Chapter 3 Lilies: 6-9

Ning Xuan: In fact, printing is a last resort.One is because my handwriting is not good-looking, and the other is that typing with a computer is more than twice as fast as handwriting. For quite a long period of time, I have always been an adherent of handwriting and a repellent of computers.At that time, I stubbornly believed that only by handwriting on gridded manuscript paper would I have the feeling of "climbing the grid", control the paper and pen as I wish, and have a truly own "world on paper".There is a strange correspondence between paper and pencil and my mind.In a complex computer, everything is out of control.A computer is a machine beyond my comprehension, cold and powerful.I am inherently skeptical of modern technology symbolized by computers.

Later, by chance, I tried to use a computer, only to find that it can greatly improve the efficiency of writing, and there is no such psychological barrier as I imagined before.A friend told me that a computer is just a tool, and using this tool will bring more freedom and ease.So, two years ago, I saved up a sum of manuscript fees and bought a laptop made in Taiwan with the cheapest price—because the cramped dormitory couldn’t fit a desktop computer.Since then, this laptop has been with me day and night, and it has been with me longer than any of my friends.In the past two years, I have used this laptop to write works of millions of words.

However, I fully understand and accept your accusation.When writing a letter to a friend, you should indeed avoid typing on a computer and outputting it on a printer.Machine printing will not show the writer's personality and emotions; while handwritten fonts will immediately give the other party a natural sense of intimacy—a human face behind the words. Thank you for your critique, and thank you for your candor.You see, I immediately switched to handwriting this letter. I love the use of the phrase "star light" in your letter.There was a philosopher in ancient Greece, just to look up at the light of the stars in the sky, he didn't notice the mud pit on the ground, and he accidentally fell into the mud pit.Since then, those philistines have ridiculed the philosopher's "pedantry". How can they appreciate the heartfelt joy of the philosopher when he looks up at the light of the stars?

For those sensitive hearts living in the boundless darkness, the light of the stars is the only comfort and sustenance in their lives. You are like this, so am I.Our loneliness arises from the same reason. For thousands of years, the star remains unchanged, but the people who look up to the star have changed crop after crop like rice. The Russian thinker Lozanov said: "How many beautiful things are there in man - unexpectedly. How many ugly things are in man - also unexpectedly." We encounter these two "accidents" every day , make us happy, or make us miserable.It is our desire to increase the weight of the former and minimize the weight of the latter.Words may be able to play a little role.

Lozanov added: "On my shoulders stand two angels: one is the angel of laughter and the other is the angel of tears. Their eternal debate is my life." We belong to the same kind of "more tears than laughter" people.How many tears have shed to exchange for a knowing smile? Ning Xuan, your pessimism surpasses mine.I know that the outside world is hurting you every day, and I can vaguely guess the pain and sorrow in your heart, but I have always firmly believed that every time there is a deep or shallow injury, we will get a corresponding return. Yes, there is a God in heaven watching us and loving us.Not one of our tears will flow for no reason.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that you also mentioned the Bible in your letter.Although I am not a Christian, the "Bible" is my favorite book to read. I put it by my bedside and read a verse casually every day.Every time you read it, you will have a new life experience. Allow me to "reciprocate" you with the language of the Bible: who sowed in tears, reap with joy. The one that comes out with tears, You must bring back the sheaves with joy. ("Psalm 126:5-6") Our reward is in the future, and our happiness is also in the future.Realizing this, we should be happy.I hope you are happier and more cheerful.Our happiness is our victory.

I want to tell you that I had a special life experience: in 1992, when I was just admitted to Peking University, all our freshmen were forced to go to Shijiazhuang Army Academy to receive a year-long "military and political training".We are the fourth and last military trainees since the late 1980s. On the first day in the barracks, the instructor asked us to learn how to fold the quilt and asked us to fold the quilt like a brick. There are always so many inexplicable "rules" that are contrary to human nature in the barracks but have been passed down from generation to generation.

Quilts are for sleeping and keeping warm, not for building houses. This is a truth that even a three-year-old child knows.Guys who let others "make" quilts into bricks are always mentally ill.I don't believe the so-called "by folding quilts, you can exercise patience and cultivate the basic qualities of soldiers".Just like the story of "As long as you work hard, you can grind an iron rod into a needle" - rather than spending your whole life grinding an iron rod into a needle, it is better to spend a moment to buy a needle back; just like the idiom "Yugong Yishan" ——Instead of sacrificing your own happiness and even the happiness of your children and grandchildren to dig mountains day and night, it is better to move early and live a new life.

