Wang Linxian: No one knows they are old friends.

Morning prayer: 1545 streams scattered and fell into the void. From breathing to chest cavity, an idea is first heavy and then light. The big light in the shadow piled in, and the sound of gold bells, silver harps, steel flutes and iron flutes was noisy. I ran and ran and suddenly stopped. Standing on a leaf, staring at the water, the motionless gushing, the soft cutting, and the bare color of the glass in the palm of your hand. The veins are open and endless, and they are the nests of all beings. No one knew it was an old friend, and the smoke from the kitchen between the caves was thrown out. I sat on the threshold outside the flame, sorting out my long-lost pen and paper. When I woke up, the birds were chirping and speaking softly, and the water mist in my dream flooded into the mirror with soft light. Morning prayer is 1546, and the sound is moonlight, with a heartbeat, in a faint void. Flies, flies, footsteps and insects, in the thin darkness, gently draw the outline of moonlight in their own world. Blue bell flower, marigold flower and clematis have bloomed for the second time, bean seedlings have seeds, and the fragrance of vegetation is intoxicating. The heart is quietly closed around, and the earth vibrates like a pulse and breath. At the moment when silence and noise changed, how many words and names floated from the depths of time and became memories again: time is endless. Fingers cling to fingers, and pain proves everything: moonlight, bang, beating, silence. Morning Prayer 1547 Someone brought a ladder for the night from afar. The last glass of water washes the sand clean, leaving only shiny wood grains. Someone picked a flame ore on a high place, and the cut darkness escaped from the bones one by one. Stay, sit on the ladder corner, sharpen a bone hairpin, and call back memories with your lips. The porcelain bowl is broken, so that the cutting edge can store night, wind and rain.

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Morning prayer 1548 leaves are denser than light, creating another image tonight. Blue sinks, steel wings hang down along gray tall buildings, and flames, dust and cheers roll up. Staring all the time, staring back, those trembling words used to be free, and once arranged into happy names on a shallow smile. We once passed through a heavy rain: on the river bank, the stone railing broke into the sand, and there was no one over the bench. Rain only makes the heart surge, and we are in the moonlight. Morning prayer is 1459. First, the rain hit the tin roof, and the lights blocked the night in the grand surge. After the rain, insects sound, and occasionally a wisp of wind scatters into the screen window, bringing fresh breath and secret memories to the world. I remember that table, smiling slightly across a glass of wine or a glass of water. Shadows flicker, grass melts into the ground, and the light sound of the table is lower than a sigh. At four o'clock in the morning, I sat at the window with my heart pounding and time didn't stop. I want to tell you a lot. But at the moment, I only say that the lights are as bright as darkness, and I know nothing about the quiet and safe night. As far as the morning prayers in my memory are concerned, those details are getting clearer and clearer, and I am dizzy. We are running, and the sweat passes through the salty taste left in the mouth and penetrates the dust that is always surging. Once I grabbed a pair of hands, flowers blossomed and tears blurred. Once curled up in worship, there was a house on the island, with the door wide open and the light and shadow overlapping. Tell me, use different hymns to repay my lover with love. The lamb you look down on is just the light in the depths of the flame. I confirm those details, except dizziness, "The moon is always sad." Morning prayer, 155 1 flood, the night gradually turned silvery white. The bird holds a leaf suspended in the scream of light, corresponding to many pupils. The wind is wrapped in clouds and brings together a period of history: creatures have no beginning and no end, and commandments obey forgetting. The fear brought by love makes the earth and the sky betray each other. The ship on the other side, the soul in the wilderness, and the details under running are separated by lightning inch by inch. Let the night in my heart light the flame on the high building.

Morning prayer 1552

At the intersection, the planetesimals disappeared and became cold as a word. I seem to have been here. I followed a little light, and the shadow of the moon trembled. Dewdrops rolled down one by one on the tightly held branches. It seems that a piece of debris is submerged, and we are there, casting a shadow on each other's palms. The alloy in the pupil is sharper than the flame, and the shallow fog rises slowly. The soft tentacles are engraved with our strange names, which awaken the garden again and remind us of each other in the sweet breath. The stars stop at the window. They stare at their lovers and bring transparent words into their dreams. In the morning prayers in the middle of the night, the knife in the body always cuts the pain for many years. The abandoned voice woke up again, telling me its loneliness and the dark wound corroded by silence. The moon on the ribs did not open the curtain of breathing. It used to be a messenger, letting the long arc profile penetrate the wall that has never been destroyed. Running and collapsing, the dam rising in the chest shines with the soft light of the dusty knife. Survivors are in my veins, through my pupils, touched and buried.

