▲ Pay attention and let poetry light up your life
Yang Dong is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society. He has published a large number of works in journals such as "Poetry Magazine", "Stars" and "Prose Poems". He published a collection of poems "Fingers of Time" and a collection of prose poems "Dense Lines in the Wind".
Arc Journey
Pointing to the smoke cloud
The dusk is long. The mighty sunset rushes to the other side.
Where are you when you look back?
The lamp of the walker, the roaming light, reveals the hidden parts of life.
From the north to the south of Xinjiang, it is long and short.
Every unknown journey, unexpected and unexpected encounters, is like a wordless education, given to those who remain sober.
Passing through the shell of the twilight sky, the diameter and radius of 2,400 kilometers, forgetting the gains and losses in the real and the unreal, regardless of the West and the East.
Career, Career.
Two words of the imagination, but a three-hour arc of smoke clouds on the fingers.
A traveler needs enough courage to face the one and only world repeatedly.
A different kind of timing
The reality of spring - the harvester holds a hoe and pickaxe, immerses his body and mind in the spring water, and continues to release his inner desire with silence.
The poet spreads out his handscroll, and he struggles to shake off his depression and reconcile himself with new lines.
Aging rock singers, tender vines grow from hysterical singing.
There are a number of mountains that have died down, anchored in the vast sea, looking for themselves again and again, waiting for a new course.
New sailors and ballads are being born.
The clouds, an eternal world, what is happening, is relayed by some mysterious force.
Time. Space. Velocity.
The whipping fast horse, the indulgent power of the blue, and the strings of memory all grow wings to chase dreams.
The unfathomable sea of truth, keeping the right and bringing forth the new, cross-flowing out of a different kind of truth.
Dreams are reality
The universe makes a new sound. The Ganges is not far away.
Spring is urging people to grow old. For whom do the stars burn?
Ripples. The cold burning dissolved the enmity in his heart.
The warmth and mercy of the god who carries the fire overturned the entire earth.
Even a person who is approaching the twilight of life needs to accept the big dream of preparing for the spring night.
In the dream, there are only bouncing blades, constantly waving and attacking.
As if dreams are reality—
I had to heal myself, from one wound to the whole body, from one hour to all the twilight.
There are more people who have broken out of the cocoon, will they grow a different face than me?
When the fire distinguishes the jade, all the loneliness that no one shares is now at my beckon.
The storm is wandering
The wind and clouds swam away, and the birds in the sky swept through the twilight vacuum.
The long bones of steel, the roaring wind, the rapidly rotating oars, and the backlight flying.
The acceleration of the sudden tear, the trembling push on the back, the taut clockwork is loosening.
The weightless wings, the powdery and granular cluster breath, break free from the reef-like forbearance.
- Everything is sending you to a high place of coolness.
Adapting to the impact of vertigo, a desire suddenly unleashed.
There seems to be a fierce tsunami in my ears. No one can hold back a drop of death.
Therefore, I am sure that a heart, like its own rings, cannot stay forever at the origin of a beloved.
The arc of time
The chaotic clouds swirled, the fish and dragons diffused, and the sky shone.
The wings of time have an arc that slopes upward.
Through the clouds, the eyes must be upward, listening to the long howl of the heart like the beat of a drum beating the memory of the years.
Along the lines of time, everything is drifting away from reality, stories, and books.
At this moment: Who is the lord of the silent earth, who rules the heavens?
Who is the king of time, immortal?
There has to be a balance. Bury another seed deep in your heart.
Through a kind of psychology like a dangerous situation, it comforts the possibilities and impossibilities that the world must experience.
How many memorable objects and events are there in your life?
Imagined cloud map
The treacherous cloud map allows me to imagine another kind of human life:
The people who recruit and the awakening lions of the uprising, the fierce fish, the horses that breathe, and the beasts swagger, as if they are running in another world.
The Buddha whispered.
There are mountains but not the wise, and there are water but not the benevolent.
There are tigers but no warriors, and there are rivers and lakes that do not see hermits.
Fang Shishang was on his way back from afar.
The river of time I longed for, the space of destiny I crossed, all fell into nothingness at this moment.
Only the unfathomable stars still twinkle, not lonely, no joys and sorrows.
It turned out to be all cloud maps, confusing sight and truth.
I can't see the real scenery, it turns out to be full of water vapor, and it rises splendidly.
Left and right high and low
The stars are moving. Left and right are not old friends.
There are no imaginary enemies and friends.
Heaven and earth are at hand.
At the end, the cloud reveals its own meaning – confronting itself and forming violent shadows.