"Nonsense" has become the truth. In China, why are there always so many concepts and traditions that go against human nature and common sense? Why have few people stood up to reflect, question, question and even resist for thousands of years? How many fresh lives have been quietly swallowed up by these "rules" that "should be so". Every day from morning to night, I and my "comrades in arms" bent over and patted the quilt in the barracks. We were so tired that we dared not rest.The team inspection began, and the captain walked in with a group of instructors, holding a stick in his hand.I was muttering why he was holding a stick, and the captain was already staring at my quilt.There was a look of contempt in the captain's eyes, which made me feel hairy.

It was too late, but it was too fast. With a slight pick of the stick in the captain's hand, he lifted the quilt on my bed to the ground. He said arrogantly, "What kind of quilt is this? Let's do it again!" At that moment, my face was flushed, and tears welled up in my eyes. At that moment, at the age of eighteen, I realized that people are not equal.There are still people in the world who take pleasure in insulting others. I can take physical training subjects, but I can't stand this kind of disrespectful behavior.There are huge differences between people - among my classmates, many people think that this is nothing, isn't it just learning how to make a quilt again?And my emotions are extremely sensitive. Although I would not draw out my sword to fight with others from time to time in order to defend my dignity like the Russian nobles back then, I felt a great insult. The days are miserable, I can’t eat well, and I can’t sleep.

The wound in my heart is festering and bursting. I can't fight them, but I can let my heart grow little by little and give it a strong texture.I didn't have the courage to confront them face to face, but I kept the wounds and the shame, not for revenge, but to always remind myself: how precious dignity is. From that moment on, I started a year-long military training journey. If I hadn't gone through military training, I probably would have to wait a long time before I could really grow up.After only one year of military training, I became so mature that my mother couldn't believe it—in a blink of an eye, my son changed from a child to an adult. In an environment where people are treated as "numbers", machines, and tools, how to maintain personal dignity and the happiness of the soul has become the goal of my life. We often hold happy "countdown" commemorative activities, such as two hundred days before the end of the military academy, one hundred and fifty days, and one hundred days... Every moment that becomes an integer will become a reason for us to commemorate, and reasons to be happy.After all, the days of unhappiness are decreasing day by day - the future trend is "decreasing" rather than "increasing", which is enough to comfort us. On a certain "memorial day"—about a hundred days before the end of the military training, in the middle of the night, our whole class risked being punished, quietly got up, lit a small candle, and each of us was in the military class. Soak a cup of instant noodles in a magnetic cup.Then clink glasses cautiously. Under the light, only the sound of "shua shua" sucking noodles can be heard.Everyone is so devoted to eating, and the last drop of soup is still unsatisfied, as if we are eating delicacies from mountains and seas-really, I have never eaten such delicious instant noodles in the future, although it is the cheapest and only one Bag-packed instant noodles with seasoning package. Under the candlelight, the red and sweaty youthful faces are my rare fond memories of those gloomy days. All of a sudden it was far away.However, I would also like to hear from you about your past, your university life, and the legendary city of Yangzhou. So far, I have not been to Yangzhou.In my mind, Yangzhou is a city that grows in classical poetry, like a plant full of fragrance; Yangzhou is also a city that spreads in legends, which are shared by talented literati and beautiful women. composition. Last year, I was in Nanjing. Nanjing is very close to Yangzhou, and it seems that there is a trace of Yangzhou in Nanjing. I really hope to have the opportunity to visit you in Yangzhou.With you as a tour guide, I will not miss any of the most beautiful places in Yangzhou. Tingsheng June 18, 1999 Tingsheng: Every night I think about writing to you, even every word seems to be