Cultural journey. The work of culture and writing is very hard, especially the camp of reading pure literature, which is a hard road full of blood and tears. I have had many contacts with Gao, director of the organizing Committee of the literary prize. Through this fellow villager and my early classmates in Yao Lu, I got to know a little-known Yao Lu. Lu Yao, as a great writer who influenced the history of contemporary literature in China and even the world, experienced poverty and disease that ordinary people could not experience, and finally buried a pair of bones and firewood that died for pure literature in a slightly verdant desert in China. I don't know Mr. Zhou Chunyu's occupation, let alone his position, but from his words like spring rain, I can see that he is a person who loves society and life.
Life written by Zhou Chunyu is really beautiful.
The beauty of life lies in the artist's vision, in the artist's pen, and more importantly, in the artist's passionate description, depicting the beauty that ordinary people can't find, and then dedicating it to the world with a passionate heart, then the world will be more moved, and this kind of touch will also be transformed into a kind of strength, a positive force of the nation, and it will dance.
I am a person who advocates and loves the excellent traditional culture of the Chinese nation, because I grew up in the infiltration of traditional culture and gradually became a reality. I remember a poet friend once told me that it was a loss to publish a book of poems, and I felt the same way. Later, after reading this friend's poetry collection, I vaguely felt that there was an unspeakable taste. Newspapers are full of complaints, and books are full of almost illusory words far from readers' lives. I finally understood the reason that the poet friend said in my heart. How can a poet divorced from life, a bunch of words divorced from local flavor, his so-called poems and collections of poems resonate with the soul?
Zhou Chunyu's poems are grounded, so it can be inferred that people in Zhou Chunyu are also grounded. A person can be grounded, because he will never be a person who just reads a few more poems in his life, but a person with comprehensive knowledge. The more knowledge a person gains in society, the stronger gratitude he will feel for society and the public from the heart. With this gratitude, his deep eyes will always go down and his broad heart will always go up, so he will have a firm watch on what he loves.
I don't want to say that Zhou Chunyu is a poet, but that he is a man with a conscience. He used the poet's conscience to gain insight into the society, refine the society, convey the feelings of life in the language of poetry, and shape and convey the perfection of the world.
Grounding gas can lead to justice, and justice can make a big difference. Through Zhou Chunyu's words, I seem to see the spring of pure literature, which has blossomed in his heart of Ming Che.
There is a long way to go in Xiu Yuan, and I will go up and down. China's road to pure literature has a long way to go. With such an alert group as Zhou Chunyu, it seems that there is a strong spring breeze blowing in my face.
In spring, you need to watch. Zhou Chunyu is an angel with wings to see spring.
Attached is Zhou Chunyu's My Love Poetry Complex (selected from the first section).
My love for poetry began with a poem by a fellow villager, the flowing river. This river flows not only in the author's memory, but also in my heart. The tide is surging, and a river flows in, bitter, sweet and salty. ...
That small river, flowing water, Liu Chengxing shore flowers, I saw fish and shrimp in the water, ducks called frog drums, birds singing and dancing, waterwheels patting clothes. The sound is endless, accompanied by the smoke from the kitchen chimney, deeply rooted in the author's memory. I can't stop being happy. The author who is extremely happy stops thinking about bitterness. In fact, he is extremely happy and sad: the scenery in front of him has changed, and there is no trace of that year. The clear river turned into a dirty and smelly ditch, full of garbage, and life lost its breeding soil.
After reading the excellent works, if you feel something. Words are not like musical instruments, which turn emotions into invisibility and nature. Words are tangible and sometimes bloody. The writer painstakingly dipped in his own blood and wrote at will. The reader walked on the road of bleeding and met the writer at a certain intersection, so they cried together, but they all cried themselves!
These two people are the author and me. He is in the east of the ridge and I am in the north of the ridge. The overflow of garbage on the ridge buried the river flowing in the depths of memory and the mother river languidly surviving in reality. It is obvious to all that my heart is bleeding. ...
The mysterious tunnel of poetry is connected with some spiritual connection based on the text of poetry, which is the true writing of the divinity of poetry outside poetry, and the flowing river has reached such an artistic realm. Let me naturally release my hometown feelings that blood is thicker than water. It also prompted me to personally choose a song "Hometown" to express my deep confession to you. We are fellow villagers, and the situation is roughly the same.
Red brick and green tile ridge north home, swallows feed young eaves.
On the ridge, the sheep cried happily, and the breeze blew the yard in a mess.
Children who play truant catch frogs, and farmers by the pond pick cucumbers.
The dog barked at the visitor in front of the house, and the old cow wagged its tail in the field.
Pretending to cook sweet potatoes by the hedge, the two children had no guess.
……
(The author's works are scattered in "")