Fei Lian, a native of Xiangcheng, Henan, is the author of a collection of poems "No Sorrow", "Chasing the Wind and Carving the Dragon", and now lives in Hangzhou.
Selected poems of Fei Lian (20 poems).
Walk south of the city
From Huqingyutang to the Drum Tower, the wind blew in the late autumn, and I swayed and cleaned, like a lonely old post office that had retreated to the back streets and alleys.
At the old city gate of Fengshan, the water of the middle river is very cold, and my blood is pressed under the tower of Brahma Temple.
The whole Wu Mountain, blown by the wind shiny, those camphor trees that are often seven or eight hundred years old, Yaowang Temple, Wugong Temple, City God Pavilion, full of mahjong guests.
The crescent moon rises from the east mountain, creating the first era for the city.
November 4, 2014 Gift to Chen Luo.
Rainy days
The neighbor brought back a rooster from his hometown during the Spring Festival, and began to crow at one or two o'clock in the morning every day, and even more so during the day
The rhetoric is terrible, and when it is translated, it is probably also an article such as "Difficult to Say" and "Lonely Anger", and I probably dream of it.
Tai Shi Gong is like that, "tell the past, think about the future".
When slaughtering, the fierceness of the long roar reminded me of Tan Sitong.
And when I returned to my hometown this time, the place where Confucius taught, only the flock of white geese after the snow still retains a little childpower and the solemn ...... of Yuan An
February 19, 2016.
New Year's Eve Feelings
Every wax moon, the magpie's nest on the high branches of metasequoia.
And the water fell out of the rocks, like between the mountains and forests.
Lonely little temple. These are never tainted with vulgarity.
White magpies, in this era of fierce wind and snow, now they are also scattered in the world, competing with sparrows for food.
In the afternoon, I didn't sleep for a while, and the mountain outside the window was no longer called Luoxing Mountain, and the stones on the mountain were no longer called Luoxing Stone, and the seventh-level pagoda on the top of the mountain could no longer be climbed.
Look at the sea from afar. That's the same as me.
Huang Jingren, who is drunk every day, is at the moment.
The green bamboo of Qixia Ridge is inscribed with a poem.
January 12, 2019.
Self-description
My family may have earlier come from Anhui in the Huai River valley and moved south to Lanxi, Zhejiang. After the middle of the Ming Dynasty.
It has been bred in Suzhou for more than 600 years.
When I was very young, I went to Guangdong with my father to do business, and in the 1920s, I moved from Hong Kong to Shanghai.
My grandfather (he represented someone who was on the verge of disappearing at the time.
Old China) insisted that I go to Suzhou in the summer, because I am the eldest grandson, so I should be close to my ancestors and understand family affairs, and he taught me how to perform sacrifices at the ancestral temple on the mountain in the suburbs.
My mother, a devout Buddhist who was good at playing the flute, often took me to the monasteries in Suzhou, where I always meditated, which was one of my mother's most important teachings to me
Learn to listen in silence.
I lived in Suzhou for a few summers, when the revolution had taken place and the emperor no longer existed, but in this ancient hinterland of the Yangtze River, people still respected each other, and relationships between people were the first thing in daily life.
I still vividly remember my cousins and I in our private garden.
Lion Grove" playing.
The Lion Grove, founded in the 14th century, is famous for its stones.
These stones, these stonemasons who made the stones, have influenced me all my life.
May 19, 2019.
Gem Mountain Sunset
Running water washes the dishes, and the whole city eats bayberry.
At the mouth of Peach Blossom Alley, Nanhua Bookstore was transferred, a new Ningbo bank was opened, old people talked about state affairs in Hangzhou dialect, and a little girl suddenly worried about tomorrow's exam ......
I am Song Yu, Ling Mengchu, I am Guanyin Yan rising and falling on the wires, and I am the lonely sparrow in front of the tiger window
The wind blows the camphor trees and the sheets hanging on the bamboo hangers, and the sunset gradually fades.
At my best age, I did it well.
Having depicted this ancient rumor, I am in the "Shooting Surprise" series.
Wrote down every touching detail I saw.
June 23, 2019.
Jiang Kui on Macheng Road
On this midsummer night, after a torrential rain, I walked on the Macheng Road that Jiang Kui had walked back then.
