You are the april day of the world

Chapter 18 Poetry (2)
Everything is motionless like a frozen sculpture; white robes, waist knives, long turbans,

The sky is like a wave, and the desert has the wind!

Occasionally, a little vibration flashes across the antenna,

A star appeared beside the remnant clouds.

published in
September 1936, 12 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

"September [-]th" walk around

The sky is covered with two layers of ashes this morning,
A pile of yellow leaves hovers on the ground,

Confused, I followed the cool wind,
Desolate streets and alleys, follow like snakes and rats!

I asked Autumn, and Autumn seemed to question me:

What is struggling in this dust and sand,
The yellow mist strangles the throat of the sky,

Is there only broken emotions left everywhere?
But I don't believe that the blood is still boiling; the thoughts are still spread in the streets;
Willing to let the passing horses and horses ruthlessly crush them,
When it blooms from the ground, another kind of completeness will come.

published in
April 1936 "Poetry" No. 12

山 中
The purple mountain embraces the red leaves and projects itself in front of the mountain,
People walk on the small stone bridge, chasing and missing a little bit.

The clouds outside the peak are inlaid with silver light in the deep blue sky,

You don't need to have yellow leaves under the bridge and people by the spring to remember summer!
Not because of a person walking alone, the road is more winding,

The portrait of the house with short white walls is still painted on the other side of the col,
Only this red leaf set replaces the layer of emerald green lost in people's memory,

Deep and shallow embrace the same mountain, melancholy like a thin layer of smoke.

A slanted blue shadow in the mountains, now the red radishes are scattered all around,

Millions of fallen leaves and flames are looking for mountains, rocks and thorns,

At that time, Huang Yuexia sat together and talked about innocent young people's love,
I believe that the length of those three or two sentences will remain unchanged in the autumn wind like a star.

published in
September 1937, 1 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

Sit still
Winter has the meaning of winter,

The cold is like a flower—the flower has a fragrance, and winter has a memory.

A dead twig shadow, thin and smoky,
I dragged a stroke of painting in front of the window in the afternoon; the sun faded in the cold and gradually slanted...

just like that

talk like a guest
I sip my tea in silence.

published in
September 1937, 1 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

october alone
Like a soul lost in the street,
I look at the face of October in the October sky,

I paint passion on the shadows in the fog
Quietly watching a group of flowing full moon.

I also see people passing by
In the shadows, staring at the waves

I count the dragon-like heads and tails on the railings on the bridge
It's like sitting on a lonely boat and stretching the fibers by yourself.

I feel like crying, like talking to myself, and I'm even more sorry!

I am anxious and sympathetic, and my heart is as tight as a string,

I said dumb, I know the dumb piano, before a song is sung, the fingers of illusion will eventually be on it?
published in
September 1937, 3 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

Ancient city spring scene
The times cannot grasp the troubles of the times themselves,
Frivolous dissatisfaction, don't call it the complaint of this age—but it turns into resentment, gathering a pile of black smoke
Out of the chimney, the new concept stands opposite the ancient city building!
No wonder this tender gray, questionable spring
Want muddy yellow wind and sand, along the white cement street,
Lower your head again to find the lost romance
When it comes to blue cotton curtains and swastika railings, are you still on the threshold of the old shop?
Searching, there is no need for novelty and new discoveries, old ones are guaranteed

Even older, needs emerald sugar cane for crutches

Come to support the small fruit stand under the city wall, the fresh red candied haws
Still shining, the strings are like old corals, not afraid of the dust of the new era.

published in
April 1937 "New Poetry" Volume 4

Looking at flowers on New Year's Eve
Newly bought from the flower market that is noisy with foreign accents, the long branches of green peach are snow-white, and the camellias are as red as blood.

Focus on your own small corners and then use delicate and bright colors to combine them, not for sharp sadness, but for blunt ones, there are still leftovers!

Knowing that the silence in the room seems to be the wrong season, the hometown is farther away in the atmosphere, and the time hangs upside down; the New Year is not like the New Year, I can see that the lanterns are burning with blood, and the flowers hanging under the curtain can't remember Recall the old enthusiasm, old words.

If my heart is still spinning the familiar Fang Fei in the old days, blurred like a path crossing countless fences, the flowers, leaves and branches, the grass makes people stunned, and today's steps will not be willing to step on the sand of the past.

The moonlight has frozen, pointing to the hills everywhere, the river is more chaotic, the concern is the hard work on the horseshoe plain, the silence is portraying, the flowers on New Year's Eve are no longer flowers, only one sentence stems here, shaking the hearts of thousands of people Worry is on everyone's mind.

published in
September 1939, 6 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

Three poems

one for autumn

It's the same as everything in life, but how crazy I love, we love too hastily; I don't realize that the miserable night seems to be just yesterday, and it has followed you behind,

You are still at my window!Waiting to destroy you cruelly!
The howling wind of the night
The smiling face facing the clear sky did not wake me up
Your forest leaf laughter is dyed red until the morning when it is too late
You spread the yellow light like gold.sky!You have disappeared.

Childish, extravagant, you have no sorrow.

I curse myself harshly
Your red leaves are a kind bond, that mess but who walks here now

The morning light that must come to haunt me every morning.Get rid of the severe winter iron face

I kiss you too, regardless of your back through the glass!In the mist, I saw it by chance.

You often pass by mischievously, but you are not shy to me.

two lives

life,

you are a tune,
I am the one who sings;
you are the river
I am a boat, a small white sail
When I was a traveler,
You, the fields, the forests, the mountains.

no matter what,

upside down intimately implicated
you and me,
I will pass through you forever;

i survive
You are the river of my life,

Reason equal force.

