The Complete Works of Xu Zhimo's Classical Prose

Chapter 26
So it's not a hindrance, that's not what lovers fear, but I still have to rationalize the phrase "do you deserve it"?Am I worthy?Now that I have seen you, I cannot fail to recognize the truth of the matter.You love me, yes, but; my lord, we are really not on the same road!Our lives, our destinations, are not the same, even if we have met each other, the two angels who care for you and me do not recognize each other, and when their wings meet and interlace, they both appear Surprised, because we couldn't get together in the first place.You think, what kind of person you are, how can I cling to your nobility?You are the guest of queens, and at their great banquets, you are an object of admiration and admiration, hundreds of wonderful eyes are on you (they are brighter than my tears), and you are called to perform The genius of your chant.What has you to do with me like this, I am a poor, tired, wandering singer, leaning against a vigorous green cypress, singing a bleak tone in the dark, you stand in the light Looking at me from the bright window, what do you mean, what can you mean?On your brow is oil of blessing, on mine there is cold dew.Such you, such me, what else can I say?There is no hope in life, and only in death, the death that equals all, can we have the hope of reuniting.

Fourth neck

You are a great poet, an elegant singer, and only a magnificent palace is worthy of leaving your traces.You are a phoenix among people, in order to see you exude a strange Qing businessman from your plump lips, the dancers can't help but look forward to their feet.These are your places to go, why do you want to hang around outside my door?Mine is a humble family, how can I be worthy of the vain care of the master?Are you really willing to let your wonderful music fall in front of my door carelessly, wasting your poetic talent of gold price?When you don't believe it, look up and see what kind of place this is.The house is dilapidated, and the windows have been eroded by wind and rain. Be careful of the strange-looking bats and owls flying from the rafters of this house, because they make their homes here.You have your pipa, but here I am, poor, only the autumn insects that comfort the long night.Please stop playing and singing, because only some desolate echoes will respond to you, go ahead and sing your songs, there is a voice crying in the depths of my heart, lonely, lonely.

Fifth neck

Up to the last poem, the tone of the poem is melancholy and sad.A dazzling gift has been offered to her, but can she accept it?Could her half-tomb-like ward be able to withstand so much light and warmth in an instant?She had already endured the pain in her heart and yelled "Stop driving", but the nobleman who came to the door still waited patiently.His gift is set.His resolution, his patience, and above all his sincerity could not but make her hesitate.

From this poem, we can see her emotions, like an exquisite crescent moon, gradually revealed in the gray background.But she still has to press one step further.This time her voice was amplified, and she seemed to say, "If you don't hide away, you will have no regrets in the future. You can't rely on me! My words are finished." At first she never thought that love would find her, she All she could think of was death, and her first thought was that it was just a mockery of fate, how could she get closer to love again.But the urgency of love can no longer confuse her, so it is true, not only has she never entered the dead end, what is standing in front of her is indeed love.Not only did she hear its voice, she also recognized its face.She changed her mind again that this was still in vain, how could she accept it, she was very different from him in everything.But Ai pretended not to hear her words, and stretched out his hands to her.She moved a little.But she still had to make it clear.If love must want her, she will never know how to be grateful, she must not let him misunderstand, it is not that she does not return his love, she is afraid of hurting him, so in this poem she said: I hold my hands seriously To my heart, just like the ancient Chirekla holding her altar of ashes, when I saw the look in your eyes, I couldn't help but accidentally knocked over my altar and threw all the ashes in front of you.This time I can no longer hide, my heart has poured out together.What do you see?These are dead ashes, with some blood-red sparks faintly sandwiched in the middle, shining through the ash pile.As soon as you see my shabbiness, if you kick out these embers with a contemptuous kick and give them an eternal darkness, then it will be over and there will be no more troubles.But if you stand still and turn around and the wind blows to revive this pile of dead ashes, it will be dangerous, my dear, if the fire burns before the wind, there is no guarantee that it will not burn your hair and skin , even if you wear a laurel crown on your head, I'm afraid I can't protect you.So I warn you that it is better to stand far away, and you go to yours.

Sixth neck

In the middle of these five or six poems, the critic Edmund Gosse insightfully pointed out that Mrs. Bai has another beautiful short poem called "Questions and Answers", which should be read together.That poem expresses the same sentiment as the fifth (i.e., the previous) Shang Lai style poem, but it is euphemistically clear and beautiful, different from the passionate and loud poem of the previous poem.It means that the love you want in your heart is of course warm, vigorous and top-notch, why did you come to find me?Are you wrong?Have you ever seen a rose budding and blooming in the snow?Not only could it not grow, but it also caused the snow to freeze to death.My life experience is just a piece of winter scenery, the ground is covered with snow, so what kind of bright life is there?You must have gone wrong, come here to find flowers in the snow!You see that your feet are already covered with snow, so be free and easy, and you will be frozen later. (Paragraph [-]) I am like a dilapidated historic site, with a few stacks of chaotic stones and some neglected ivy growing. Why did you come here?Are you looking for grape apples, or just for these poor green leaves?If you came here for the green leaves, well, since I appreciate your kindness, you might as well pick a couple of them and take them back as a souvenir!
But by this time, the snow in Mrs. Bai's heart had already melted.Bai Langning's fiery love was scalded!So in the sixth song, although she opened her mouth, she still "avoid me", followed by her "softened" invitation.