More than 800 years have passed, and the small shop on the side of the road.
Tea and silk were still sold, and banks replaced pawnshops.
We walked briskly and slowly, with our own worries.
At the mouth of the dark alley, we came together, under the light, we separated, a gust of wind passed, and the sycamore branches and cicadas screamed.
Like lightning shining on my shirt and his robe.
He repeatedly mentioned the girl in Hefei, and in his opinion, the ruin of the country and the death of the family are not worth the juvenile affair.
In the middle of the night, he congratulated me on the wonderful verses he had written for me.
July 8, 2019.
Fang Yanhuai Chen Longchuan
In the eleventh year of Chunxi, I will not die in the catastrophe, and I will gather.
Twenty or thirty students continued their teaching careers.
In my spare time, reorganize the small ancestral garden——
Make three "hugging knees fasting", surrounded by bamboo and pine, mixed with plum blossoms; From the "field" and "watching the crops".
A few small pavilions to watch the farmers' autumn harvest and watch the night snow.
The former mountain ...... was buriedThere were three feet of basil outside the door, and I decided to do this, between the cliffs and grasses.
Spend the rest of Lu Shen's ruined life.
I think back then, I walked all the rugged mountain roads, I crossed the treacherous wind and waves of the river, I sat downstairs in Qiantang 100 feet, I wrote "Zhongxing Five Treatises", I was full of enthusiasm.
In order to be the heaven and earth, the sun and the moon are wronged.
However, there are too many grievances in my book, and my articles are just "showy drunken nonsense".
Alone in the world, I have been slandered all my life, and I have hurt myself and been alone.
September 22, 2019.
Landscapes
Over the years, I have watched Li Sixun's golden landscapes, leisurely like in the wind and snow of Baqiao, when the Three Gorges smell the ape.
I have traveled through the Taihang landscape of Jinghao, the "Huangshan School" landscape opened up by Shi Tao, the Fuchun landscape of Huang Gongwang, and the Qingtian landscape ...... in the southeast
I thought about the cold forests and plains in Li Chengshan's landscape, he died drunk in my hometown, and never left a true trace.
And only by gazing at Ni Zhan's "Yushan Forest Gully Map" did I clearly realize that I was in fact myself.
Long dead. Guo Xi said that Wang Xizhi likes geese, purely to observe their chic necks, to practice holding a pen and turning his wrist; Over the years, I have wandered the mountains and rivers, because I have come to the middle of my life, and I am deep in Dante's hell, trembling and trembling, and I am careful every day. For eight years, I lived in Ma Yuan's "Phoenix Mountain Residence" in the Southern Song Dynasty, and I dreamed of Beatrizzi.
There's magical realism everywhere, and I'd rather retreat into utopia, where entire countries often survive. ”①
On Phoenix Mountain, there are many electric towers, but nevertheless, it is my Beatrizi;
Despite the east, west, north, south, almost all.
The mountains and rivers are all shackled, and they are all too.
Or my Beatrizi.
Huaisu heard the sound of the Jialing River at night, the cursive writing was good, and the tide of the Qiantang River made my life more and more chaotic, and "chaos has completed his masterpiece!" ”②
Chekhov. Macbeth
April 8, 2013.
In China, fear urges you and me to wake up early every day
In Argentina, we are not united by joy, but by fear.
Borges. In this ancient ghost country, the fear of ghosts.
It was full of rifts for my father on a winter night.
Fear of the silent hand.
The exam made you and me white-headed.
For graduation had to "sweat from the eyebrows."
to earn bread".
Thirty fears of not standing.
The fear of Du Fu's "keeping a penny to see".
I suddenly found myself in my dream.
The fear of being naked, the fear of being chased by a swarm of snakes.
Fear of SARS.
Fear of smog. to h7n9
And then the fear of swallows and sparrows. In this cancerous one.
The kingdom of fear of cancer. To the father.
Suddenly sixty-six-year-old fear. To the daughter day by day.
Growing up fearful.
The article Frost of Ice. "Spiritually."
There is no power, and the world is worthless."
Fear of "Macbeth killed sleep".
For the unwarranted guilt, suddenly unable to look at the clouds
The fear of eating pork. To the "East, Storm."
In the ...... of the accumulation of fears that "in a week, in a hundred years".
