Chapter 382: 477 pieces, the beautiful female poet from Jiangnan and the poem she wrote for me

477 pieces, the beautiful female poet from Jiangnan and the poem she wrote for me

477 pieces, the beautiful female poet from Jiangnan and the poem she wrote for me

—— a red apricot branch growing out of the wall

Speaking of that conscienceless supervisor of the river marquis, I recalled a poem in the Classic of Poetry. The title of this poem is "Observing Rat". So-called "Observing Rat" means the verses that come to mind upon seeing a rat, the poetic feeling evoked by a rat.

Liang Shiqiu said, if a woman writes poetry, the poet is a beauty; a female poet (thinking of female poets, I recall a beautiful female poet from Jiangnan. She heard I would publish an essay collection at "Bixi Taohua Nong Chunrou", and the female poet then "let her imagination run wild, unable to sleep at night, the gentle breeze caressing, the morning sun at the window, looking northward, she joyfully took up her brush"—this is how I imagine that female poet writing a poem for me; whether it's like that, I can only guess.

The title of the poem the female poet wrote for me is:

The dream of green grass

The subtitle of the poem

——to Liu Guozong, poetry friend{I feel ashamed, I have never written a decent poem; this fully shows I am not material for poetry. I am honored to be called a poetry friend by a true poet, and moreover a beautiful female poet. I am truly excited. What punctuation should be used here? Weiyun? You are a punctuation expert, you surely know, please tell me. }

The full text of the poem is as follows———

With the best mood, {please note, friend, the opening of the poem the female poet wrote for me uses a comma; everything that begins is best, for example, flowers are most beautiful in bud, hence the saying to admire flowers before they bloom; but when the flowers fall, that mood surely changes. Perhaps one could secretly shed tears. You say it's so? friend} walked in

The most beautiful season of the year{this is the poet's beautiful wish for me; all poets have kind hearts and are beautiful. }

It would be best to stand under a budding peach tree{the poet, when I read this line you wrote for me, there is a four-line poem by the ancients that suddenly surged in my mind: "Last year, this gate, human faces and peach blossoms reflected red. Human faces unknown where they went, peach blossoms still smile at the spring wind." Friend, ah, friend, do the peach blossoms of Jiangnan still smile at the spring wind? Is your mood still that good? Are you still writing poetry? It's hard for you to keep this good mood. May we live long, sharing the beautiful moonlight across a thousand miles.

Listen to the warble of the kingfisher (early spring, in the slightly chilly spring breeze, under the gentle sunlight, standing under a budding peach tree about to bloom, listening to the warble of birds in the willow or in the thicket where new buds are sprouting, slowly thinking of distant friends, thinking of pleasant things, how beautiful this is, how full of poetic feeling and picturesque it is. Friend, in today's world of rampant material desires, to maintain this mood is itself noble, good, pure, a quality that rises from the mire without being tainted……………..

This is my speculation. Actually, the beautiful female poet I admire might have been listening to or watching "Two yellow orioles sing in the willow, a line of white egrets ascend the blue sky. The window frames the western mountain's thousand-year snow, the gate moors eastward ten thousand miles of boats.")

Or go to the riverside to pluck a branch of spring wind (poetry friend, your line "Pluck a branch of spring wind by the riverside" is my letting imagination run wild, I recalled――――"The stream water soundlessly flows past bamboo, the flowers and grasses west of the bamboo play with spring softness. The thatched eaves face each other, sitting all day, no bird cries, the mountain grows more secluded." "Outside the bamboo, two or three peach blossoms, the spring river water warms, ducks know first. The amaranth fills the ground, reed shoots are short, exactly when the pufferfish is about to rise." "When plums turn yellow, days are clear, the small stream is exhausted yet I continue my mountain trek. The green shade does not diminish from the way I came, I have added four or five yellow oriole calls." "The spring eye silently cherishes the thin flow, tree shade loves the water's sunny softness. The young lotus just reveals its tip, already a dragonfly perches atop."……………………

Poet, seeing you write this line of poem for me, I am deeply moved. Moreover, I also thought of――――――"Reeds lush and green, white dew becomes frost. The so-called beauty, by the water's side."…………………………

Poet, this is my true inner world; isn't it said poetry values truth? Although I cannot write poetry, I still understand a bit of the rules of poetry: poetry is the external manifestation of truth, goodness, and beauty………………………………….

. Well, no more of that, let's still look at the poem my friend wrote for me.)

By the way, visit those small grasses striving to break through the ground (these grasses, all day long just want to break through the ground, want to stand out above people, be superior, also want to bloom grass flowers to attract affection and praise. "Green grass by the riverbank, lush willows in the garden…………"

The excitement lies ahead………………………………..

(Heart tied to the disaster area, feeling tied to the disaster area: may peace, courage, confidence, strength accompany the people of the disaster area! Keep company)