Dodge me as soon as possible.But I will never be the original me from now on, and I will always stand in your shadow from now on.I can no longer breathe my thoughts at the door of my solitary birth, nor can I raise my palms still in the sun without feeling your profound influence upon me.My palm will always remember your touch.Your heart has intersected in my heart, and your pulse beats in my pulse.I have you in my thoughts, in my actions, and in my dreams.As the grapes are tasted in the wine, so my new life finds everywhere the elements that made it yours.Every time I pray to God for myself, He hears your name in my voice, He sees two tears in my eyes.

Seventh neck

Since I heard the footsteps of your soul near my side, it seems that the whole world has changed for me.I was just lingering on the edge of death, I was falling sooner or later, who would have thought that love would save me, hug me, and teach me the whole of life, fluctuating in a new rhythm.With you close by my side, my miserable past has gained meaning, how sweet it is, that is the baptism of the soul that God has set for me.With you, the ground has changed today, can I still complain?Let’s just talk about the piano I’m playing and the songs I’m singing, they’re so cute because your name echoes in the singing and the rhyme of the piano.

Eighth neck

This crescent-like emotion has gradually developed.Joy and gratitude dance in every word, and perfect light is reflected in every word.But she still had to hesitate.A layer of light-colored clouds temporarily covered the clear light of the bright moon.At first, the motive of "Am I worthy?" resurfaced.she says:
Of course you have treated me best, my generous benefactor.This gift you gave me is the most important and nothing.You brought your priceless and pure heart, and laid it outside the walls of my shabby house, to be accepted or to be despised, but if I accept this gift from you, what have I to pay you back?It's too much of a burden for you, but I really can't justify it, can people not call me cold-hearted and say that I am ruthless?But no, I am not cold, nor cruel, to be honest, I am poor.God knows, if you don't believe me ask him.The daily tears and tears dilute the color of my life, and the only thing left is this dying and pale body.How can I not be ashamed of myself, this is not worthy of your pillow, it is not worthy.You better go to yours!My life experience is only worthy of being trampled upon.

Ninth neck

But having said that, it's not that I have nothing for you at all. The thing that makes me hesitate the most is "whether things are right".What can I give you?Nothing but tears, nothing but sadness, because that's how I've lived my whole life.Although I sometimes laugh, but these laughs are not permanent.You persuade me, you enlighten me, it is also in vain.I'm really worried, this is wrong!I can't let you suffer like this for me.You and I are not the same people, how can we talk about love.You treat me so kindly and I treat you so poorly, how can this be justified?Go, alas, I can't let my dust stain your robes, I can't let my sorrows stain your sweet heart, and I can't give you any love. It's not fair!I love, I just love you!There is nothing more to say.

Tenth neck

In this poem, that cloud has pulled past again, making the bright moon even more bright.she says:
Didn't I say that I'm too poor to give you anything but my tears and sorrow?But I love you for real.At first, I was just worried about whether it should be: Should people like me love you?I always feel that it's a little unfair to exchange my poor one for your noble one.But I changed my mind and thought about this matter, and I can’t be persistent in watching it. Maybe in the eyes of God, with my sincerity, my gift in return will not be completely worthless.Love, as long as it is love, pure love without contamination, is not ugly, but beautiful, this gift is worth accepting.Don't you see the fire?Whether it is a holy temple or a cheap hemp, the fire is always bright.No matter what is burning is pine and cypress or weeds, the flame is the same.Love is fire.Just like I am now, feeling the drive of my heart, I can no longer hide the secret of my soul, and profess "I love you" loudly to you, listen, I love you, I feel that I am standing in the flame of love, describing Everything has changed, and the splendor of the gods radiates from my face to yours.When it comes to love, there is no difference between high and low; the smallest creatures also offer love to God, and God also accepts their love and still loves them.Believe me, the inspiration of love is magical, and I don't know who I am, but the sacred fire that hovers in my heart illuminates my thoughts and illuminates my eyebrows.Is this not a proof that the great power of love can "sublime" the works of creation?

Originally published in May 1928, "New Moon", Volume 3, Issue 1

Poetry in Prose

"None of us, in the midst of extravagance, dreamed of a miracle of poetic prose, musical without rhythm or rhyme, sharp and crisp, just enough to signify the lyrical turmoil of the soul, the contemplative contours , and sudden outbursts of conscience?"

