A dream of a river
I have been brought up in a pampered environment. Parents tried their best to keep war and displacement out of the door and tried their best.
Managed to give me a warm childhood, so that I can read, draw and do all the things I like happily. Even, before I
At the wedding, my father came specially to personally take me across the long red carpet of the old church in Brussels and hand me over.
To my husband. And he also understood my father's heart, so he took over the responsibility of continuing to love and protect me.
This is May Day, and the trees outside the church are full of flowers. He gave me a fragrant, soft and quaint freesia, which I will never do.
I will never forget it.
Therefore, my poem is to know an unsolved mystery between our friends. Some people say: how is this written?
Poetry? Or: How can you write such a poem? Even a good friend said, "How can you write such a poem?"
Why not? I have always believed that there should be such a love in the world: absolute tolerance, absolute.
Sincerity, absolute resentment, absolute beauty. If I can enjoy such love, let my poem do it.
Prove If you can't find such love in the world, let it exist in my poem forever, mine.
In my heart.
Therefore, I have always disliked any explanation for writing poetry. I just think that if one day passes,
After being very messy and tired, in the evening, I really want to sit down quietly and write something new or browse what I have written before.
Yes, a few records and some manuscript paper can make a very comfortable night. The night in the country is humid and warm, with sweet osmanthus fragrance.
I will never forget the moment when Molly and I were on the porch.
If painting, which I began to study in the Department of Fine Arts at the age of fourteen, is a kind of work that I have devoted my life to, then
Yao, I have been writing poems in my diary since I was thirteen years old. This is a way for me to vent. I like them both very much. no
But for the former, I have been actively pursuing, enthusiastically and seriously exploring a higher and deeper realm. about
The latter, I have never tried hard, I just waited quietly, under the lamp and in the fragrance.
Night, waiting for it to come to my heart.
Therefore, these poems have always been written for myself, and because of them, I can see myself. Know that you are
At the most beautiful moment of life, all the complicated petals are unfolded layer by layer, all as sweet as honey and as astringent as yellow.
The feeling of Lian is intertwined in my heart. Time passes quietly like a winding river, and tonight is two.
Ten years ago, my heart was broken. Looking back 20 years later, this moment will definitely be broken for me.
My Mongolian name is Mulun, which means big river. I like this name very much, if it has been.
Light is really like a river, so let the poems of these years become a dream of a river.
Thanks to all my friends who made my poems published. Please accept my most sincere thanks. Besides, Xiaofeng is so busy.
In the case of willing to write a preface for me, after that deep talk in the middle of the night, I have not only respected her.
2.
moonlit night
I walked alone on the mountain road.
Casuarina on both sides grows very tall. When the wind blows, it will make people feel very trance, strong and weak, a bit like the tide.
The sea is just below the mountain. Through this mountain road, you can walk to the southernmost beach in Taiwan Province Province. The night is deep and there is no one on the road, but I am not afraid because there is a moon.
Because the moon is very bright, everything is clearly illuminated, and the mountain road runs through the Woods like a circuitous ribbon. I really want this to go on.
If only I could go on like this!
But, of course, I can't do that. I should go back to my hotel room. Because, on this day, I painted at the seaside all day. Tomorrow morning, I will go to the mountains to sketch with some other friends. What I need to do most now is to go back to my room, take a shower and sleep to prepare for tomorrow.
However, I really don't want to go back, such a moonlit night can't be spent casually. Under this mountain, many unforgettable moments will come back. This full moon has been constantly appearing in my life. At every unforgettable moment, it was there, looking down at me from the clear sky, studying me and accompanying me.
The memory of the day is often forgotten by me, but the things under the moon are always deeply engraved in my heart, and even some irrelevant people and things will not be forgotten.
It's like one year in Switzerland, I attended a summer camp for French classes and stayed in an ancient monastery in the mountains for ten days. There are East Renye Fang people and Westerners among the students. After a few days, I became familiar with them. One night, a dozen people went for a walk in the Woods behind the church. The moon was bright that night, but we didn't think so at first in the Woods. When we walked out of the Woods and faced a large open grassland, we found that the moon had illuminated the whole mountain and grassland as day. Brighter than the sky is the transparent water-green halo, and the grass is everywhere. It is bright but soft, like water and a little like wine.
We all calmed down, and a dozen young hearts realized the mysterious beauty unique to the moonlit night at that time. No one wants to talk, everyone holds their breath and looks around, as if they want to remember this moment as much as possible and cherish it in their hearts.
At this moment, a boy from Ireland suddenly shouted excitedly:
"run! See who runs to the Woods over there first! "
Yes! Run! In this moonlight, on this vast grassy slope, let's run wildly and try our best to run to the opposite Woods and the opposite shadows!