Chekhov, "Three Years".
Eliot, The Cathedral ** Case
Shakespeare's Macbeth
Orwell's "Animal Paradise".
July 17, 2013.
The cool breeze gives Shu Yu
At this moment, Professor Jiang Xiaoshui opened the window, the wooden window facing the water.
A cool breeze blows towards me. A cool breeze from the Grand Canal, from the deep silt at the bottom of the river, from under the Gongchen Bridge, the bridgehead sycamore.
The slight stay deepened the coolness, and Su Dongpo looked at it from afar.
Tokyo is a place where his humor is even more.
A kind of coolness, the coolness of the temple, passed by the poet Chen Xianfa who met for the first time
Liao Weitang, so with the coolness of a friend from afar, blew to me. This cool breeze gave me a sigh of relief. Oh, this noon
The dullness of middle age, the summer that has just disappeared, the smell of sweat under the armpits, the weight of this life. This time, it was the cool breeze of the Grand Canal that rescued me.
September 9, 2013.
Rainy night in Yueqing
The return of Yandang Mountain, the night rain is bleak, the lonely hall, reread "People and Things":
Blok, gentle and sincere, clear and indifferent, has can be created.
all the qualities of a great poet; "The Last Pastoral Poet", Yesenin.
Too accustomed to feeling cold, too accustomed to shivering", and revolutionary.
An iron fist "swiftly" picked up the ears of wheat sown at dawn";
the arrogant, grim, "fond of lightning in an electric iron", Mayakovsky, who "mocked the times like a thunderstorm";
In the end, I imagined Fadeev's face "coping with all the intricacies."
That apologetic smile when political issues "......Go to sleep.
Dreaming of "cyan Russia", dreaming of starlight sprinkling salt, dreaming of the death of an old father. I woke up crying and heard the years coughing violently, and the cold street lamp coldly shone on the big banyan tree dipped in rain.
On November 17, 2013, Huang Jiyun was presented.
and Huang Jiyun's "Imagining Feilian's Return to Hometown in Los Angeles".
Only the mighty roar of Niagara Falls can quell your anger. Gulf on the west coast of the Pacific Ocean.
After the tide recedes, "sea lions scream and gulls fly".
Beauty means danger, talent has long been a burden, and that rough oak tree brings new texture and form to your poems:
The Haw Par article is as cold as iron. "The sun shines through the branches and leaves" as if the old Yeats taught:
Now you all understand the right and wrong for the public.
And the whole stupidity of the war, we have no enemy but time. "Ten years of smoke and rain", in this strange era, you have a "Theory of Passing Qin" in your chest.
However, as soon as the pen was moved, the villains laughed.
Thousands of miles away in a foreign country, you leopard hidden in the fog of Nanshan.
In early spring, it is silent, and the cold finches stand on the dead trees to peck at the snow and sing alone, which will also be the image you leave to the world.
Huang Jiyun "I'm Here".
Huang Jiyun "Oak Tree".
Huang Tingjian's "Second Rhyme Looks at Wuchang West Mountain".
March 16, 2014.
Talk to Luo Yu in Xianju
Recently, he had just finished reading the poetry part of Cao Zhi's complete works and reading Huang Canran's translation of Mandelstam, and when he remembered that he had bought a lot of books, and when he thought of his small house full of all kinds of books, he felt like the earth.
It is slightly inclined towards the Heluo area.
He said that there had just been a heavy snowfall in Zhengzhou, and I thought of Li Qingzhao's heavy snowfall, that is, he wore a hat and a lily coat, and walked along the city to find poetry;
We talked about Du Fu as usual, and tonight we talked about Qi Baishi, Huang Binhong, Wu Changshuo's decay and change method, I heard the cold wind whistling on the streets of Zhengzhou, smelled the fragrance of plum, and outside my window was Yong'an Creek under the full moon, and it was the invisible Da Lei Mountain, including Cangshan Mountain, and a white cola was Bituo.
Swimming freely in my dark and feverish body, Luo Yu, his innocent and hearty laughter, startled a night heron ...... by the Yong'an Creek
December 4, 2015.