vivid in my memory.But one day was submerged in turbulent affairs.But I really think about you all the time, and your letter, just like the old song "never need to remember, never forget". After the "sweet words", I sincerely ask you to forgive my delay! Tingsheng, you are really interesting, deep and simple.You have convincing insight and critical thinking ability, but you also have compassionate and distressing innocence and fragility. How rare and lovely is this combination!As the saying goes, "Hengmei is cold to the philistine, and bows his head willingly as a love infatuation". Your military training experience reminds me of Li Ao.No matter how accidental, he also hated the suppression of military training, and was determined to "be independent".You must have read Li Ao's "Diary of a Reserve Officer". Perhaps your similar life paths are just a kind of necessity. Where there is no repression, one does not want freedom.Just like a pampered person, he usually doesn't feel very delicious when he eats a full banquet, but once he has suffered from homelessness and starvation, he will even drink a bowl of gruel with relish.So, I think those who force you to accept military training are really stupid-they intended to punish and fool, but they did not expect to give you such a chance to sharpen. On the other hand, this opportunity is really rare. Would you have become who you are today without that year of extraordinary military training? I wonder if you appreciate Li Ao's outlook on life?I thought Li Ao's outlook on life was extremely healthy and human, and it should have been extremely ordinary and normal, but it was difficult for him to be the only one who dared to speak out.Only his courage to admit the flaws of human nature is outstanding.He dared to say his "evil", but he was not ashamed, accepted it readily, and made it known to the public. "Flower" loves her whole life and exhausts her heart and energy, exactly the same.Even though Li and Lu are laughing and swearing, laughing and scolding, to a certain extent, how similar are their frankness and magnanimity, sincerity and depth! As I write this, I feel that some words are not expressive. How can pale words express the rich and subtle feelings in my heart?Maybe you can see what I mean. Blind love is not love, but true love is the love that knows its lack and suffers deeply but remains infatuated; ignorant innocence is not pure, and innocence that does not change its innocence after vicissitudes and still firmly believes in "truth, goodness and beauty" It is the true purity; the self-confidence of concealment and disguise is vulnerable, and the self-confidence of a gentleman is the self-confidence that is truly outstanding and proud. With this standard, ask lovers in the world, how many true lovers?Ask the women in the world, how many are pure?Ask the men in the world, how many are confident?I eagerly looked forward to it, but was quickly disappointed.Since then, I have never dared to have any expectations.I felt very sad, "Hey! Weisi people, who am I going to return?" I found poetry and love in your words.Some of your prose is like poetry, but I haven't read any of your poetry.Have you ever written poetry?Perhaps your current state of mind is too worried and angry to write poetry.However, I intuitively think that you are still a poetic person in essence. Let me tell you, what I love most is poetry, and I think poetry is the highest form of literature and art.I often carry a collection of poems with me through the long journeys on trains, planes and long nights with lonely lights and white walls.With poetry, a dingy railroad car is at once as beautiful as a palace. The Russian poet Mandelstam has this line: People need poetry, it will be their own secret, keep them awake forever and bathe them in the shining waves of its breath How I wish we were bathed in these "shining waves" too. Recently, I read a book called "Selected Poems of Peking University", which collected poems written by dozens of Peking University students during the twenty years from 1978 to 1998.I found that there are many good poems in it. The best poems are of course Haizi's. I like his "Facing the Sea, Spring Blossoms".I can recite it all: Give every river and every mountain a warm name Stranger, I also bless you wish you another bright future May your lover be married May you find happiness in the world I just want to face the sea, the spring is warm and the flowers are blooming This is a verse he wrote ten years ago.I really don't know - if he