Your existence
in the beating of my chest
five-color splendor

but we cross each other

Did not leave each other in trouble.

now i'm dead
you,
I will hand you over to others!

Three extensions

When all emotion stops, this galloping blood:
all merged into a lament they don't have to be totally flaccid
Like small rivers and big rivers, they flow towards the city and cause tears.

the boundless sea,
——No matter how many times you may wish to toss and turn, go back to the flowing water,
How rushing, how circling,

——Leave everything in front of you bewildered,
The strong wind on the river, large and small pebbles, all of these, go to build logic.

The few countercurrents made bring the desperate conclusion, a little

The little harbor is like slowing down, delaying time,
In that life, unintentional tranquility delays rational judgment,
Avoid the mainstream; emotional will give pure emotion a hope!
Pingbo became more and more sad.

published in
September 1947, 5 "Ta Kung Pao Literature and Art Supplement"

Kunming Immediately
a tea shop
This is a three-dimensional composition,
Draw many faces here
In the tea shop at the foot of Shuncheng
There was a faint commotion.

various poses, life
Different aspects are marked:

The teahouse is full of people, laughing,

Frowning, some smoking dry tobacco.

old, kindly face,

young, quick eyes,
I need time for the teacup

Stop, stop disturbing your mood!

After a whole day of hard work, only now can I earn a small amount of peace. I go home at night, and there is still a long way to go. During the day, who has the time to look at the shadows of the clouds?

Not all for real thirst,

Four windows open, drinking tea,
It is fatigue that raises its knees,

Gossiping with your neighbors with bare arms.

Also to put down the shoulder pole
Gasping for fate, leaning against the wall,
Live by this bowl of tea every night

Humorous assessment of life's short and long...

This is a three-dimensional composition,
Coloring beside the little life,

The tea shop under the shady pumpkin shed,

Another lively day passed!
second small building
Daddy Zhang's low building facing the street
Half hidden, half upright, standing in the street,
tiles cover it, the window opens a crack,

The setting sun dyes it red, like writing down an ancient dream.

Some grass grows on the low eaves, and small melons grow,

The gravel road is in front of the building, no one is planting flowers,

It's old jars, crocks, big and small; the dirt lists many interesting messes.

But Daddy Zhang passed by, it is better not to chant it; Daddy himself (who is getting old) does not believe in ancient times.

On crutches, he often goes to the next door to buy wine,
I would rather cross the bridge and the earth embankment to see Xinliu!
published in
February 1948, 2 "Jingshi Daily Literature and Art Weekly" No. 22

to my eldest sister
When I go, there are still unfinished words,

It's like the tea left in the cup after the guest left; when talking, the opportunity to drink together has been missed,

The host and guest are sad, but there is no need to regret it.

If a little sentimental, you turn your face out of the window,

When the setting sun is about to end, there is always a sunset glow in the western sky.

All little nostalgia is not a sin,
It is also normal to have unfinished songs.

You forgive me for having a bunch of mental dodges,
Admitted at dusk, denied until dawn; some things I haven't said thoroughly yet,
The understanding of others comes from intuitive understanding.

When I go, there are still unfinished words,

Like time suspended in the air after a clock has struck,

You have reason to wait for a better continuation; you have reason to fear sudden termination.

But forgive me, my words can never be complete,
Emotional contradictions from ancient times to the present have made hoarseness.

published in
May 1948 "Literary Magazine" Volume 5 Issue 2

crying third brother Heng
——30 years of air combat killed
Brother, I have no age-appropriate language to mourn your death:

It is what the times have asked of you, and simply, you have given it.

This cold and simple heroism is the poem of the age, and this silent glory is you.

If there is much sorrow for this unavoidable reality, I want to cry out, it is—you know it yourself—because you left too early, too early, brother, I am sorry for your bravery and mechanical backwardness, you The chances are too bad!
It has been three years, you died in the sky above Chengdu, the difference made in these three years, if I tell you, don't be sad, because most of it is not our old country, but others moving through the times, our soul Bleeding and blasted into holes.

We have allies, supplies and arms, just what you ever hoped for.

I remember, I remember how I discussed and discussed with you, counted and counted, every day you waited patiently, but every day passed in vain, slow like a camel!

Now the pursuer is no longer like the "Eagle Seven-Five" that you ideally piloted that day - so stupid, so slow, ah, brother, don't be sad, you have done what you can do, don't say who missed you, It is the times that cannot be measured, and China still has to move forward, and the night is waiting for the dawn.

Brother, I have used so many unbeautiful words and poems to mourn you. Believe how bitter my heart is and how hoarse my throat is. You will never come back. I know that the blood of youth has been replaced by science; the sorrow of China Forever in my heart.

Ah, don't be sad, I can't comfort you when you're sad.

I have thought about it several times a day:
You have given all that you have, and so have your brethren who go, giving your lives; all that is young; all that is yet to come, the work of the prime of life that is possible, the wisdom of old age; the love that is possible, the family, the children , and that all living rights, joys; and living disputes!

You give so much, for whom?
Do you believe that the happiness of how many people in China will be ahead of you in the future, more important than yourself; that immortal Chinese history needs to last forever in this world.

You believe, you do, and in the end you surrender.

Why do I still cry for you when I fully understand?

Just because you were a child but left nothing for yourself, I was looking forward to your happiness when I was young, and your safety in wartime.

Today you have no children to worry about and need care and comfort, and thousands of people from all over the country have forgotten who you died for!

published in
May 1948 "Literary Magazine" Volume 5 Issue 2

(End of this chapter)