Everyone rushed out screaming. I was slow and fell behind them, but I still ran with a smile. At that time, a boy in the front crowd turned to me and shouted with a smile:
"come on Xi Murong, we are waiting for you! "
I paused, wondering how he knew my name. I only know that he is an engineering student from China at the University of Zurich. In class during the day, he always hides in the corner and never says a word to me.
I didn't even know his last name at that time, but at the moment when he turned to call me, I suddenly felt a sense of deja vu. In the moonlight, his smiling face is very clear, so handsome eyes can't be seen during the day. I said what the reason was, but that night, when he turned to call me under the moon, I always felt that I had seen the same time: the same moon, the same mountain, the same teenager who turned his head and smiled.
Of course, it was only a moment's feeling, and then I waved my hand and tried to catch up with them, across the grassland and into the waiting dark forest.
I don't remember anything after that night. I think it's probably nothing more than a windy day and a cold night. Then, a more rational person will hint that it's time to go back, and that's probably it? Isn't that how every beautiful night in the world ends?
I have never seen that boy again, but sometimes, on a moonlit night, I often think of some similar moonlit nights, and I often think of him. Many years have passed like this.
After returning to China, there was an exhibition at the History Museum, and a middle-aged couple went through the crowd to congratulate me. After chatting, they realized that the man had studied with me in a summer camp in Switzerland, and suddenly remembered that he was the teenager who called me back in the moonlight that night. Between the eyebrows and eyes, I still vaguely remember what it looked like. I suddenly got excited and asked him loudly:
"Do you remember? One night, we ran a race under the moon? "
He thought for a moment, and then said apologetically:
"I'm sorry, I can't remember it at all. I remember that at the graduation ceremony, our China classmates sang "Jasmine" and left a note. You were angry and laughed. "
He doesn't remember what I remember, and I have long forgotten what he remembers. What a boring meeting! His wife listened patiently to our conversation and smiled with interest, but can I say something? In the face of this beautifully dressed and elegant couple, can I tell you how I felt that night? What kind of misunderstanding will it cause if I say it?
Of course, I didn't say anything. I just shook hands with them more. I heard that they may have gone abroad again, and I don't know when they will meet again. After they left, I only felt sorry. If I can let him know that there is a person who clearly remembers his voice, face and smile at a certain moment when he was young, will he feel happier because of this?
The moon has risen very high, and I am almost at the seaside. Casuarina disappeared, replaced by clumps of hemp, silently knotted among the rocks. Many of them have blossomed. The long and straight pedicels have a strange shape, and the moon looks particularly round on them.
The sea breeze is so strong that I blow my clothes tightly on my body. I'm afraid it's time to go back After all, I am not what I was when I was young.
I feel a little funny in my heart. It turns out that no matter how I plan and insist, the wonderful night will still end here, and I will still go back to my room and sleep in the bed. Over the years, how many times have I met the clear moonlight tonight, and how many times have I wanted to keep going? I've always wanted someone to feel the same way. In the moonlight like water and wine, on the mountain road full of lush grass, I will keep going with me, keep going, and let everything never change and never end.
And I didn't do it once There will always be someone who rationally and gently advises me to give up halfway. Someone always tells me what to do. Someone will always laugh at me and say what a stupid idea I have!
Tonight, with no one around, I can go on. However, I still can only stop in front of the beach and the nearby sea water with a smile. The tide gently slapped the beach and hissed like a sigh, but there was nothing I could do about it. The only thing I can do is turn around and walk back.
But I'm more mature tonight. I think, in fact, I don't need to feel sorry for what I won't say or do. I think, in my own years, there will inevitably be some voices and smiles left in the hearts of some irrelevant people. Life has never been in vain. There must be memories worth cherishing and collecting. As long as I can stay, I will stay, whether it is only once or for a moment, or in the hearts of people I know or don't know.
This is how it should be.
The moon looked at me quietly and watched me walk back alone with a smile.
3. Youth in front of the window
Youth is sometimes very short and sometimes very long. I know because I was once as young as you. In front of the classroom window, I used to stare at the campus with the same seasons and think about my future of changing my destiny. I used to think that, like you, no matter what kind of fate, it is much better than sitting in the classroom.
At that time, I wondered why the teacher never intervened, took me to class and dreamed after class. Today, I know that he, like me today, smiled and reread the youth we experienced over and over again from our young and full faces.
Appreciation of Xi Murong's Youth by the Window
Youth disappears in the fleeting time.
Read it again. In my own photos, the faces of boys and girls are flying. Everything is rewinded.