is still alive today, can he still write such poems? Recently, I also read a book called "Sunken Temple", which I bought while waiting for my plane at the airport.There are very few books worth reading in an airport.And this thick book is abruptly independent among a lot of "official classics" and "business classics". Once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down and bought it immediately.With this book, I read it quietly during the three hours on the plane, completely immersed in a holy atmosphere, and even forgot that I was on the plane. The subtitle of this book is "Photographs of Underground Poetry in China in the 1970s".In the book, I found a large number of star-studded names, Bei Dao, Shu Ting, Guo Lusheng, Mang Ke... and many more names that I didn't know before but were equally important.There are quite a few photos of them in the insert, and I used to "only hear their names but not see their people" for many of them.So, I compared the poems with the photos of the poets one by one - beside a sad poem, I saw a photo of the author smiling; I just finished reading an elegant poem, but I found that the author had a face bearded.In contrast and contrast, I gained a new feeling. It was an age of poetry, it was an age of awakening, it was an age of rebellion, and it was also an age of thought.At that time, the sensation caused by a poem was almost like the discovery of the New World by Columbus.Youths who have experienced a long period of spiritual slavery and those "youths" who are no longer youthful have developed a verdant spiritual oasis in poetry. The warmth and tenacity of people's hearts are exquisitely displayed. It was the rare adolescence of this languid and aging nation.The grand occasion of that era was unprecedented and almost unprecedented—at least since the 1990s, there has never been such a pure and full spiritual life. It's a pity that I didn't catch up with the era when black and white were clear and there was no ambiguity.The era when poets stayed up all night mimeographed "Today" and distributed it on the street, the era when they sang among the reeds in Baiyangdian, the era when they read "Grey Book" more hungrily while eating steamed buns and pickles, the bullets in the city The age of flying, famine flooding the countryside, and thinkers going to the guillotine. "The Sinking Temple" tells the story of Guo Shiying, the eighth child of Guo Moruo.This young man, who is as talented as his father, is not as servile as his father, who treats a deer as a horse.Between "telling the truth or lying", he resolutely chose the former.In the brutal era of the "Cultural Revolution", this choice meant imprisonment, physical pain, and even ruin and loss of life. As a "proud son of heaven" who lives in a deep house and is a child of "party and state leaders", Guo Shiying's life path is completely different from that of his father: Guo Moruo was once a rebel during the "May 4th" era, playing the new literature. horn.Later, for the sake of glory, wealth and official title, he willingly acted as the literary jester of the great leader.At this time, although he had a respected status and was like a "Mount Tai Beidou" in the literary world, he couldn't even write a decent poem. His son, Guo Shiying, was unwilling to inherit everything he had, everything he bought with his conscience, and bravely declared: I want to break with all systems that harm humanity and all cultures that fool people, and I want to be an upright , A "person" with independent will and thought! Back then, my father tried to take this path, but he found the price too high, so he gave up quickly; now, under a harsher and more indifferent system, his son has embarked on this path of no return without fear— - Their literary club was designated as a "counter-revolutionary" organization, he was imprisoned for a felony, and even his father couldn't save him (the cowardly and selfish father didn't dare to come forward to save him). Soon, Guo Shiying, who was only 25 years old, died tragically in prison.To this day, whether he committed suicide or died of murder is still unclear, and relevant archives have since disappeared. Who can solve this mystery? Guo Shiying's short life was a tragedy, an awe-inspiring tragedy; his father's long life was a mixture of drama, comedy and scandal, although it was richer and more tortuous, but lacked the great power to move people's hearts.This pair of "father and son" in life is more dramatic than those described by Turgenev.Minority and sublime, cowardice