowed out by moths, and the leaves on its body peeled off like words.
I held this fluttering bone and did not dare to let go,
As if as soon as his hand is loose, he will scatter a shelf of one meter and seven meters,
His bones would be left in another place, and the skin bag would not be recovered.
At this point I just want to cry with my back to my face, and there's nothing wrong with that.
People live a lifetime, always cultivate temperance or hiding,
Some things are hidden for a long time, and the arthritis of the jujube tree will attack,
Limping into the face of his father's pain.
But I was afraid that my disobedient eyes would cry tears,
I am afraid that the tears will spit out disobedient sounds and will drown out
This long, long, still long night.
There are two jujube trees in the yard: one is a jujube tree that leaks everywhere
The other is a jujube tree full of shame. now
One jujube tree will bury another with his own hands.
Father and son became brothers for many years. There are many entanglements in this world
But it made me my father's last enemy.
believer
Eighty-one years old man. Every morning,
She always closed the door and prayed in the direction of the light.
Her hands folded, and her palms were split by the light and closed again.
Two wooden planks, written different from the mountain flowing water.
I'm a kid with a lot of rocks tied up and easy to fall,
In the hands of the mother, there lived a church.
The church bells, which rang persistently,
I listened to it for fifty-two years, so religious, so stubborn,
It was as if its throat could really pour out something for the human world.
That unexplainable white
In the hospital, the wall whited with blood loss, as if it had been
Coughed out all the red in the body.
The inpatient building, full of people lying down,
Only the doctors, the nurses, and me —
A man who accompanies the sick stands bravely,
It's like standing on top of the skin with a needle.
They want to give anti-inflammatory night when they shout,
Give the white buildings a shot of apexlin and make them live.
In the hospital, there is white everywhere, white of pain.
These whites, as fragile as loose bones, so light.
The infusion bottles that are inverted are like the stethoscopes of the building,
Tick-tock, tick-tock, accurately calculate the life and death of life.
The more the water droplets click, the more bright the eyes;
The tree has one more leaf green;
River, there is one more fish.
Father's whistling voice is hard to hear,
He and the Cardiology Department 34 bed back to the front of the heart, dependent on each other.
He curled up surrounded by white sheets and futons,
Hugging and tearing and pounding with another white.
There is a lot of white in the sky shaking,
A cloudy longing flowed from my father's eyes,
Just one drop is unexplainable.
Pass by orchards
Passing through the orchard, a tree of pear blossoms is too much and too white,
It was like snow that had been accumulating inside me for a long time.
I shook my body a little, and there were very bright particles, like debris
It fell in clusters.
The owner of the orchard is my deceased, and I call him father,
So far, he has been missing for three years.
Whenever I think of him,
I sat under the pear tree where he had sat, and I smoked a cigarette for him.
Drink another bowl of pear blossom wine,
Then snor and fake death for him once...
I never talk to others about these episodes,
Passing by the orchard, I just wanted to say hello to the pear trees.
Now, more and whiter pear blossoms in my body are being ignited by me,
If you want to say it, it is as cold as a flame and shrinks into a ball.
Poverty alleviation
Poverty is undoubtedly a heavy and greasy worn-out cotton coat,
Rice flying fleas jump around and bite your restless sleep.
Our responsibility is to take it off all the poor,
One by one, they stripped away disease, hunger, pain, and the different colors of doubt.
We're going to put them in red and willow green clothes,
In the name of the sky, hold out the blue of happiness for them with both hands.
We were a swarm of butterflies, and we came from all directions,
With a wish of thirteen billion wings,
Enclosing the poor villages into a garden, we will bring all the spring breeze
Lift it on them and let them smell the sweetness in the air.
"One cannot be less", this is the will of the state.
With a long-term patience, we fill the original intention on the form;
With the determination of "nailing nails", hammer after hammer to consolidate the ambition of poverty alleviation.
Poverty alleviation team leaders, poverty alleviation team members, poverty alleviation volunteers...
This business card with a national brand name is posted everywhere in the poor villages,
Visits, investigations, documentation,
Supervision, assessment, accountability.
More poverty alleviators have completed the meaning of being a poverty alleviator.
In the early morning, the crack in the door of Ji'an Village squeezed into a ray of sunlight,
The grandson of the old Feng family climbed on the elm tree and read aloud.
Thrown down piece by piece, is the psalm he praises,
We see the petrified heart in the mountains for a long time,
The throat that was being opened by the spring breeze blew green again and again with a loud cry.
EDIT: Beauty