The clouds seen in the world have their own reason for existence in the emptiness.
The blue sky is eternal. Neither high nor low is a homeland.
The moon is on the other side of the sky.
A heart toasts at the top of the mountains and seas, wanton, indulgent.
And the appearance is just like the one who has entered the meditation, and there is no appearance, no color and no emptiness.
All the roots leave the precepts and form a roaming three-dimensional.
Take the vulgar body to a high place
I am a firewatcher from the other side, and I am also a fire-watcher who drills wood to make fire.
Fire will be the only one that illuminates the world.
I can refer to the deer as a horse, the painting of the ground as a prison, and the grass and trees as soldiers. Snow everywhere you look, wave after wave.
I can also keep my eyes peeled for a bright moon that is about to rise to reach all things.
It seems to be driven or chased. All things become illusory by accelerating again and again.
In a trance, your thoughts become empty:
Only the imprisoned body can bring freedom out of the absolute abyss.
Only when you reach a relative height can you not distinguish between the good and bad people in the world.
Neither figuration nor abstraction can give wisdom to the insects, fish, birds and beasts derived from the clouds, and the passer-by in the air only brings the mundane body to another level, and he will eventually return to the earth the body that he has briefly totemic.
Imagined to be laid
All imagination can be placed here.
I don't see thousands of miles of rivers, I don't see the pure land at my fingertips. Not a single flower or leaf, the vast world.
There are no grasses, pawns, dogs, young beasts and ant colonies, and the distant thunder tears the starry sky.
The elephant and its lovers, the leopard and its rivals, play 10,000 modalities.
To find the same cloud among the clouds, you need to have a pair of piercing eyes.
Every second is so long.
Everyone omitted the edge of the earth.
The Napper transforms into a frozen statue, and his mind is plunged into a new labyrinth:
At this moment, it is enough to witness what is small. Personal fate has to be resigned to the swaying rise and fall of the moment. ”
Scattered words like Bodhi, in the evening of the world, strive to reproduce the first love and hate.
The Book of Endless
There are big birds in the air, but there are no feathers.
There are relics in the air, but there are no radicals and radicals.
The sky is an endless book.
The deep words are alive and fade away in the mottling.
The window bearer tries to write his own verses:
"The drifting air stops at imagination. The album has a blank space that is suitable for burying the individual's hidden answers. ”
You'll be thrilled through clouds, rain and lightning in shaky thrills.
But the thunder could not be heard, and they were all left to the peaks and the deaf under the route.
You will see the sunset carry you away from the ship and back to the last flame.
When Tongyun came out
Planets surround you, alive and dead.
Bronze, jade and stars, form their own vortex, which is the void you can't reach.
The sea is like iron, and the mulberry field is like silk.
Bones have the essence of the universe.
Flourishing forests, steppes, city-states, cottages, are not in legends.
When Tongyun came out, the person who stared at the starry sky from the porthole was trying to find the childhood of a war horse in the blue painting, and he had been worrying about who the brightest star could resurrect.
And the wind quietly claimed the hero of the earth.
In the world, a huge grain of food has long been hidden.
Unnamed distances
The baby in the sky began to cry at night.
You haven't had time to name her yet.
Is there a strip of water between you and her?
Every flight counts
The clouds try to cut through time and space, revealing and hiding the secrets they want to tell.
The wind departs from the ruins of the wind, with the complexity, glory, and blood of new life.
Half like an incomprehensible old dream, half like a lightning bolt that does not give up day and night.
Every flight counts.
The moment of fear, the opportunity of life and death.
Shuttling through the thick clouds, the trembling cyclone made me cling to the beast within.
"It's progress and worry, but there is no way back, everything is in the same trembling hands."
Reality is not a migratory bird, it is an artifact of my body, and all that I will experience.
Games have always had a provenance.
The life and death I have experienced are close to my heartstrings, and I am afraid and cannot abandon them.
The chess pieces leave the board, sometimes as children, sometimes as gray-haired teenagers.
Butterflies out of the water
It's not fiction, and it can't be omitted -
In the troposphere, lightning and thunder, those forgiven for their sins and punishments, ebb and turn, rush.
In the stratosphere, the wind and the sun, those fates and graces fit for reproduction, ebb and flow.
One level up: the home of the clouds. The Cihang of the Wind. The forbearance of the air. The crown of the stars. The motto of the universe.
One level higher: the moon of reproduction. Nails of solar metal. The immortality of darkness and light.
At the top, there is the bright smile of the gods in heaven.
Any noble person is nothing more than a butterfly just out of the water at the moment.