The past of a piece of Taihu stone
I was originally a water stone in the depths of Taihu Lake, endless years, I haunted the wind and waves, carved by the water, I witnessed the death of countless big fish, I saw the smoke and ...... on Fan Libian's boat
It was the Hangzhou "Creation Bureau" that discovered me, and it was Yang Zhi, the blue-faced beast who escorted Huashigang.
Take me to the city of nations that is clothed and clothed.
In the fifth year of Xuanhe, the reincarnation of Empress Li and his talent are peerless.
Zhao Daguan, named me a marquis, and placed me on the west ridge of Long Live Mountain.
In order to set off my longevity, he built the Chaoyun Pavilion and the Qingqi Pavilion, and painted his dream on the "Crane Map".
of the unreal. In the second year of Jingkang, the world was turned upside down, the wind and snow did not stop, and I accompanied the emperor who was in trouble
Ritual utensils and books were expelled to Yanjing ......
In 1898, at the age of Wuxu, my head rolled down in the grass of the Summer Palace, and I heard the young emperor.
Desperate cries ......
I am the stone that Wang Guowei held when he sank into the lake.
March 27, 2018.
in Hangzhou
Written before the arrival of the birthday of the year of Wuxu.
Traveling southeast, I have been in this country of green mountains and rivers for 21 years.
The smoke is deep and the water is wide, Yue Fei is buried on the mountain here, Wu Zixu is buried at the bottom of the river, and Su Dongpo's poems are engraved everywhere.
Like most people, I prefer Liu Yong's slow words, superstitious Su Xiaoxiao and Bai Suzhen, wandering in the great lakes and mountains every day, and forgetting the fish in the water.
When the begonia flowers bloom, the rain is dripping and falling on the umbrella, like Feng Xiaoqing reading "The Peony Pavilion" softly.
In the evening of the beginning of summer, bats are flying, and the plantain of the temple is growing.
In the middle of summer, the trees were dense, and I listened to the cicadas singing and copied Meng Haoran, and my shirt became a paddy field.
I witnessed that heavy snowfall ...... 2008
Dressed in new clothes, wandering around, many times, I was just like a child, carrying Du Fu's lantern and playing around, but despite this, I wrote "There Can Be No Sorrow".
My Ecclesiastes, My Autumn Waters.
I made three or five outstanding friends, in this rainy day in Jiangnan, in this unspeakable era, the dampness and gloom in our bodies were too heavy, we kept drinking, and we kept writing poems and ......
July 10, 2018.
Personal history of West Lake
In 1997, when I first arrived in Hangzhou, I was facing the remnants of the bridge in Xiling.
I sat in front of Su's grave all night.
The showers that promote flowers are endless, and on the broken bridge, I think about the one that has been cultivated for thousands of years.
Because of the wind and rain, he came to the West Lake to settle down, and the white snake with a rippling spring heart.
In Nanping Mountain, the old woman who picks up pine cones looks solemn and solemn, like Nuwa refining stones;
Wansong Academy, I put on a robe, faced the wind, and repeatedly turned into a butterfly.
The willow waves are singing the warbler, the autumn night is cold, Chen Duansheng's lamp shadow is swaying, and the letter pen fictionalizes Meng Lijun;
Ma Po Lane walked to the official lane, complained about the **, and Gong Zizhen, who was crazy about the sword, as soon as he lowered his head, he became Yu Dafu, who had been drunk and whipped the famous horse, ......
Gem Mountain, gazing at the turbulent flow under the sunset, I, the little person of "Warning the World", are anxious to walk into the West Lake, the shackles of this water, the treasure of the wind and the moon, looking for fun.
August 2017, April 2020.
Smoking notes
In 2012, the most sad and joyful thing for me was that my father quit smoking due to illness.
In the past years, he was like a mountain cliff shrouded in smoke all year round;
The clouds are gone, is he still the same as he was back then? One of my earliest memories is when I went to pick up cigarette butts for my grandmother on the road and was reprimanded by my father. Too poor to afford it.
Eight cents a box of "white goose", he would rather suck the paulownia leaves, suck and suck, the paulownia leaves burned, at night, bright and warm, for this poor home.
Bring a touch of magical comedy. In middle age, the addiction to smoking has increased
Put down the hoe, the dishes and chopsticks, as long as his hands are empty, he has to light a cigarette.
Smoke became his only friend, his religion, his life.
In recent years, I have begun to understand that when people reach middle age, when children think you are monotonous, and young friends, such as "Guangling San", are the most terrible.