and bravery, lies and truth, black and white, ice and fire...their opposition is itself a thrilling drama. Guo Shiying's good friend Mou Dunbai said: "When Guo Shiying's life was extremely prosperous, it suddenly went out in a tragic way. The objective social environment must have brought about such a sad and shocking ending." If I were born thirty years earlier , if I were in their literature group, I think, I would definitely fall in love with Guo Shiying.I don't love his handsomeness, but his sadness, his bravery, and his "sorrow over the hardships of the people's lives". I am also willing to go to jail with such a lover, or even die for him.I have no fear of death, really. If only I could have a love worth dying for. Another aspect of the two books "Sinking Temple" and "Selected Poems of Peking University" made me feel: the status quo of poets—either died young or went abroad, and there are not many left." Proper occupation" and "decent status", let alone continue to write poetry.Sometimes, they cannot even guarantee basic material life. God is jealous of talents, didn't Mozart die in his thirties under the torment of illness and hunger?And those slick mediocre people often live a long and healthy life with a full house of children and grandchildren, and then wait for the grand canonization of the imperial court. Hiding my long breath, I remembered a poem by Mr. Lu Xun: "I can't bear to see my friends become new ghosts, and I am angry to look for small poems in the knife cluster." So, let us "turn grief into strength" (following the saying "they") , pick up a pen! Tingsheng, if you also write poetry, please show it to me, okay?Maybe, if you throw a piece of "jade", I would not hesitate to return a piece of "brick"?However, essays, as you wrote, I also like. If you have new works, please send them to me? I would like to be your first reader. Ning Xuan June 22, 1999 Ning Xuan: In recent years, the summer in Beijing has been unbearably hot, and the high temperature has surpassed the three major furnaces along the Yangtze River.This is not nature deliberately messing with human beings, but the result of human beings being enemies of nature. The natural environment in northern China has deteriorated rapidly in the past half century. I think, maybe in a few years, Beijing will become a desert without a blade of grass.Where were the swaggering officials and merchants in the city then?Will they spend huge sums of money to mummify themselves?Did the younger generations give their mummies reverence or superstition? You spend a lot of space in your letter talking about poetry.I haven't written poetry for a long time.Although I agree with your assessment of poetry-in the temple of literature, poetry does occupy the highest position, but I still gave up the creation of poetry that I tried when I was a boy. This waiver is voluntary. Why don't I write poetry? The scholar Adorno once said such a sentence, to the effect: After Auschwitz, writing poetry was a cruel thing.When this meaning is applied to China, it means that after a series of tragedies such as the "Cultural Revolution", writing poetry is also a cruel thing. In China, the oppressive and lie-wrapped reality no longer allows anything poetic to exist.It would undoubtedly be too extravagant to deliberately and pretentiously write poetry before the appalling truths in real life have been fully revealed. Since the end of the 1980s, I haven't acquired that kind of calm and aesthetic mood.Witnessing everything that happened around me, I was torn between anger and sadness. Poetry is getting farther and farther away from me.Poetry is like glass, too easily broken.And to face evil, you must have a strong texture. I also like to read Mandelstam's poetry, which is as dense as quicksilver and as liquid as quicksilver.The title of my first book is "Fire", inspired by Mr. Lu Xun's "Dead Fire".Later, I discovered that Mandelstam's last poem in exile was called "Tears of Fire and Ice". This is a mysterious coincidence, which shows that there is a wonderful connection between people. Recently, I also saw a poem by Taiwanese poet Luo Fu, which also described a similar artistic conception.Although there is no strong opposition between "ice" and "fire" in his poems, there is a clear contrast between "water" and "fire".May wish to copy a few sentences for you: A pair of eyes floating on the river are still piercing looking down a bluestone path Come on, I'll wait for you in the water Fire comes, I wait for you in the ashes Such