Chapter 49 2. The Poet and the Dog Commander

In the first school, I have two nicknames, one is the poet, and the other is the dog commander. The reason for calling me Dog Commander is very simple, because there are several dogs in the company. I love to play with them, feed them, and they all obey my orders.One of the dogs is very attached to me. I take it with me when I go to work, and it will always sit on the ridge of the field patiently waiting for me to finish work.Once, it ran to the field by itself to find me, and followed me every step of the way, feeling very disturbed.After returning to the barracks, I found out that the superior ordered the dog to be beaten that day, and it must have sensed that the situation was not good, so it ran to seek my shelter.As a result, other dogs were killed, but it survived.In the next few days, I took it every day to avoid the limelight.

Writing poetry is my habit.Besides poetry, I often keep a diary.When the platoon leader saw me hiding in the corner of the bed and writing something, he looked suspiciously at me. Once, he finally came over and questioned me about what I wrote, and taught me to reform myself and stop writing scribbles.There are two rows of large shops in the room. Standing at the door and taking a look, it is clear at a glance who is doing what, and there is no private space.In fact, I'm the only one who is constantly writing, so no wonder it gets noticed.I thought to myself, aren’t some of the poems I wrote quite revolutionary, why not make them public, so as not to be suspected by others.So, I showed some poems to the platoon leader, and also to some students in the platoon.Even when there was a party in Lianli, some classmates asked me to read aloud, and I did so, and the result was very popular, and the name of the poet spread.This move was very effective. After that, the platoon leader saw me writing something and stopped interrogating me. I gained a certain degree of freedom.Most of the students in our company graduated from local schools in Hunan. Hunan people respect literature very much. After they found out that I was a poet, they were very friendly to me.

In the Lake District, the sun, the earth, the mud, and the canals are the things that I come into contact with every day, and they became the themes of my revolutionary poems.Many of the poems I wrote at that time could be called revolutionary.For example, the first stanza of "Aphorisms" is: "If the target in front of you is the earth, a blind man can also be a good shooter. If communism is goulash, a glutton can also throw himself into the torrent of revolution." Pushkin wrote in a poem : "No, I will not die completely, I will be glorious forever, as long as there is a poet in the world under the moonlight." I wrote a poem of tit for tat, first criticizing the moon, and then comparing Pushkin's verse Change it to: "No, I will not die completely, I will be glorious forever, as long as there are people in the world under the sun." Some of my verses are often hung on the mouths of my classmates, sometimes for expressiveness, sometimes for ridicule.The funny thing is that they are good at picking out some sentences from my revolutionary poems to express sentiments that are not revolutionary.There is a song "The Value of Mud", the first two lines are: "What is there in Nanwan Lake? Besides mud, it is still mud." Later, it is said that mud can grow crops, build houses, build roads, and make people healthy physically and mentally, etc. And the raw material Nu Wa used to create humans was also mud.They omitted the latter content, singled out the first two sentences and recited them on the construction site to vent their dissatisfaction with the monotonous environment.The first four sentences of another song are: "I suggest that the horizon should be canceled to make the earth wider. The bright eyes of young people, you must see the distance of communism at a glance!" Often on the way home from work, they will Shout the first sentence in unison: "I suggest, simply cancel the horizon!" This expresses the desire to leave this land and fly to the outside world.In fact, I am expressing the same mood with twists and turns in these seemingly impassioned lines.

Of course, enthusiasm is not pretended, often sincerely want to be excited, in order to be in tune with the times, and to idealize the situation in which we are.However, in fact, the heart is full of confusion, and the passionate high-profile often reveals a kind of sickness.There are some poems that directly express the inner despair in a passionate and high-pitched tone. I understand its nature very well, and I will not let the people in the company see it.For example, "The Tempest"—— The impenetrable storm— The rain is pouring like the sea, and the wind is pouring like a mountain!

Leave the calico umbrellas to the ladies, soaked man What are you afraid of being drenched in the rain? Leave the crutches to the professors, muddy man Why worry about falling? I was a gust of wind, a drop of rain, The storm is my old nest. With a bright red smile on the corner of his mouth, To face a fiercer storm... There is also a song "On the Eve of the Great War", in which I deliberately rendered a turbulent atmosphere: "The night sky is flickering with lightning, and exploding clouds are wandering all over the sky. The world under the lightning is shaking like a bunch of bonfires." Then I wrote how to look forward to war Come quickly, but beg to die on the battlefield.At that time, the Sino-Soviet war and even the third world war were being hyped up, so I used the topic to express my unsolvable anguish.In fact, I am clear about my state of pretending to be excited in depression. I have a straightforward confession in the ancient poems I secretly wrote: "My mind is faint and I think about it night and night, and there is no need to inscribe the words of death and sorrow. Nine days embrace the moon and create wind and rain, all over the world Rising waves fall on the long embankment. Take out this inch of generosity, and roll it all over the Dongting mud. Sometimes nostalgia is hard to bake, and I force new poems to blow my ambition." "The south wind pushes the door unscrupulously, and the pillow in the middle of the night hates the sound of rain. Sheji Confucianism has always been degraded, and the souls of the souls have been heroic several times. But in the northern expedition to conquer the Shadi, I can still support and dedicate myself to this body. I am used to using bold words to force my ambitions, and my poems are often difficult to express."

My depression is because I can't see the future.However, in the midst of nature, there are often times when all worries are forgotten.The views of the Lake District are beautiful.Standing on the embankment, with the boundless lake on one side and the fields stretching to the horizon on the other, I really feel the vastness of the world.Some lakes are covered with lotus leaves, fishing boats pass by smoothly, and a group of water birds fly out of the lotus leaves from time to time.In the early morning, the sun is dripping with dew, like the first flower bud spewing out, tremblingly, tremblingly stretching out of the jungle on the horizon.At dusk, the cattle came back, against the backdrop of the sunset, like a beautiful silhouette.In winter, there are fish in the downstream of the ice and birds in the snow.The most tantalizing thing is spring, when the water in the lake rises, the shadows of sails increase, and the pond turns green. At night, the world is immersed in the boundless sound of frogs. Such a vast and dense sound of frogs can only be found in the lake area, and I never heard it again. been.These shots are taken into my poems.There is a poem about spring, the opening sentence is: "Spring is here, a mahogany oar, a green boat." The ending sentence is: "Spring is here, a red sun, a green earth." At that time, The only signifier of the red sun is the great leader, and I seem to want to revive its rich signifiers.In "Morning Song", I also used the red sun to express my longing for love——

Hush, Morrowind, Hush, Leaves Hush, the rustling green gauze skirt in the field look on the wet horizon The sun - a heart of love am i here alone The sun is so red, so tender, so fresh am i here alone Sing a morning song to whom...