It's a livelihood that is forced by inches, and you have no choice.
The most unforgettable, long winter night, when I was awakened by urine, he was still waiting for the New Year.
Worried, the light and extinguishment of cigarette butts are connected with the stars outside the window.
October 9, 2013.
** Note
The Mid-Autumn Festival is the easiest for the poor. After eating the mooncakes, the family peeled corn in the yard as usual.
The first thing the three brothers did was to fight for the radio, and of course, whoever grabbed it, it was for.
Listen to the "Four Heavenly Kings" singing ......And that night, the parents had an argument. Wrapped in a blue turban, the mother sobbed secretly. At first, my father smoked silently, and suddenly, got up and took the radio from among us.
When eight o'clock came, Shan Tianfang commented on "Romance of the Three Kingdoms".
The moment - half a year, every time it comes to this time, the family.
Just huddle together. And that night, my father turned down the volume, and he alone could hear it, and the autumn insects chirped in unison, and the wind blew all over the ,... of the neem trees in the courtyardThe full moon rises and illuminates my angry hands!
September 21, 2013.
Grandmother's Notes
From the look of the daughter, tonight, suddenly.
I see you. The daughter was curious, looked in the mirror, and asked.
And you didn't leave a **, a name, a moving story.
My father is a well-known "Tong million", he teaches you the lion to roll hydrangea and peony blossom.
and other abacus stunts. Until marriage, neighbors.
I realized that the deep courtyard of the locust tree turned out to be hiding a daughter.
Next, giving birth to two boys and five girls, the wind and rain of the times, everything can't be avoided-
The bandits' hideous yellow teeth, the fierce battle between the Kuomintang and the Communist Party, the gunfire shattered the roof tiles, the land reform, and the grandfather fell into the root ...... of early death
In his later years, he finally lived a peaceful life.
Rarely goes out, but fearful.
I won't let you go. **Forcibly pushing cremation, you are afraid, so you have to die quietly;
Secretly buried in the earth without any ceremony;
The next day, there was one more unlawful one in the world.
small mounds; The next year it was overgrown with grass for me to come back and weep. And last year, an unprecedented campaign to level graves erased the last trace of your 90 years in the world.
August 2, 2013.
A snowy day, grandfather remembers
In 1900, when he was born in the richest salt merchant by the Yinghe River, the short-sighted Central Plains man never dreamed that in the future, this child.
He would brave the heavy snow and sell straw sandals barefoot. He was the first son in the family, and when he was born, even Yuan Zhangying's fort was dedicated to this.
A few gun salutes were fired. Soon, he grew into a merryman.
The dignified sons and brothers, drinking, gambling, boundless, living a life unique to the troubled times, the life of powerful young masters.
The kind of life that is drunk and dreamy, and completely ignorant of moderation (his fathers.
When I was young, I was wild, but I always had a kind of restraint).
The sound of gunfire was heard day and night, and he couldn't figure out who was fighting, and the guns seemed to be just adding fuel to the seemingly never-ending feast.
Until, his sworn brother, the eldest and youngest of the Pan family, was beaten into a hornet's nest by a burst of random gunshots, and hung bloodily on the big locust tree.
The guns stopped, the war was over, and like all wars, stayed.
It's chaos. Land reform - this vague term, only in person.
Those who experience it will understand what it means
Everything quickly and resolutely left him behind, only cigarettes, homemade paulownia cigarettes that brought him a little light.
There is no distinction between grains and grains, and in order to live, he opened up a wasteland next to the ancestral grave.
Raise flowers, supply the army commanders, in exchange for a pitiful ration.
Soon he discovered that if a person took up the cultivation of flowers as a profession, the flowers would also emit an intolerable smell. However, the army.
and confiscated his flower plots. Hungry, in the cold winter, he jumped into the pond to dig lotus roots. Finally, an old beggar there.
Learned to weave straw sandals. Yinghe, overgrown with reeds. From then on, he became the man who sold straw sandals. In those days when the snow was rushing, maybe he would think of the endless prosperous past.
He wept at Yinghe—"Old man.
When he cries, he often cries loudly and sadly like a child. ”①
Laxsnays, "Herring".
On December 7, 2013, it snowed heavily in the old calendar.