If there is anything that can make me cry and laugh, it is the flower-like years that have passed away. At that time, everyone was flying like the wind, sucking up in youth; At that time, everyone was pure and opened themselves in the moonlight and breeze. Life is like a real movie, flowing slowly.
Everyone says that life in Xi Murong is harmonious and full. Under her peaceful and cherished mentality, youth has a three-dimensional sense. Youth in the classroom is a beautiful and pure dream of young men and women. At the window, with the acquiescence of the teacher's smile, the students are dreaming one dream after another. In imagination and memory, teachers and classmates are tasting different lives.
Life is full of flavor.
In the author's pen, youth is unfolding like a colorful dream. The characters inside are enjoying all kinds of life with a peaceful mind. People are amazed after reading it. The author puts himself in a classroom, from his own point of view, to feel the students' thoughts and smiles, and to recall his past years. The use of role exchange and contrast makes the characters rich and three-dimensional, vividly showing the author's peaceful and grateful mind. Sighing slightly in the moonlight, sighing like the passing youth of water.
"Like me today, he is smiling and rereading the youth we have experienced again and again from your young and full faces." A transparent mentality has become a classic in a long speech. This is the author's state of mind, and it is also cherished by all those who have experienced youth. If there is anything worth remembering, it is here.
Looking at Xi Murong's article, the fine print circulates in my mind. That unusual idea gradually settled in my heart, forming a trickle. Bit by bit, become eternal in my heart.
Please consult Xi Murong, Yu's prose notes. After walking down the red carpet, Christmas rubbings. Where is the corner of Dongting Village? Where is the Millennium compound? One hundred thousand scholars, believers, elders, West Lake dream.
Zhang Xiaofeng, Xi Murong, Ding Limei, which prose is better than Xi Murong, with a touch of sadness, I like it very much.
Appreciation of Zhang Xiaofeng's Prose "Street Trees"
Taiwan Province's famous essayist Zhang Xiaofeng's essays "Street Trees" and "Fear of Life" are her representative works of series of essays that pay attention to nature and praise life. In her article, the author endows ordinary street trees with human thoughts and emotions, and expresses the author's thinking and exploration on the value of life. Trees are written everywhere in the article, but people write with pens and pens, and every word is related to love. The living environment, inner pain and sacred responsibility of street trees written in this paper are actually the condensation of the author's life accumulation and social experience. In Zhang Xiaofeng's works, the street tree is an image of selfless dedication and magnanimity, which is praised by the author and the significance of life.
We are all members of social life, and our life can be so beautiful and happy precisely because there are thousands of silent people like street trees in Qian Qian. They are pursuing hard in their sufferings and constantly changing our lives; They are conscientious and unknown, constantly creating miracles in the world; They sacrificed themselves to illuminate others and let the sunshine of love shine on the earth. There is a song that sings: "As long as everyone gives a little love, the world will become a beautiful world"! Yes, as long as we all give ourselves, the world will always be full of sunshine.
Zhang Xiaofeng, born in 194 1, was born in Tongshan, Jiangsu Province and Jinhua, Zhejiang Province. After he was eight years old, he went to Taiwan Province, graduated from Soochow University in Taiwan Province Province, taught there and elsewhere, and is now a professor at Yangming Medical College in Taiwan Province Province.
She is deeply religious and loves writing. Thirty or forty kinds of novels, essays and plays are reprinted once and translated into various languages. He became famous for his prose in the mid-1960s, and 1977 was selected as one of the top ten prose writers in Taiwan Province Province. The editor said, "Her works are China's, homesick, modern and extremely humanized".
Yu Guangzhong once called his article "combining rigidity with softness" and was listed as "the third generation famous essayist".
Some people call it "the pen is like the heat of the sun, the frost and snow are innocent, the writing is like the fragrance of cold plum, and the words are like knocking on the ice." Be highly praised.
As early as 1977, 36-year-old Zhang Xiaofeng was rated as "Top Ten Contemporary Prose Writers in China" by Taiwan Province critics, and she was rated as "as hot as the sun and as pure as frost and snow". Every article has the fragrance of Lengmei, and every word can be said to be the first perceptual sketch of her poetic prose.
198 1 year, when her fourth collection of essays "You have never loved" was published, Mr. Yu Guangzhong prefaced the book and called her a "dripping pen" with a storm on her wrist.
Zhang Xiaofeng's prose artistic creation can be roughly divided into three consecutive paragraphs.
The first paragraph is marked by her first collection of essays, The End of the Carpet, published in 1966. She looks at the world with the eyes of a clever and naive girl, and the world is a clear and spotless gurgling stream.
