I came into contact with poetry in the village in the city.
I once described the street life of an old street in Hanyang in West Street, which is quite similar to the state of a scenic village. But when I wrote that article, I had left Scenery Village for three months, so what I revealed in the article was not disgust and sarcasm, but more reflection and understanding. Many times, that's it. I felt very painful when I was in it, but looking back after I escaped, I began to become calm and even had a little nostalgia.
The same is true of my sojourning life in the village in the city. It's so unforgettable that I began to record this kind of life many times, and my complicated and tangled thoughts always made me unable to start. Besides, this experience is too special for me, and I don't want to record it in too simple or emotional language.
Fortunately, after I entered the postgraduate study stage, I gradually came into contact with poetry. Although I only came into contact with its sporadic appearance occasionally, I was deeply attracted by its charm and charm. For a long time, I tried to write some poems with biased culture (now I can't meet the requirements), but now I am still looking for my own way to write poems through continuous exploration.
I choose poetry as the carrier of memory, partly because I am keen to understand it, and partly because I hope that with the help of the charm of poetry, the growing years that originally suppressed pain can also shine poetic light in my memory.
Of course, due to their own weak poetry foundation, this group of poems experienced many difficulties in the writing process, not only three major revisions, but also repeatedly borrowed from the writing skills of many poets.
Thanks to my tutor, he gave me a lot of guidance on poetry writing. He was also the first person to give me encouragement and recognition, and even took the initiative to help me recommend this immature work to the editor of the official account of Literature WeChat. Perhaps, everything is just the beginning, and I will try to go further on the road of pure literary writing. ...
The above is the creative background of this group of poems and my writing experience. )
? Slipped across a road in July.
one
The spring rain lags behind, and the memory of drinking pain remains in the winter moon.
The stray tabby cat jumped into the dark night from the ruins.
So, in the middle of all the houses,
A closed Meiyu roadway gradually overflowed with malodorous gas.
The old woman next door knocked on my window.
Began to curse the weather and the funeral.
All her empty secret rooms, including me.
"Goldfish is dead, the birdcage is empty, who is it?
Stole the flower apron I hung under the eaves? "
She pounded the hoop on the west gate and groped for the plum blossom spoon under the pillow.
Vowed to lock the rest of Chundu in a copper cabinet.
However, when she entered the garden behind the house, the sunset invited her.
When she greedily swallowed a mouthful of gold, she turned around again.
Canceled all vows to the toddler Vera.
two
The telephone pole in the corner turned into the shape of a dark cloud.
Like snow in December floating on a blue collar.
The old woman is busy cutting fish, in front of the concrete steps sewed by the sun.
Stir the clear water like dough, and the accumulated swim bladder is half a foot high.
Is the wind as hot as usual in July? Dead fish on the ferry
Drinking like a discarded plastic bag, the lake burst.
Now I can't hear the fishermen drying.
The boy rolled a hoop and slipped down the wet blue brick road.
The girl closed her schoolbag and squatted behind the electronic scale to recite the multiplication table.
three
The old electricity meter stopped, and there was a crowded family of five.
There is no room to accumulate past grievances.
The closed door should be scrubbed again and painted with green leaves.
The blinds should also be exposed to reveal more secrets.
The mold in the house hits the plaster like crystal marble.
It broke into many pieces of glass on the ground.
And my father went into the back room like a plague.
Doubt of escaping from heaven. That's definitely not what I meant .../Can I say that? ...
Pretend everything is the same. Life is not expired?
But Byakki Smoker's trapped problem field just imitates himself repeatedly.
Due to the lack of language, their cultivation fell into poverty.
If the evening is late, how can the stiff heart disappear with the birds?
four
I walked three blocks alone before I got off work.
Seeing that "dynamic" and "static" are close to the separated semantic field at night,
Confused by the dark starry sky countless times.
Time clears all pedestrians, and street lamps should guard loneliness for me.
The vegetable seller threw the leaves on the ground and caught up with the last intercity bus.
It's like I'm always afraid of delaying two more seconds on the way back and forth.
Slowly, after 24 years old, I feel that life is just a bunch of salty jokes.
Someone called the adult goods store a landmark on the phone.
Perfect imitation of the expression of middle-aged aunt occupying the low bridge
They loudly cursed the screaming and harassment of the radio club.
Even threatened young people who are keen on chasing dramas to clear their heads.
? five
The lifeguard is not here,
The temporary terrace is full of sexy swimsuits.
Men, women and children stood at the crossroads and scolded each other.
Line up for a cold shower.
A couple got into the reflector and faced each other.
Wan Hu looks forward to coastal reefs.
I didn't believe what philosophers said at that time.
Artistic pleasure can bring happiness. Because in summer,
The truth of seeking pleasure does not seem to include art.
Under the trestle, the head is black.
Like wild mushrooms in a pot of seafood soup
The rainy season suddenly descended on the city.
Washed away many ferries on the dam.
The bus ran in the rain and fog under the buttonwood tree.
Before the lake flooded the wheels
I can no longer deny that life is harsher than art.
(20 17.3. 16)