天邊的凝紅

何强

（序）

詩人的腳步，注定要走過春夏秋冬，去往那遙遠的第五季。

人生看來很簡單，卻很難說“喜歡”或“不喜歡”。


六十年買了、讀了不少書，有幾本是讀了還想讀？有幾本常伴身邊，沒事就拿出來讀？有幾本是在生命的不同階段給我感悟、啟發，給我反省、思考的？


真的把《老子》、《論語》、《莊子》、《詩經》……當成經典在讀？！面對壹快快即將消失的麥地，我的當務之急是什麽？


六十年我發現生命是壹首情詩，所以我寫詩！每壹次拿筆我都陷入恐慌，這怎麽寫啊？我和黃土地說什麽都是多余。可能我並不懂妳。我在詩歌裏壹點壹滴發現著逝去的生命，每天讀幾句，寫幾行並不為了。。。只是尋回再也不能觸摸的生命純真。讀著，寫著，時間就這樣慢慢流逝。置身於此，真想就這樣只聞花香，不談悲喜，喝茶讀書，不爭朝夕。從經濟上著眼，詩歌寫作完全失敗，沒出過壹本詩集，更不要說賣。


活著，因為今天還可以寫。仿佛時間就此停滯，只剩下自己的心跳聲。它代表的是壹個農人、汗水、麥地，以及在這塊土地上所生長孕育的生命。。。麥地消失了，留下來的只有壹個農耕夢，壹株神秘的麥穗，壹個不死的靈魂。我對土地的感情，是壹個失親的孤兒在尋找母親。麥地會讓我產生壹種沖動，壹種要去捕捉什麽東西的興奮，壹種迷失之後的清醒：在金錢滲透壹切的今天，知道自己還缺少什麽，這缺少的必定不是物質上的，更多的是精神上的。


如果條件允許，日後的我想有壹畝自己的農耕地，壹間鄉間小屋，白天躬耕；夜晚來杯熱茶，放點輕音樂，讀幾頁書。。。書、茶、音樂、還有自己。書，依然在讀。茶，依然在喝。歌，依然在聽。詩，依然在寫。我寫的不只是小詩，而是壹生的靜謐時光。


黃土讓我懂得什麽是善良、仁慈和堅忍，我慶幸自己是壹個農人，沒有人懷疑過土地給我們的生命，它有壹雙看不見的手，移挪著我們的乾坤。我們卻不知敬畏和尊重，不知土地的元氣都順著欲望的茬口跑了。詩歌是從泥土裏生長出來的樹，老槐以手勢，作別，如果妳壹定要問我最後壹個問題，我會回答：愛過！


再壹次從頭開始。。。希望自己是壹雙眼睛，看到別人看不到的麥地。透過麥地實實在在的風景，讓靈魂穿越這些表面的風景，看到風景背後的深邃和內蘊。通過麥地、大樹和外部的世界建立起壹種1：1的關系。麥地的秘密很難在大都市裏尋找得到。看到麥地在夕陽照射下觸目驚心地呈現豬血般殷紅，令人不可思議地看見地邊的大槐樹壹天天老去。


我用壹生在麥地：壹個詩人的農耕夢。聽春雨潤物麥苗返青拔節收獲的汗水農人的哭泣，寫那些不能寫和別人不願寫的東西，我幾乎可以感覺到土地被掠奪後幹癟乳房擠出的最後壹滴血，在雨後荒蕪的雜草中嗅到空氣中的腐敗土腥。。。


感謝懂得！也許有壹天，我會。。。但永遠不會忘記腳下的土地。只要我還有記憶，胸口都會勇起壹股暖熱，用最後壹滴血壹字壹句敲擊，夕陽西下，天邊的凝紅，我依然能聽到耕種的聲音。


2015年元月1日零點 合肥

The horizon of coagulation red

(sequence)

The poet's footsteps, doomed to walk through spring, summer, autumn and winter, go to the distant fifth season.


Life seems very simple, but it's hard to say "like" or "dislike".


Sixty years bought, read many books, some are reading would also like to read? A few this constant companion, ok take out? Some is in the different stages of life give me feeling, inspired, reflection, thinking to me?


Really the "Lao zi", "the analects", "zhuang zi", the book of songs... As a classic reading? ! In the face of one disappear quickly wheat, my priority is?


Sixty years I found life is one love poems, so I write poetry! Every one pen I panic, how to write it? And I said what background are redundant. May be I don't understand you. I found one drops in the one in the poem with the loss of life, every day to read a few words, write a few lines not to... Just found no touch of pure life. Read, write, time passed slowly, just like that. In this, really want to like this only to smell flowers, don't talk about feeling, tea reading, morning and night does not dispute. The eye from the economy, the poetry writing completely failed, no one book of poetry, let alone to sell.


Live, because today can also be written. As if time shuts down, only their own heart beat. It represents the calendar one farmer, sweat, wheat, and growth in this land breeds of life... Wheat disappeared, left only one farming is a dream, one strain of the mystery of the grain, have an immortal soul. My feelings on the land, it is a loss of the orphans in the search for the mother. Wheat can produce one kind of impulse, let me have the excitement that is going to capture anything, one kind of lost after awake: in today's money penetrate one cut, know oneself still lack what, this lack of must not material, is more of a spiritual.


If the condition allows, in the future I want to have one mu of farmland, between one country cottage, put his ideas into the day; Night a cup of hot tea, put on some soft music, read a few pages... Books, tea, music, and yourself. Book, still reading. Tea, is still in the drink. Listen, it is still in. Poems, still in writing. I write is not just a small poem, but one of quiet time.


Loess let me know what is goodness, kindness and patience, I am glad I am a farmer, the no one doubted land to our lives, it has one pair of the invisible hand, move move our fortunes around. We don't know the fear and respect, do not know the land from all along the desire of stubbles and ran away. Poetry comes from the soil to grow a tree, acacia with gestures, goodbye, if you set you would like to ask my last question, I will answer: love!


One more time to start from scratch... Want to be one pairs of eyes, see the others can't see the wheat field. Through wheat real scenery, scenery, let the soul through the surface to see the scenery behind the depth and implication. Through wheat, established one kind of the tree and the outside world a 1:1 relationship. It is difficult to in the big city to find the secret of wheat. See wheat under the setting sun exposure to render the pig blood deep red, incredibly to see juggle large pagoda tree one day old.


I use the one born in wheat: one farming the dream of a poet. Listen to the rain smooth wheat seeding root harvest sweat the cries of the farmers, jointing stage and writing those can't write, and others don't want to write something, I can almost feel the land looted after dry out the last one drop of blood, breast in corruption in wild weeds smell in the air after the rain the soil xing...


Thanks to understand! Maybe one day, I will... But never forget at the foot of the land. As long as I still have memories, chest will courage one strands of warm, with one sentence on the last one drop of one word, the sun sets, the sky of the condensate is red, I can still hear the sound of the farming.


On January 1, 2015 zero in hefei

李盛元

欣赏。

何强

李盛元 发表于 2015-8-5 06:45
欣赏。