In the second paragraph, like a small stream rushing to a stormy lake, which is intertwined with love and hate, the prose collection Nostalgia Stone (1977), After Walking Down the Red Carpet (1979) to You Have Never Loved (198/kloc) The second period is relatively long. Rebirth Edge (1982) can also be regarded as an extension of this period, from here I am (1984), from your beautiful watershed (1988) and emerald thinking (1990). Let's make a hypothesis here. If Zhang Xiaofeng's prose creation stops at the second paragraph, although she is still one of the outstanding female writers in the history of modern prose in China, and breaks through the narrow and cramped world of ordinary female writers, she is not a prose master with great original brilliance after all.
The originality of Zhang Xiaofeng's prose art lies in the second paragraph, especially in the third paragraph of Since I'm Here. Only this third paragraph announces the birth and completion of a prose master, whose purpose is the generation of life and creativity and the poetic interpretation of ontology.
The poetic interpretation of life and ontology is the greatest contribution of this woman writer to the history of modern prose in China. She embarked on the road of poetic interpretation of the ontology of life, which has a process of never fully realizing full consciousness and from imperfection to perfection, but it has its inherent logical inevitability.
Zhang Xiaofeng, born in 194 1, was born in Tongshan, Jiangsu Province and Jinhua, Zhejiang Province. After he was eight years old, he went to Taiwan Province, graduated from Soochow University in Taiwan Province Province, taught there and elsewhere, and is now a professor at Yangming Medical College in Taiwan Province Province.
She is deeply religious and loves writing. Thirty or forty kinds of novels, essays and plays are reprinted once and translated into various languages. He became famous for his prose in the mid-1960s, and 1977 was selected as one of the top ten prose writers in Taiwan Province Province. The editor said, "Her works are China's, homesick, modern and extremely humanized".
Yu Guangzhong once called his article "combining rigidity with softness" and was listed as "the third generation famous essayist".
Some people call it "the pen is like the heat of the sun, the frost and snow are innocent, the writing is like the fragrance of cold plum, and the words are like knocking on the ice." Be highly praised.
As early as 1977, 36-year-old Zhang Xiaofeng was rated as "Top Ten Contemporary Prose Writers in China" by Taiwan Province critics, and she was rated as "as hot as the sun and as pure as frost and snow". Every article has the fragrance of Lengmei, and every word can be said to be the first perceptual sketch of her poetic prose.
198 1 year, when her fourth collection of essays "You have never loved" was published, Mr. Yu Guangzhong prefaced the book and called her a "dripping pen" with a storm on her wrist.
Zhang Xiaofeng's prose artistic creation can be roughly divided into three consecutive paragraphs.
The first paragraph is marked by her first collection of essays, The End of the Carpet, published in 1966. She looks at the world with the eyes of a clever and naive girl, and the world is a clear and spotless gurgling stream.
In the second paragraph, like a small stream rushing to a stormy lake, which is intertwined with love and hate, the prose collection Nostalgia Stone (1977), After Walking Down the Red Carpet (1979) to You Have Never Loved (198/kloc) The second period is relatively long. Rebirth Edge (1982) can also be regarded as an extension of this period, from here I am (1984), from your beautiful watershed (1988) and emerald thinking (1990). Let's make a hypothesis here. If Zhang Xiaofeng's prose creation stops at the second paragraph, although she is still one of the outstanding female writers in the history of modern prose in China, and breaks through the narrow and cramped world of ordinary female writers, she is not a prose master with great original brilliance after all.
The originality of Zhang Xiaofeng's prose art lies in the second paragraph, especially in the third paragraph of Since I'm Here. Only this third paragraph announces the birth and completion of a prose master, whose purpose is the generation of life and creativity and the poetic interpretation of ontology.
The poetic interpretation of life and ontology is the greatest contribution of this woman writer to the history of modern prose in China. She embarked on this poetic way to explain the ontology of life and existence, never fully conscious, never ending.
Appreciation of Zhang Xiaofeng's Prose Collection "Ability Description" Reading Xiaofeng's prose "Night", I was moved by beautiful words and feelings.
"The school bus crossed Zhongshan North Road and accidentally ran a red light and stopped. The accidental sunshine cast the shadow of the accidental street trees.
On my skirt. I was surprised to see the uneven shadows of the trees-what strange embroidery, Xiang embroidery? Or Su embroidery?
Then, the green light came on, the car started and the embroidery marks disappeared.
I am full of inexplicable tenderness all day, like a child wearing new clothes at the beginning of the new year, and suddenly yellow.
Jade in a robe suddenly feels infinitely expensive. "
"Waiting for the bus on the roadside in the country, the car won't come to die.