I'm no longer a masked person
There was no one around. The dreamer was snoring.
He got carried away, rejoicing that he had not yet fully woken up.
I slept for less than half a second, and the sky was wide to understand the traces of my life.
Everything is being restored, and everything is shining with the aura of light and extinction.
And the sober person takes out the turbid water in his heart and dries the yellowed scriptures in his heart, and the gray time becomes thicker and heavier.
Cold, subtle, lonely, restrained.
I held my chest and let the grains of sand rise and sink inside.
The wind chases another bright moon, and thousands of mountains and rivers will return to their own light.
In the spring breeze, I am no longer a masked person.
Great fantasy
Colorless, unstained, unharmed.
The changing cloud map is mesmerizing. And the lost world is anxious.
Everything that is beautiful in the sky stands the test of flight. And everyone will eventually return to the earth.
Birds whisper to the night dew, looking for another mottled continental shelf.
Those who return to the shore will ride a new reed to overcome misfortune.
When he turned back, his figure had faded.
There must be a fish hovering in the sky, and you don't have to worry about bait and hook, and you don't have to worry about the glowing eyes of worldly anglers.
There must be a hermit who speaks another great fantasy to the fading twilight.
Invoymity Letter
The spring of the sky and the earth have their own symptoms of confusion and the measure of grace.
People who are obsessed with it will no longer be depressed in their hearts.
My guardianship begins with a silent cloud.
The eagle has been alive in heaven.
Ant colonies on the ground are aging.
Someone who has never been so close to the sky still holds a tender rose in his hand.
It is not dedicated to anyone. I took it with me to my dreams.
Looking at myself in the mirror in the air, I am still me.
But there is no landscape next to it, and there is no long thing on the body.
I talk to myself about the past and the present. Ignoring hypocrisy, omitting falsehood, good and evil, and right and wrong.
The desire to preserve the vitality of the gradual convergence of diversity in the chronology.
The freedom at that moment has an indescribable beauty, just like the vast and distant rivers and mountains under the fingers.
Boundaries and ends
It is impossible to see a bird. It is impossible to see a single person.
The sky above the clouds is similar to the hometown in the middle of the night. They all have homogeneous melancholy. Silence, desolation, solemnity. So close, yet so far.
All people can take a fresh look at themselves and be honest with themselves.
They all talked to each other without scruples, and they cut out the secrets of lies.
They all have old time, and there is light that has not been used.
They all come back to themselves, cyclically, repeatedly, without boundaries and ends.
And when you said goodbye, did you shed tears?
How much can a tear be exchanged for? How many seeds of love and hate can be sown?
"Tears can't be harvested, and those who are waiting hold the green fruits of nostalgia with words."
The whisper of time
Time does not allow you to stay in one place, and the flowers of the right time open ahead.
The space is vast and not crowded.
There is a crack in the human heart. It's not just blood, emotion, and hourglass that need to be filled.
Love starts from the spirit and is higher than the spirit.
The pain came from doubt, and the sorrow was wiped away by the blue beside him in another language.
And the flesh body has long been below the whisper of time.
Humble, insignificant. God doesn't care how the alchemy of poetry grows.
The loneliness of a poet is deepened by the pain of sharing others.
The cold of indulgence in high places cannot be experienced. He wants to return to the unknowable joys and sorrows, let go, bear the burden, and continue the strange encounters and prayers.
The instinct of the ego
The heavenly vault has never decayed. A heart never leaves the earth.
He was a child who cried a lot, but not sadly.
He gradually grew into a teenager and already knew the addition, subtraction, multiplication and division of the world.
You have been alive in loving and being loved.
"Cut off the delusion", I left sore bones and desolate iron in the flow of water.
"Trust your pain," Auden said to himself and to the world. My retelling is only a self-understanding of the pain.
If you wish, you can take the whole world into your arms.
But now, I'm starting to be silent about the future.
- I seem to be closer to my instincts.
Lightning at the end of the pen
The mirage is not a day, and the vicissitudes of life have been thousands of years. I believe that God is hidden in my distant sight.
Did he live a life of asceticism? Give you what you want, give me what you don't want.
He abandoned the eternal sorrow and sent out the wind words, the cold beauty, the lightning that was about to disappear at the end of the pen.
In the most solemn sky of the world, the law retreats.
Nothing can be seen, nothing exists.
Quiet blue, the most classic light, tried and tested color. Even if a touch does not belong to you, it is suitable for lookout, change, and aimless companionship.
A clear source
Flying is a part of life, starting from the horizon and not above life.
It is just going to get from A to B at the fastest speed, in the way of the times, from me to you.