Morning Prayer 1554 Go straight on this road, and the leaves are bright green with moist light. With a high fever and a cold and silent desire, I grasp the beam of dreams in the distance. Who left me, who came to my side, who caught the pain in my bones, who abandoned me, who was crying lightly and looking at me: tears just drowned my imaginary lover. I am in my own Shan Ye, knocking on the window lattice through the soft rock, and the carved world is wider than the dust. I obeyed them, and I was given a brand-new gift, carving another me in nonsense.

* About the author: Wang Linxian, male, born in 1973, now lives in Chengdu. He once concentrated on comparative politics, structural anthropology, religious history and general history of China, and also dabbled in psychology, traditional Chinese medicine and other related fields. Published prose and poetry works in dozens of newspapers, some of which were reprinted by many newspapers and selected into various anthologies; He has won literary awards such as the China Young Writers Award; Published a collection of poems and essays 10, such as Walking on the Blade of Time, A Glimpse at a Glance, A Hangover and The World Can Be So Beautiful.

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And comments on the author's brief introduction.

The Beauty of "Misread" Poetry —— From Wang Linxian's poem "Morning Prayer"/Li Jianyi critic Zhou Zhixiong thinks that critics should "have a reading eye and see the deep connotation of the work". Mr. Lu Xun said that taking reading A Dream of Red Mansions as an example, he advocated moderate "misreading". Personally, I think that all literary works can only reflect a kind of beauty if readers misread them moderately. It should be said that reading poetry should be more like this. The last two sentences of Wang Anshi's "Dengguazhou" are "Spring breeze is green in Jiang Nanan, when will the bright moon shine on me?" You can interpret this as a realistic scene, or as a frustrated politician looking forward to returning to the peak of political reform and innovation. If it is a long-lost lover, it can also be regarded as a lover who wants to get back together. This is true of ancient poetry, especially of modern obscure poetry. When it comes to poetry, you have to talk about medicine. What is the relationship between medicine and poetry? Of course it matters. At least the original art and medicine originated from witchcraft at the same time. Some people think that the origin of China's philosophy should be the Book of Changes, and then medicine originated from the Internal Classic. In fact, there is another origin of medicine, Bian Que's Difficult Classics, which finds three sources, which we can call the Trinity. In fact, everyone who has read these books knows that the Book of Changes is not easy to read, and not everyone who studies medicine regards it as the most difficult medical book to read. People who have also read Neijing may not know much about their own body and Chinese medicine. But one thing, China has already applied the theory of traditional Chinese medicine to literary theory in ancient times. For example, "Guan Xing Qun Fen" in the pre-Qin period, and later "Wen Qi, Feng Gu, Masculinity, Femininity" and "Theory of Nature and Taste" were all more or less related to medicine. Of course, poetry has more to do with medicine. Therefore, I often look at poetry from the perspective of difficult classics, and moderate "misreading" itself is the result of difficult classics. I think there are three difficulties in Wang Linxian's poems: one is the difficulty in constructing the ideological theme. Secondly, his poems set difficulties between concreteness, image and artistic conception. Third, the difficulty of constructing synaesthesia conversion. I once said in Reading Poetry, Maybe It's a Guess, and in Aesthetics Collection, Dimensions of Reading, "Reading Poetry may become a guess, and the meaning of guessing itself is a reconstruction of poetry, language and emotion." Wang Linxian's long poem "Morning Prayer" has more than 1500 chapters, which shows that he has made great efforts in creating this group of poems. Why don't we just move out of one of the chapters, like morning prayers? 1554 wrote: "This road goes straight,/and the leaves are green. //I have a high fever on my forehead,/I long for cold silence,/I hold on to the beam of distant dreams. //Who left me, who came to me, who seized the pain in my bones and abandoned me,/Who was crying and looking at me:/Tears just drowned my imaginary lover. //I'm in my own Shan Ye,/I'm knocking on the window lattice through the soft rock,/The carved world is wider than the dust. //I obeyed them, and I got a new gift/carved another me in nonsense. " At the beginning of this chapter, the words "Go straight on this road,/The leaves are green and moist." It shows the self-improvement of life in a dynamic way. The conclusion is "I obeyed them and got a brand-new gift/carved another me in my nonsense." Seeing this, we seem to feel that this is a submission to society and a loss of self. Of course, you can also understand it as a pair of lovers' persistent pursuit, and finally succeeded, so they became "ministers under the skirt" to reinvent themselves. Similarly, you can understand that you failed in the pursuit of becoming a couple, and