I stood there with a book in my arms, at a loss.
However, the bus didn't come, and I was waiting for the golden loofah flowers on the hedge, which were full of flowers and rushed at people.
Come on, there are four wild mountains outside the flower shed, the water around the mountains, the water on the shore and the grass on the shore, and I suddenly found myself.
Caught in a beautiful encirclement.
What's the harm of waiting in such a position without a bus? What is wrong with not doing it?
When did the bus come? I forgot how it was done, and so did I. What I will never forget is that the fence was full of anger.
Yellow flowers with bright eyes. "
She has such an easily moved and happy heart! Such an elegant feeling! The uneven shadows on the skirt can make her hold strange tenderness all day, and the golden loofah flowers on the hedge can dispel trivial troubles and let her remember the beauty.
The hearts of literati are generally so soft, but ordinary things in the eyes of ordinary people can make poems and paintings ripple in their hearts. A beautiful and happy mood moistens their lives like a clear spring.
What's the difference between Xi Murong's and Zhang Xiaofeng's prose or poetry styles? Of course, Xi Murong's poems are better.
One of her poems is very famous, that is, Qi Li Xiang Ji.
However, in prose, Zhang Xiaofeng's is more aesthetic and emotional, and her writing is very fluent. And the themes expressed are very life-oriented. Compared with Xi Murong's pure sense of expression, her prose feeling is the condensation of philosophy.
I remember an article in Xi Murong saying that her niece likes Zhang Xiaofeng very much, but she doesn't read her books.
Although these two essayists are from the same era, Xi Murong is more famous than Zhang Xiaofeng, better than her poems, and very childlike and appealing.
However, Zhang Xiaofeng's prose is more integrated with the poetry of Xi Murong's poetry and the unique philosophy of life in his prose.
So look at Xi Murong's poems.
Look at Zhang Xiaofeng's prose.
This is my suggestion.
There are many pirated books from Xi Murong outside.
Zhang Xiaofeng's books are rare.
I wonder if there are any genuine books now.
I used to look for Zhang Xiaofeng's books in second-hand bookstores.
It's rare now ~ I hope it will help you ~
Xi Murong's Prose Collection, Zhu Ziqing's Prose Collection and Zhang Xiaofeng's Prose Collection, which is better? If you are a woman, I think Xi Murong is more suitable. Zhu Ziqing's prose is highly praised by the industry, but I personally don't like it. Time is limited, Zhang Xiaofeng's is more philosophical, and Xi Murong's writing is more beautiful.
Excerpts from Zhang Xiaofeng's Classic Prose and Appreciation of Zhang Xiaofeng's Love for Spring.
Spring must be like this: from the foot of the castle peak, a handful of snow can't hold on, with a splash, the cold face turns into a painted face, and a song is sung from the clouds to the foothills, from the foothills to the low and desolate villages, to the hedgerows, to the yellow webbed ducklings and to the soft and soluble spring mud.
So charming, so sensitive, but so chaotic. A thunder can make clouds cry all over the sky for no reason, and a cuckoo cry can make a city full of azaleas. When a gust of wind rises, every willow tree will sing a white, empty, inexplicable and inaudible fly. Every fly is a semicolon of a willow. Anyway, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, but it can still be good and calm.
Spring is destined to be like this: an old root clings to the dead stem of a pool full of dark leaves and flowers, and the roof beams of thousands of families in the north gently hold up a small empty bird's nest after being disturbed by snow and wind. Then, suddenly, one day, peach blossoms captured the water profiles of all the mountain villages. Willow trees control the royal ditch and the folk river head-the spring water is like Julian Waghann with a clear-cut flag, which is beautiful because of long-term pious prayer.
As for the name of spring, there must have been such a story: before the Book of Songs, before the Historical Records and before the characterization of Cang Xie, a lamb suddenly felt juicy when eating grass, a child suddenly felt soaring when flying a kite, a pair of legs suffering from wind pain suddenly felt comfortable, and Qian Qian suddenly felt the blood of water when washing yarn by the river.
Birds can start measuring the sky again. Some are responsible for measuring the blue of the sky, some are responsible for measuring the transparency of the sky, and some are responsible for measuring the height and depth of the sky with those wings. Not all birds are excellent mathematicians. They chattered and counted, looked around, and finally dared not publish statistics.
As for all the flowers, they have been given to the butterfly to count. Give all the pistils to the bees for cataloging. All the trees were ruined by the wind. Leave the wind to the old wind chimes in front of the eaves to remember and inquire one by one.
Spring must be like this, or, somewhere, is it still like this? Through the black forest of chimneys, I want to visit the spring wandering in the distant years.