But I know that it may give me a clear answer to the mystery again and again.
I'm a man of the rules, but also a silent bystander.
Before the speed of the landing slows down, before the sound of the bell beats again and again, I will straighten my body again.
The approaching earth, like a transfiguration mother's womb, once again branded me with a birthmark.
The outward, inner storm never stops, and they bear witness to each other and start anew.
At this moment, I spent my life sharpening my short-term patience, looking for a new order in the quiet and turbulent air currents, adapting to various heights of acceleration and gravity, like an apology for the world, and suddenly rising a clear source.
I want to ride the wind
Mango shoes are easy to wear, and iron wings are better than horses' hooves.
I love the old times, the short beginning and the end of a flight.
An arc-shaped journey, part of a fulfilling destiny.
The soul tempers itself again and again, like a cloud passing through a gap, and will eventually become a ballad.
I want to continue to ride the wind and share the long scenery of life with the endless flow of the world.
I will return to the new address in search of another me who is uncertain.
Creative Notes: Poetic Flight / Yang Dong
In the last ten years, flying has become an important part of my work and life. Again and again, between dawn and dusk, blue sky and wind and rain, gliding, taking off and landing, soaring, huge wings and air currents weave an arc-shaped journey. Relaxing, sleeping, reading, and thinking have become opportunities for poetry to germinate, refine and write. Once away from gravity, the poet's mind seems to reach a vacuum. The blue sky, golden sunset, colorful clouds, and vast stars and moon are enough to open another illusory world at an altitude of 10,000 meters. And overlooking the world from the air, the vast earth, thousands of rivers and mountains have become another freehand territory. Looking at it carefully, I can hear a different kind of talk in time and space, just like reading the life of a period of time, in forbearance, perseverance, and restraint, there is a passion that cannot be missed. Time transcends the law of withering, and everyone has their own route. As if I continued to conserve my own elevation, I wrote down the flickering words in my soul, a poem, so that there was a momentary whisper like breaking through the clouds, and flying was thus freed from confusion and loneliness. Yes, the heavenly dome is more imaginative than the celestial dome. In a self-constructed labyrinth of flight, a silent person is like a poem, which has been repeatedly carved and repaired. "Only the eyes can still cry", only poetry is closely accompanied, finding the hidden diamond from the ancient words again and again, finding the course of destiny from the scattered education, and bearing the green fruits of joy and sorrow from the experience of illusion to reality. A carved crane dragon heart, from flying again and again to gain the freedom to fly over the altitude. A poem of flight, taking out the most complete arc from the quiet body.
Dialectics of Flight: A Review of Yang Dong's Prose Poetry Chapter "Arc Journey" / Zhang Dan
Science and technology have shaped a new modern civilization. In the process of scientific and technological development, the living environment and material environment of human beings have undergone tremendous changes, and the world has become "humanized" as never before. What has changed is the philosophical vision, and people are becoming more and more free in the face of the material world technologically, but the material world has also shaped human existence through technology, constituting an inhuman and unfree experience of human life. In the materialization of various relationships and the subject-object dialectic between the self and the other, the loneliness of the human self and the nihilism of value have become the symptoms of civilization. Yang Dong's prose poem "Arc Journey" was completed in the poet's ten-year life of flying and cloud experience. With the flight as a technology as the endpoint, and the fantasy and whimsy of modern life as the ultimate purpose, it presents a new literary and artistic vision to the readers.
Humans have left the ground through flight technology, but the end of the flight is to return to the ground. For human flight, the ground has a centripetal force. This centripetal force constructs an essence consistent with the movement characteristics of modern civilization, that is, no matter how far man is from the ground, whether he is in constant movement or not, the ground is still the only purpose of man. This constitutes the first "dialectic of flight" in The Arc Journey. In the poem "Pointing to the Smoke and Clouds", the poet wrote: "Born, enter the world. / Two words of the imagination, but a three-hour arc of smoke clouds on the fingers. / A traveler needs enough courage to face the one and only world repeatedly. For the poet, flying is an act of birth, but unlike the ancient hermits who lived in the mountains and forests for a long time, the birth of flying brings a brief renunciation, with the purpose of returning to the world next time, and this world is the only home for people today. In this group of poems, the poet looks at the clouds from above. The clouds in the sky run different rules from life on the ground: "The clouds show their meaning at the end—confronting themselves and forming violent shadows." The confrontation between the clouds and itself is a burst of overlapping shadows from air to air, and what appears to be a solid and thick cloud is actually a cloud of water vapor that is constantly changing and dissolving at any time. Compared with human existence, this kind of existence without essence and meaning is a temptation, and the modern human world, which has lost its essence and universal value, makes people fall into a dilemma. The poet writes: "The changing clouds are intoxicating. And the lost world is anxious. / All things beautiful in the sky stand the test of flight. And everyone will eventually return to the earth. In another chapter, "Bringing the Worldly Body to the Highest," the poet realizes: "I am a firewatcher from the other side, and a man who drills wood to make fire." In this dialectical comparison, even if the poet is in the sky, his spiritual reflection and connection still point to the ground world. As the poet also observes: "The sky above the clouds is similar to the hometown in the middle of the night." They all have homogeneous melancholy. In the paradox, the value and meaning of being in the world are newly affirmed.