verses, I think you will like it. "Tears of Fire and Ice" is the end of Mandelstam's poetry creation, and it can be called "the swan song of the swan".In these psalms, the poet displays the richness and uniqueness of his imagination, speaks his prophecies and celebrates his doom and redemption: Stacks of human heads are wandering into the distance. I huddled in it and no one saw me. But in lively books, in children's games, I will rise from the dead, Say the sun is shining. However, the tragic death of the poet really broke my heart. Mandelstam was sent to a concentration camp, where he was forced to strip naked and brutally tortured in a dilapidated, unheated house in Siberia at minus 40 degrees.He fell like a log and never got up again.He was thrown into the wilderness like a dead dog, and his physical body quickly disappeared from this world. Mandelstam has no ashes.His widow Nadja kept her husband's poetry like ashes.Poetry is hidden in an iron pot, and then hides with the iron pot, avoiding the carpet-like searches of the spies. When the iron pot was not safe, Najia had to burn the manuscript, and she engraved the poem line by line in her heart.In the dead of night, she relied on reciting her husband's poems to resist the cold and loneliness. She told herself that she must live on, for poetry, for her husband, and for herself. I think that in an era of silence and rampant evil, a writer should reveal the evil deeds of the wicked before writing poetry.When evil is still running rampant, it is a dangerous thing to hide in a small house and write poetry--dangerous to oneself and dangerous to others.We must first erect a solid barrier, and we must make this barrier secure the existence of poets and all ordinary citizens. Regarding Haizi, I would like to have an in-depth discussion with you.Of course I also like Haizi's poems, especially his short lyric poems.On the contrary, I am not at all optimistic about those long poems that he is very proud of.I don't think that's where his talent lies.He dreams of being a prince, which is not good. The little poem by Haizi you quoted is also my favorite. The love and happiness sung by Haizi exudes eternal charm and adds bright colors to our lives.Mo Luo wrote an article entitled "Experience Love, Experience Happiness" based on this little poem. The two qualities of love and happiness are lacking in our nation, and have been missing in contemporary Chinese literature for a long time.There are bits and pieces of bright colors in Haizi's poems, which is quite remarkable. In my first book, I once wrote about Haizi, about his life and death, in the language of praise.However, after more than two years of thinking and repeated reading of Haizi's works, I have some new understanding and evaluation of him. Unfortunately, these perceptions and evaluations are negative.The dead should not have been disturbed—here I discuss his text only as an important source in the history of contemporary thought. There are many "toxins" in Haizi's poems.The most outstanding thing is that he has a poem titled "The Motherland in Autumn".The subtitle of the poem clearly shows that it is dedicated to a certain "big man", so it is not obvious for the time being.After I read it, I felt goosebumps all over my body.There are lines like this in the poem: "He called me the poet of youth, the poet of love and death / He wanted me to travel across the motherland and foreign lands in the autumn sounding from the golden horn... the warm trade winds on the surface of the land and all kinds of desires bred by blood / Now they will all turn into corpses And the golden horn of manure blows / Now only he forgives the once tumultuous beings / Wipes the bloodstains of spring and summer from his lips / The earth seems afflicted and rich" Such disgusting verses are unforgivable—even if they are explained in words and reasons such as simplicity, innocence, childishness, romance, and confusion, I will never forgive Haizi who wrote such verses. To poetize the blood means another river of blood; to poetize the massacre means another despicable massacre.Just because we respect the romantic poetry of the great leader, we should not ignore the lives of 30 to 50 million ordinary people who starved to death in three years of "man-made disasters".The lives of tens of millions of Chinese citizens who were tortured to death in various ways during the "Cultural Revolution" and even previous political movements should not be downplayed just because of admiration for the youthful spirit