you can only carve another me in the nonsense of finding marriage in "Picking Flowers". The general theme of poetry is not obvious, especially the "misty poetry" which originated in the early period of new poetry and broke out in the 1980s and 1990s. I don't know what kind of poetry Wang Linxian belongs to, but I think it is more appropriate to use "misty poetry" to "guess" or "misread". Morning prayers? From far to near, from vision to hearing, from dream to reality, from reality to dream, the whole chapter of 1554 shows the reality and inner struggle of modern human existence, as well as the embarrassment and confusion of excessive alienation of human life. Of course, it is also good to change the reality of human beings into an interpretation of love, and it can even be interpreted as something else. We believe that in the west, one person will have a thousand small villages. In the East, it is not bad to regard a spiritual victory method as 10,000 Ah Q. In fact, as I have repeatedly stressed, moderate misreading is a kind of beauty, especially for the theme of modern poetry. Secondly, the concreteness, imagery and artistic conception of his poems are difficult to construct. The ancients in China said that "poetry cannot be reached". Just as China's landscape painting is different from western oil painting or modern photography aesthetics, China's traditional Chinese painting emphasizes artistic conception and gives viewers more space. To achieve this, China's humanistic art is even more difficult. Many of Wang Linxian's poems seek to express their own images with different images, and then interpret and understand their different artistic conception in images, which has overcome the difficulties of many authors. Such as "morning prayer?" 1545 ":"The flowing water is scattered and falls into the void. /From breathing to the chest, one thought is heavy and then light. //The big light in the shadow piled in,/The golden chin, the silver harp, the steel flute and the iron flute/All the voices became noisy, and I ran and stopped suddenly. //Standing on a leaf, staring at the water,/Still gushing, soft cutting, colored glass/Naked in the palm. Leaves open,/endless spread, are the nest of all beings. //No one knows it's an old friend, and the smoke from the kitchen between the caves/spreads outward. I sat on the threshold outside the flame,/sorting out my long-lost pen and paper. //When I woke up, the birds were chirping, and the sound was slight. /In the dream, the water mist poured into the mirror with a soft light. " The whole poem uses "running water" one after another. Nouns such as breath and chest form a group of images, and then colorful gold, silver and steel flutes and corresponding specific musical instruments such as blue, Qin and iron flutes form related images, and then frame a group of visual effects. The transformation into auditory perception is actually an image construction from far to near. No one knows that they are old friends, and the smoke is scattered outward between the caves. I sat on the threshold outside the flame,/sorting out the paper and pen that I had lost for many years. "These sentences are actually a dream constructed by the author in his mind, which makes people feel at home. However, when we read on, it brought us back to reality again. It turned out that "when I woke up, the birds were singing in disorder, and the sound was slight./The water mist in my dream flooded into the mirror with soft light. "It can be said that the dream is far away, but the reality is very close. This constant reciprocating from far to near has created an image and finally created a group of artistic conception full of reverie. Is this a kind of thinking like Zhuangzi's dream butterfly? Humans may never get out of their own fantasies or the reality of the world. Perhaps this is the reason why poetry and aesthetics continue to expand. Another example is: "Morning prayer? One thousand four hundred and fifty-nine, in which "Rain" and "Tin Roof" in "The First Rain Beats the Tin Roof" form a shack, and then the sound of rain beats the tin house continuously and sends out audio images. Then, a series of artistic conception Chinese paintings are constructed with the images of "insects singing" after rain, wind entering the "screen window", returning to the "table" and from night to early morning, which constitutes a touching artistic conception. Reading makes people feel unfinished. We can completely combine all the concrete images and regard this as the bitter expectation and helplessness of lovers. Of course, you can also think of it as waiting for your own hope. It can be said that in this work, the author's concreteness, image and artistic conception are very successful. The third is the conversion of synaesthesia. In China's ancient Zuo Zhuan, it is said that Ji Zha heard it in the twenty-ninth year of "xianggong", "for the song" Ya ",it is wide, bustling, curved and straight." Du pre-note: "On its sound." It is also called "bending and unyielding" under "bending with straight body" Ying Da Justice by Confucius: "Ji Zha either saw this virtue from people or things. Every sentence is written in words and broken in words, but whether it is beautiful or not. ..... If something is bent, it will lose its elasticity. If they are bent but don't give in, it