In "Arc Journey", the similarity and repulsion of the sense of time on the ground and the sense of time in the air constitute the second "dialectic of flight". Time is a kind of passage for the poet, and the time in the group of chapters has obvious spatial characteristics, unlike the linear disappearance of time on the ground, the poet concretizes time in the air as an "arc". Being on the ground, the ground is wide and flat, and the "earth" is just an image of the world in the mind. It is in the high altitude that the spherical features of the Earth become visible. This perception can undoubtedly dissolve the abstract experience of scientific research that divides things into visible appearances and unseen essences. In the poem "The Arc of Time", the poet writes: "The wings of time have an arc that rises obliquely. Through the arc of time of flight, the poet reconnects with the fantasy of the classical poet who intended to fly away from the world: "The man's shoes are easy to wear, and the iron wings are better than the horse's hooves." / I love this old time, the brief beginning and the end of a flight. / Arc journey, part of a fulfilling destiny. / The soul tempers itself again and again, like a cloud passing through a gap, and will eventually become a ballad. This fantasy has become a short-lived arc reality in the poet's pen, and flight has been endowed with a value derived from the human world, that is, the retreat of the soul, and all the arc time in the air has become a part of the circle of destiny. Modern flight has greatly accelerated the speed at which people can get from one place to another, but the time in flight is relatively static, and what changes is the place to return to the world. The poet compares it to navigation—"There are mountains that have died down, anchored in the vast sea, looking for themselves again and again, waiting for a new course." / New sailors and ballads are being born. In the 16th century, mankind discovered the New World through navigation, and the exploration of space in the unknown territory of the earth became a hot topic of literary narrative. Later, human beings used spaceships to explore space, which formed a metaphorical relationship with navigation, and the attention of literature also turned to outer space. Today, flying around the Earth is not a geographical exploration, but an accelerated dialectical experience of time, which allows people to detach from linear time and rethink the meaning of life. The poet incorporated this new perception into literature.
Today, mankind's view of the universe has changed from the ancient circle of the earth (meaning is built around the earth) to an infinite universe (the earth is only a point in the vast universe), and the stability of the finite earth has been replaced by the mechanical movement of the infinite universe. Such a cosmology brings about the reconstruction of man's own value, and compared to the vastness of the universe, human beings are undoubtedly insignificant. Tiny human beings are real and have witnessed the vastness of the universe. The mechanical movement of the universe and human civilization have brought modern man into a time and space of movement, which once pushed man into a state of instability and lack of meaning. In this time and space, the poet is in a time and space, and the flight exacerbates the changing characteristics of the world's movements, and also brings the poet the experience of change: "There seems to be a violent tsunami in the bottom of my heart. No one can hold back a drop of death. / I am therefore certain that a heart, like its own rings, cannot stay forever at the origin of a beloved. When faced with the paradox of the vastness of the universe and the vastness of the human world, the poet can only sigh: "The planet surrounds you, alive and dead." / Bronze, jade and stars, form their own whirlpools, that is the void you can't reach. / The sea is like iron, and the mulberry field is like silk. Bones have the essence of the universe. It is in this sense that the poet affirms the value of human thinking and literary writing: "'At this moment, it is enough to witness what is small. Personal fate has to be resigned to the swaying rise and fall of the moment. '/ Scattered words like Bodhi, in the evening of the world, strive to multiply the first love and hate. Man's thirst for meaning and writing eventually reverberated in the universe and in people's hearts. The macrocosmic silence of the universe forms a symmetry with the small sound of man. This is the third "dialectic of flight" constituted by the poet's new perception, experience and writing about the universe and the human world in countless flight journeys.
"Headline Poets" Total No. 972 "Prose Poems" No. 6 of 2024 ▲ Click to follow the official account of "China Poetry Network".
Editor: Xinyu, Second Judge: Man Man, Final Judge: Jin Shikai