of the great leader. The glorification of suffering is hypocritical - if the cause of suffering is not considered and removed; The glorification of ideals is dangerous -- if you use power to force others to accept your ideals. "Now only he forgives the once noisy sentient beings", this is the most shameful failure in Haizi's poems.Who exactly has the right to "forgiveness"?In Haizi's view, the leader became Jesus who went to the cross, and he forgave all sentient beings from above. Is this really the case? In my opinion, the opposite is true.Do abusers forgive victims?What kind of fucking logic is this? The power to forgive does not lie with leaders, but with ordinary citizens. Every dead and living person, every Chinese citizen with a conscience and a sense of responsibility living on Chinese soil will not forgive those who use poetry and "ism" as masks to play power, satisfy personal desires, trample on citizens' lives, destroy The historical sinners of China's environment. In my opinion, no matter how romantic and poetic a person is, no matter how grand an ideal a person has, he has no right to experiment with other people's lives, nor does he have the right to force others to follow him unconditionally to realize this ideal. This is common sense that is not complicated at all.Poets, however, often defy common sense. Here, Haizi confuses the boundary between "prophet" and "sinner".Haizi's praise of "sinner" as "prophet" was not a temporary mistake, but it shows that there is poison and evil desire in his heart.Sometimes, these toxins and demonic desires dominate him and occupy him.All human beings are created equal, and it is impossible for a human being to become a god. "False gods" are the biggest "sinners", and worshiping "false gods" is an extremely serious crime.The brutal rule of a tyrant is against the law of heaven and must be evil. I have always believed that no poet, however great, should enjoy immunity against common sense.The poet is also expected to obey the laws that every citizen obeys. Pound, the great poet who supported fascist atrocities back then, also had to accept the trial and punishment of the laws of the world. Because of the serious crime of advocating fascism, Pound was put in a cage by the US military to show the public.Although this punishment did not take into account the poet's personal dignity, I have no sympathy for his shameful end. The reason is simple: if we sympathize with and exonerate Pound simply because he is an outstanding poet, then who will sympathize with those anonymous Jews and resistance fighters who were massacred by fascists?Who will seek justice for those innocent lives who have been tortured so much?Is the life and dignity of ordinary people not as important as the life and dignity of poets? In my opinion, the weight of justice is heavier than the weight of art. Therefore, I will mercilessly refute all words that reverse common sense, including Haizi. In a world without any poetry at all, if poets insist on creating poetry, it can only be false poetry; Absolute, tyrannical rulers above our heads - this may be my "unfounded worry".However, this concern may be necessary. We must be vigilant and curse the wicked and their deeds. This is our right and our duty. The Bible says: Look at the wicked who toil with wickedness, It conceives poison, and it conceives falsehood. He dug a pit, and he dug deeper, He fell into the pit he dug. His poison will come on his own head; His violence will fall on his own head. ("Psalm 7:14-16") To regard the wicked as righteous is to help the wicked to do evil, and it is to cover up the righteous way of the righteous.Therefore, I want to severely condemn Haizi -- while praising him enthusiastically. After talking about Haizi for a while, I also want to talk about "The Sinking Temple". Ning Xuan, the "Sinking Temple" you mentioned in your letter is also a good book that I like very much in recent years.This is an extremely precious and living historical material.The Sichuan poet "Liao Huzi" who edited this book is my good friend. I will introduce you to him when I have the opportunity.However, since the 1990s, Lao Liao is no longer a "poet".When poetry lost the pain of the current life, he naturally gave up poetry writing, and began his unique social investigation as a low-level social scholar. Lao Liao is a classical hero living in modern society.His head is as big as a bucket, and his head is as bald as a mirror. Behind his rough appearance, there is a gentle heart.He has experienced so