means that the king bends his feelings so that he can respect them, maintain his dignity and have no flexibility. " This is listening to elegant music, similar to the shape of a king. These ancients summarized it as "listening to sound", which can be said to be China's initial discussion on synaesthesia. What is synaesthesia? Modern literature and art believe that synaesthesia is to communicate the feelings of different senses, cause the transfer of feelings through association, and "write feelings with feelings." Communication between various sensory organs in literary creation and appreciation. It means that vision, hearing, touch, smell and other functions can communicate, regardless of boundaries. It is a physiological and psychological phenomenon that people have, and it is also inseparable from the cultivation of people's social practice. In synaesthesia, color seems to have temperature, sound seems to have image, and cold and warm seems to have weight. For example, "Li Yue Ji" says: "Stop like a stake, you are in a moment, you are in a hook, and you are as tired as a pearl." Justice: "stop at a piece of dead wood, and its words are still there, touching people's hearts and stopping at a piece of dead wood." To the people of the moment, say that your voice is elegant and moving, as to the present. Hook on the hook, that is, big bend, big bend in speech, touching people's hearts, such as when it is hooked. Those full of words and sounds are touching, and their shapes are correct, such as pearls. The sound of words touches people and makes people think that it is like this. " Ma Rong's Defoe is mentioned in Selected Works: "Er is a kind of sound, which is like running water and similar." Synaesthesia is intuitive. It should be said that Wang Linxian used many synaesthesia techniques in his works, which was also quite successful. Such as "morning prayer?" 1545 ""The running water clears and falls into the void. /From breathing to chest cavity, one thought is heavy, and then it is light. "What about morning prayers?" 155 1 ""The night baked by the flood/gradually turned silver. "These are all from the visual sense of hearing, from the visual sense of touch, and then to the successful use of vision. Of course, what is more successful is the constant transformation of various synaesthesia techniques, which has become an important part of poetry. Such as: "morning prayer? In 1545, the visual "flowing water" and "falling down" first turned to the auditory "breathing" and "focusing on one thought", then to the visual impact of various colors such as gold, silver and steel, and finally to the auditory response of "all sounds", all of which were synaesthesia conversion. Another example is "morning prayer?" 1546 ""Well, that sound is moonlight. "Obviously, moonlight is silent and can only be seen visually, but the poet here has given it the effect of' hearing', which is of course the successful application of' synaesthesia'. To sum up, Wang Linxian's poems have their own characteristics, and they have been written successfully in many aspects. I have always insisted that poetry is aristocratic, so in many comments, I have clearly opposed the extreme salivation of poetry, unless you have good reason to say that your poetry is not salivating, but colloquial. Oral English is an ideal enjoyed by ordinary people, while drooling is a kind of pallor and a blasphemy to ordinary people. I said in The Poet Should Stick to the Phonetic Beauty and Ethical Beauty of Poetry, "The drooling of poetry will lose the linguistic beauty of poetry. "Those so-called" drooling poems "that use poetry to drool are not aesthetic or are not poems at all. Of course, I am also very opposed to the author's excessive pursuit of misty poetry and excessive consumption of various creative techniques. A poem or an article is not a good poem, or even a poem, if it has no true feelings and nothing remarkable. It is simply selling foreign writing techniques and piling up concepts and vocabulary. Too many elusive or incomprehensible poems are actually not poems, at least not good poems, which is why I have always refused to comment on many poets' works. For Wang Linxian's poems, I hope the poet can try to avoid this phenomenon. Reference: "1" Li Jianyi. Read the dimension "m". Beijing: Unity Press: 2018.10 "2" Yin Hui River. Basic theory of traditional Chinese medicine. Shanghai: Shanghai Science and Technology Press: 1984.5 3 Chen. Selected readings of ancient literary masterpieces "M". Beijing: Shanghua Book Publishing House:1998.7 "4" Zuo Qiuming. Zuozhuan "Mi". Beijing: China Federation of Literary and Art Circles Press: 1987.7* Comment on Teacher's Profile: Li Jianyi, formerly known as Li Dequan, 1970. Member of China Literary Critics Association. As a member of Guangdong Writers Association, she has published nearly 1 10,000 words in newspapers and periodicals all over the country. His works are scattered in China Writers and Artists, Shenzhou, Works, Selected Journals of Little Writers, Canhua, Reading Digest, Northern Literature, Youth, Young Writers, Xijiang Moon, Xijiang Literature and Art, Baoan Daily and Southwest Business Daily/kloc. His published literary works include Prophecy of Love, Carey's Story, Distant Memories of Hometown, Collection of Literary Criticism, Dimensions of Reading, etc.