Brief comment
Fei Lian's poems have a lot of similarities with the poems of Su Ye and Chen Xianfa that I have discussed, they are both lovers and guardians of Chinese culture, and they are also the continuators of Chinese culture, and their poems have literati temperament and identity. But I think the identity in Fei Lian's poetry is more complex, he is both literati and underclass, and he straddles two classes that are not very compatible. The former identity is the poet's preference, the latter is his origin, and although in some works the poet tries to associate his origin with his preference by tracing the cultural status of his family history or hometown, in any case, the latter identity has a stronger sense of reality because the poet has actually encountered it, while the former has an imaginary component. On the surface, the literati identity has a historical meaning and seems to be oriented to the past, but in fact this history is a kind of analytical material, and the national sentiment of the Chinese literati (intellectuals) is a kind of responsibility mentality to learn from the past and know the present to see the future, so it is oriented towards the future in terms of utility, and is generally strong in terms of emotional posture. However, the underlying identity is undoubtedly fragile, which constitutes a contradiction with the former. I think the emotion in Fei Lian's poetry has this tug-at-a-w, which makes his work show a stronger sense of pain. For Su Ye or Chen Xianfa, the history in their works is a Hegelian purposeful movement, so the ** of the essence of the world is the ** of the world, which can correct the real world we live in. But here in Fei Lian, history is more like a process of continuous decline along the earth's potential energy, and greatness exists in a certain ideal stage of the past, and the Peach Blossom Land is not a utopia, not a man's construction of the future, but a dwelling that once existed in the past but has now disappeared. Thus, the poet does not seek to solve the problem of morality and goodness by the infusion of knowledge, but in the discovery of the heart. However, Fei Lian's writing of ancient characters is actually constructive, they are stripped of their complexity, and they become ideal symbols, with simple thoughts and affection, fighting against the dirt of the real world, so that they become martyrs, such as Taishi Gong and Tan Sitong in "Rainy Day". Fei Lian's renovation of ancient classics such as "Shishuo Xinyu" and "Sou Shen Ji" generally enters the perspective of the characters in a substitutional way, which allows him to modify the third person in the original text to the first person, and form the defamiliarization of the work with the translation of experience and feeling rather than the means of language syntax and rhetoric. Through this defamiliarization, the poet seems to have acquired the ability to make decisions in the first person, and thus overturn the conclusions of the original work.
If the literati's identification with self is individualistic, then the identity of the people at the bottom shows group characteristics. Underlying vulnerability means that they need a collective to resist the world's dispossession of them, while collective identity implies emotional bonding, a negation of individualism. In terms of the latter identity, Fei Lian's poems show on the one hand the closeness to the relationship to which they belong, and on the other hand, the fear of loneliness, a deep fear that he will be left behind by the world in an unaccompanied. In "Smoking", Fei Lian uses strong words such as "joy and sorrow" to express his father's feelings about quitting smoking due to illness, and seduces many memories of poverty in the past. Jiang Li, on the other hand, perceives the meaning of existence in self-healing. The poem "In China, Fear Urges You and Me to Wake Up Early Every Day" is very different from the image that Fei Lian is known for mainly rewriting ancient characters and expressing his loyal cultural stance, and the poet completely removes the cultural elements that he is accustomed to using and have become a stylistic identity, which seems to me to indicate Fei Lian's sense of identity at the bottom. If we refer to another poem written by the poet that I personally like very much, "Yili, Sacrifice to the Third Uncle", we may know that the poem "Fear" actually constitutes another type of poet's writing, shaping the poet's two positions: the folk position and the cultural position. In these two positions, the poet's emotional expression is very different, the former is passive, a sense of fatalism that resists but cannot be changed, which is similar to Izumiko's poem, but more concrete; The latter is active and calm, and although he writes about the powerless fate of his characters, he shows a sense of control from a bird's-eye perspective that sees the whole picture. Therefore, we seem to be able to see this truth: even if the poet enters those ancient characters in the form of substitution, from the perspective of the first-person "I", he cannot be them after all, and the emotional connection with them is separated by a layer after all, but in another type, the poet's emotions are really from his experience, so they are more close. As far as the category of knowledge is concerned, the former is actually indirect