much suffering, but he can still laugh heartily from time to time. His laughter is the purest laughter in the world. I believe that after meeting you, you will love Liao Huzi as much as I do. You also talked about the chapter in the book about Guo Shiying.I have read a lot of Guo Shiying's related materials before, and I have long wanted to write something for him.He should not be overwhelmed by history.His name should be nobler than his father's. This handsome and melancholy young man is my senior at Peking University.He howled in the madhouse while his father practiced calligraphy in the palace garden.He discovered the evil of the wicked, and he couldn't bear it. In Russia under the rule of the tsar, there is still room for Dostoevsky to live, even though his life is difficult and painful; but in China, where the red flag is fluttering, there is no such young man with Dostoevsky temperament Although he is the son of the "Vice Chairman of the National People's Congress". If Guo Moruo is despised, then Guo Shiying is looked up to. In my childhood, I used to live in Shawan, Leshan, the small town where Guo’s hometown is located.I have been to Guo Moruo's former residence, which is a group of gloomy houses by the Dadu River.This kind of life in the courtyard certainly made the young Guo Moruo feel rebellious, but on the other hand, it also made him naturally worship authority.Guo Moruo's life has been dominated by such an extremely split personality. The Dadu River flows eastward, whether it is clear or muddy, everyone knows it well. After 1949, although Guo Moruo was promoted as the "standard bearer" after Lu Xun in the literary world and entered the ranks of "party and state leaders", he was not respected at the top. 罗瑞卿的女儿罗点点，从小随父亲出入于最高层的交际圈中，观察到了许多外人不得而知的细节。她在回忆录中提到，一九六零年，郭沫若的《蔡文姬》上演，当场一位将军半开玩笑地大声说："曹操如果像郭老写得这样好，我就介绍他入党。" 这一细节给罗点点留下了深刻的印象。许多年以后，罗点点评述说："我不记得郭沫若先生当时是否在场，但这种玩笑中包含的轻佻和不以为然，以及周围人对这种玩笑心领神会的响应，却留在我的印象里。对我的判断力起着潜移默化的影响。说来难以置信，我们这些小孩子也会势利地在这种玩笑中辨别出一个人在党内的地位是否重要。"这一画龙点睛般的评论，让我产生了许多感想。 《圣经》中说： 人必按自己的智慧被称赞， 心中乖谬的，必被藐视。(《箴言11：8》) 的确，一个不尊重自己的人，自然不会获得别人的尊重。"种瓜得瓜，种豆得豆"，郭沫若真是咎由自取啊。 在我看来，《沉沦的圣殿》不仅是一本文学史的重要资料、一本鲜活的人物传记，更是思想史顽强跃动的脉搏。这本书中，除了诗意盎然的部分之外，还有不少冷峻、严厉的"反诗"的部分，不知你是否注意到了？ 给我印象最深的，是朦胧诗的重要成员周舵。他在《当年最好的朋友》一文的后半部分，借题发挥地说了一段话："中国百年来的大灾难，基本上都是知识分子(特别是具有诗人气质的那一部分人)所为。他们自命精英，其实满脑袋浆糊，连基本的常识都不具备。比如说，不疯比疯好，健康比病态好，这应当是常事吧！中国的知识分子偏偏要反过来说，疯比不疯好，病态比健康好；不但自己病，不疯的也要想办法疯，而且不搅到中国人统统不疯掉不算完。倒是老实本分的劳动人民，虽说知识不多，起码不疯，有健康人的常识，包括慈悲和同情心在内。所以我说，最可怕的不是无知，是系统化知识化的偏见偏执，那种东西十之八九要把人逼疯，把世界搅得鸡飞狗跳。"这是我迄今为止看到的对"诗人"最严厉的批评。这些话正是我想说的，而周舵说得比我好，所以我干脆直接引用了。 周舵还说："我的坚定的立场是：除了人本身--每一个活生生的个体的生命、健康、幸福和自由发展--之外，世上根本没有什么其他更值得不惜付出生命代价去追求的目标。离开这个基本的人道主义立场，各式各样冷酷残忍的主张都可以乘虚而入，人类的整个伦理道德体系都会彻底坍台。"周舵是在普遍患了"自恋症"的诗人群落中，罕见的一个能够"反观自我"的清醒者。周舵的判断准确而敏锐。那些歌颂顾城的诗人和学者们，应该认真地读一读这段话。难道一个优秀的诗人就有杀死他人的权力？难道诗人的杀人就可以被我们当作一件卓越的"行为艺术"？这是一种多么荒唐而背谬的逻辑啊。 然而，直到今天，还有那么多大大小小的诗人和作家们，像一群刚刚吃饱猪食的蠢猪，疯狂地在泥潭里打着滚。在他们所谓的"浪漫情怀"背后，是粗鲁鄙俗的领袖欲望和残酷血腥的暴力倾向。 看看最近几年来发生的那些诗坛的争斗吧，他们从观点的争论发展到文字的辱骂，从文字的辱骂发展到当面的侮辱，从当面的侮辱发展到动手动脚乃至大打出手。据一个亲历者告诉我，诗人们在一次会议上爆发的打斗，比起香港电影中的黑社会火并来，更加龌龊、更加热闹、也更加不堪入目。 中国的"诗坛"上，活跃着这样一群披着羊皮的"狼"。他们已经写不出诗歌来了，也丧失了对美和苦痛的感知。他们却懂得制造"事件"来引起公众的注意，也懂得如何把自己操作成一个"品牌"。这些所谓的"诗人"们，尤其工于让外国人关注他们的"探索"--这意味着获得出国的机会。此时此刻，谈论他们简直就是破坏我的心情。 我说了这么多诗人的"坏话"，并不表示我对诗歌本身的排斥。相反，我跟你一样热爱诗歌。我很惭愧自己丧失了写诗的能力。但是，我知道你还愿意写诗，那么何必非得"投之以李，报之以桃"呢，你就大大方方地寄几首大作给我吧--幸好，我还没有失去欣赏诗歌的能力。 宁萱，我不知道信封上的地址是否就是你工作的地点，你在做什么工作呢？我很想知道你工作和生活中的一切，只要你愿意告诉我。 Tingsheng 一九九九年六月二十八日 一九九九年七月六日 一个星期了，还没有收到宁萱的回信。 每天中午，从图书馆回到四十七楼，我做的第一件事情就是立刻去收发室取信件，一发现没有宁萱的信，心中就有些淡淡的失落感。 有盼望才会有失落。 那么，我是期盼收到宁萱的信了？这种感觉，自从初恋结束以后已经很久没有过了。两年淡如止水的生活，我自动关闭了心扉，不让一个女孩子进入我的心灵深处--她们远远地望一眼便走开了。孤独是一垛修满烽火台的城墙，灵魂被困在围墙内，没有办法突围而出。 洛扎诺夫说："我们为爱而生。成就不了爱，我们就会在这个世界上忍受煎熬。成就不了爱，我们就会在那个世界里受到惩罚。"我忍受了许久的煎熬，有没有获得拯救的希望呢？ "曾经沧海难为水"，究竟什么样的蝴蝶，才能够从沧海的这一端飞到沧海的那一端呢？ 那一次的伤口很深，我差点认为再也没有办法愈合了。现在，随着时间慢慢的推移，我渐渐地开始忘却、开始康复。我担心别人无意之中往上面撒盐，便把伤口一层一层地遮掩起来。 我希望，有一天，无意间撩起衣襟的时候，却发现心口的伤疤已经消失了。 我感觉到，这一天，就快来临了。 虽然我曾经爱过，但我并没有真正的"爱情"体验。"爱"可以是一个人的事，即使对方不爱你，你也有去爱的权利；而"爱情"则必须是两个人的事，中说"相濡以沫"，大概这就是爱情的最高境界吧。 每一个眼神都能够得到回应，每一个脚印旁边都有另一个脚印--什么时候，我才能够获得这样深切而幸福的体验呢？ 暑假我要回四川老家，回家前不知道能不能收到宁萱的来信？想念着她，读她的来信，成了我枯燥的生活中唯一"不枯燥"的部分。 我不知道她的模样，不知道她的家庭，不知道她的工作。除了几张薄薄的信纸，我几乎就不知道她的一切--甚至她爱穿什么样的衣服、她留着什么样的发型、她有什么样的兴趣爱好。 但是，我内心分明感受到了我与她之间的一种亲近、一种契合、一种"心有灵犀一点通"。 这究竟是幻觉，还是真实呢？ 她不会不给我回信的。是不是我在上封信中说错了什么？女孩子的心思太复杂，像电脑的芯片一样，我无论怎么揣摸都弄不懂。不过，即使我的措辞有不能达意的地方，宁萱大概也不会在意的，她应当不是那种小心眼的女孩。 那么，究竟是什么原因使得宁萱没有给我回信呢？Puzzled.唉，我越想越头疼。 我自己似乎在发生着某种变化--我对异性的敏感正在恢复之中。 与其在这里挖空心思瞎想，不如再给她写一封信。 千金易得，一个红颜知己难求。 我不愿意做岩石，不愿意做孤岛。因为岩石与岩石之间、孤岛与孤岛之间，虽然"同晒着太阳，同激起白沫，同守着海上的寂静"，在如此亲密的关系下，却是彼此陌生的灵魂。 它们从来没有倾听过对方脉搏的律动声，也从未认识生命显示予对方的容颜。 我要勇敢地去爱，勇敢地去受伤。