Charles Baudelaire didn't talk much in his life, at least we can hear not much, but none of what he said was nonsense.He doesn't talk nonsense because he doesn't say anything except the mature and well-thought-out ones in his consciousness.It can be said that there is not a single sentence in his words that is not freshly cut out from the soul.Like a flower in a fairyland, its freshness, luster and fragrance will last forever.In the history of literature in the [-]th century, a Bauber, a Walter Pater, and a Baudellet must always evoke in the hearts of future generations the meaning of a gloomy, lonely, day and night seeking light in the pain of self-disclosure. Like the "saints" in the Middle Ages.But what they pursue is not the truth of xuanxuan or transcendence of religion.The object of their toil is "the lyrical turmoil of the soul, the rounded outlines of contemplation, and the sudden arousal of conscience."Originally, the meaning and value of the deep meaning of life are far from all to be found in our deep and mysterious consciousness?It all depends on our subtle and complete awareness of the specific vibrations brought to us by every minute, the unmistakable subtle imprints left on the fibers of our lives, and the pursuit of those news that change instantly like mountains and rivers in the mist , is the happiest and hardest job for artists, no matter what kind of tool they use.Imagine a The Harp Aeolian feeling the breath of Wan Lai in the pine wind, and at the same time exuding an inimitable wonderful sound from its own sensitive tension!It is not easy, it is not easy, trying to convey those subtle, almost mysterious traces with a tool that is not perfect in definition is as difficult as trying to catch phosphorous stars on water waves or collect the fragrance of orchids.If it really succeeds, isn't that the miracle that Potley said?
But the strange thing is that miracles are sometimes discovered.You go to Potley's control room to see, hasn't he captured Xinglin's clear brilliance and Lan Hui's breath?What's even more surprising is that what he gave us was a fragrance and light that was almost substantive.The things in his palm, no matter how ordinary they were, turned out to be like what Ariel said in the song:
Suffer a sea—change
Into something beautiful and strange.
It is not common to express sympathy for the poor, but who, except Baudelle, can conjure up such apotheosis:
Avez—vous quel quefois apercu des veuves sur ces hancs solitaires, des yeuves pauvres? Quelles soient en deuil ou non, il est facile de les reconnaitre. D'ailleurs il ya toujours dans le heuil du pauvre quelque chose qui manque, une absence dharmonie qui le rend plus navrent Il est contraint de Iêsiner sur sa douleur. Ia sienne au grand complet.
Don't you sometimes see widows sitting in calm streets?They are either dressed in filial piety or not, anyway, you know each other at a glance.What's more, even if they are dressed in filial piety, there is something wrong with the way they dress, as if something is missing.This look made people feel more uncomfortable.They also have to be frugal in mourning.The wealthy Xiao also dressed in the same way.

"They also have to be frugal in mourning" Can we imagine more clear sympathy and more clear words?This is the author of "The Flower of Evil"; it is also him, holding a small toy in his hand and distributing it to the poor children in the streets of Paris, watching them "run away secretly, like a cat, it bites you and gives it to him." I have to run far away before eating, lest you give it and you will regret it" (The Poor Boys Toy); it is also when he is sitting in a comfortable coffee shop that he sees the "poor people" standing on the street looking at the shop. Eyes of the Eyes” (Les Yeux des Pauvres), a man in his forties, with a tired face and a gray beard, holding a child with one hand, and holding a small child who has no strength to walk with the other, although he is beside him. A beautiful woman with powder on her face and a fragrance in her mouth was talking and joking with her. She meant that he asked the shop assistant to drive away these bitter people, and stared at them with big white eyes to see how annoying they were!

Tant il est difficile des' entendre, mon cher ange, et tant la pensée est in communicable même entre gens quis' aim
He created a new thrill (A new thrill).Xiao Russia said that it was new 80 years ago, and it is still new today.Emerson said: "The experience of an era needs a new confession, and the world seems to be waiting for its poet." Portlet is the confessor of the nineteenth century, just as Roussau was the eighteenth century, and Dan Virtue is from the Middle Ages.They are true "soul explorers", whose starting point is their own consciousness, and the end point is the sum of the spirituality of all human beings in an era.For example, a hurricane may start off with the trembling of a leaf, and theirs is just an occasional heart tremor, some "bagatelles laborieuses", but in the end, who can point to the last bursting spray?There has certainly been a newer freshness, both in thought and in writing, since Poulet: Mr. JMMurry said that Marcel Proust was a new sensibility of the twentieth century, for example, but Every new discovery only makes us more astonished to recognize how far back then our great "pioneers" and "explorers" traveled.Their boundary markers may still stand far away on the side of the sky that we still can't see, who knows!In every newly condensed dewdrop, the stars and the moon store their brilliance, how can we not bow our heads?

January [-]
(End of this chapter)