knowledge, while the latter is direct knowledge, a kind of personal knowledge, which has a source. In my opinion, this latter type of writing also shows a richer technique, such as the poem "Yili, Sacrifice to the Third Uncle", which shows a variety of emotional changes in less than eight lines: sadness, hope, anticipation, disappointment, and fear. "When I was very young, I read my mother's letters to you. The innocence of a young girl. "This is the first stanza, two lines formed by two sentences that compress the content of the story and also the emotion, for the former it is sadness, and for the latter it is a hope. But when hope has a sad premise, that premise is the center of gravity for art with endless content. In other words, here grief is more dominant than hope. The second stanza is a demonstration of "innocence": "Whenever the days are so embarrassing that the snow burns, she thinks of the well-fed Ili, and uses a sewing needle." This is at the same time a definition, which gives the relatively neutral sentence of the first stanza a more definite and intense emotional stance, and it itself is a very restrained expression in form, like the first stanza, which further exerts pressure on this emotion and makes it tense. The third stanza continues the second stanza, but the "but" indicates the turning point - "Pick up the kerosene lamp, and the room shines brightly, but what I saw for the first time after more than 30 years", thus implying that the emotional pressure accumulated in the first two stanzas could not be released and relieved as expected, and the opportunity to express feelings was thus infused with a trace of worry and even panic. The fourth and final verse is what you see at the time of the memorial service: "Under the aspen your little mound overgrown with wild artemisia and pipa firewood, An old dog, two timid cousins ......."This is the scene of death, which cannot be modified like the truth, so it satirizes the "innocence" of the mother at that time with a kind of desolation, so that the hope in the innocence is extinguished, and the sorrow in it cannot be stopped. When "an old dog, two timid cousins" appears, it actually expresses the poet's fear, and the author undoubtedly wants to escape from such a scene, as if the "cousin" will pull him into his past life, and this is exactly what he is worried about. This concern is very concretely expressed in Borges's line quoted in the poet's epigraph in the poem "Fear", "In Argentina we are not united by pleasure, but by fear", which seems to confirm our analysis of the poet's second identity: in fear, we need to be united as a collective in order to be appeased. "Fear" is a social poem detailing the different types of fears that an ordinary Chinese will encounter in his life. The first fear is the fear of death, "the fear of ghosts in this ancient land of ghosts," and the second is the existential fear of survival—"the fear of the silent hand of my father on a winter night." If the first fear is a kind of collective unconscious, the second fear is actually a collective memory of existence, which is embodied in a specific image of the father (the main recipient of survival resources): "winter night", "hands full of cracks", "silence". "Winter Night" represents the difficult circumstances of survival, "hands full of cracks" is the price to be paid to win survival, and the last "silence" is the psychological consequences of this price, which creates isolation, because the "father" has been instrumentalized into a survival machine, and we cannot get emotional nourishment from him. This is our tragedy, and indeed the tragedy of my father, because he has sunk into labor and cannot feel the reality of his own existence. If fear commands us to come together, then the greater fear is to be abandoned by this cohesive group. In fact, we will see this in the poet's subsequent narrative of fear: in order to avoid fear, all of "I'm" actions seem to be just to join a system. In other words, institutionalization becomes the primary strategy for freedom from fear. So the psalmist said, "The exam made you and me white-headed." The fear of having to 'fight bread from the sweat of my eyebrows' after graduation. Thirty fears of not standing. The fear of Du Fu's "keeping a penny to see". Whether it is participating in the examination competition, or the belief in "standing at thirty", or the need for money, it is actually a submission to social discipline to avoid being thrown out of its gravitational pull by the high-speed system. This is actually the fear of loneliness, a great fear of whether a person will be able to live alone, which is still ultimately associated with the fear of death: "The fear of suddenly finding yourself naked in a dream, the fear of being chased by a group of snakes. Fear of SARS. Fear of smog. Fear of h7n9 and then of swallows and sparrows. Although this fear is fundamentally the fear of death, there is a cultural peculiarity of the generation of fear and its overcoming, that is, in the culture and system of this country, there has never been a real affirmation of the value of individualism, so much so that the frustration of "being spiritually powerless, worldly and worthless" is expressed more intensely.
——Excerpt from Lou He's "Multiple Landscapes of the "Wild" - A Review of the 20th Anniversary of the Founding of "The Wild".