The information is extracted from the Internet; Yu Xiuhua Chuchen Culture 2024-06-30 09:05 Beijing
▲ Yu Xiuhua
01
A village made of paper
The dusk bent by the sunset, the crowd pressed down by the dusk
The wind pulled in by the village, the grass and trees that were pressed to the ground by the wind
A mother who was taken away by illness
A tombstone with a mother going cold
They are sharp, cutting the living like a paper back
Demolished ancestral houses, removed statues of gods
The old man who was newly built in the house, who was dragged into the house
My false name of being played around
There is no graveyard for me next to my mother's tombstone
The banknote is folded, and there are gaps in vain
而秋风依旧吹拂着千亩良田
Rice, cotton, sorghum, sesame...
These are the crops that feed people
It doesn't matter if it's the commoners or the dignitaries who are fed
It doesn't matter if it's bustling or barren
You give me the village, not the temple
You give me my relatives, you don't give me happiness, you give me rain, you don't give me rivers
What you have given me is bitter and thin
As soon as the wind blows, it disperses
02
Yes, I'm in love with someone
The streets that are often walked, the sycamore is green again
Those palms are as green as their hands, and they can't wake up a person who doesn't know whether they are alive or dead
Some acquaintances are old
They don't care about the leaves of the sycamore tree, they don't care that some people die in car accidents or die of disease
How many times have I fantasized about my own death
I've loved people who I didn't want to see again when I died
But this time, I hope to be down-of-the-road in his arms
I hope he put a piece of yellow paper over my face
Like a sycamore tree putting a leaf
Cover on the ground
03
She lived a solitary life
She lived a solitary life.
These abandoned flowers and plants that came to the yard to accompany her
The bird flew for a while and flew back again.
She had a lot of friends. She never invited them to her house, and she had more than one pair of slippers in her house.
More than a wine glass, more than one pillow on the bed
She is in the countryside, not far from a city.
There are parks, libraries, and government buildings in the city
There is a person in the city, and it is her small government.
Sometimes she feels like she should go to the small government and ask a small question
And those slippers, wine glasses, pillows at home
It made her lose her courage
As if she were a person who had attempted a crime.
04
Good night
Say good night. With my old body and soul
The camphor tree in the window hangs leaves from last year or even a few years ago
The sparrows that landed on it too. The moonlight at this moment is also the village where I live and the city where you wander. Let the disease go deeper and deeper
We are so sick that we can't do anything about it
We can't do anything about love
I can't walk on the edge of the times, and I can't fall to the trough of the cliff
From afar, the haze covered the village for half a day
The war is far away, and the crowd is buried in an instant
You can't see who's holding a butcher's knife
You always feel like you're living in a moment when the butcher's knife is down
I love you, in this age of peace, like a fast food
I'm going to wait for you to grow up?
Waiting for you to cry out thirsty?
Waiting for you to return home like Don Ji Hede old age?
Our thin love and hate can't squeeze through the door of this age
Night is coming. One waited for a long time
Darkness is coming.
Good night. You raised my soul to pieces, good night. You have raised my flesh to be invulnerable
05
December
In December, a man returned to the village.
The bare fields were full of crows, and the potatoes were dug up and brought home
The smoke of the morning cooker dragged the older back to earth
She used to go around feasting like a man with a spear
Now, she pulls aging out of her pocket and sticks it all over her body
Seal a teenager up
And the dream sealed a man she only met this year
In December, a man returned to the village.
The fireworks that have been set off, and the ashes have been shaken out of the trouser legs
The scrawny man returned to the village in the dark
Reputation didn't fatten her, ruined her, and didn't shave her bones
Bats hang on the corners of the walls
Some people die in car accidents in the novel
Some were born on snowy nights
A man returns to the village as if he had never been pretty
06
Secret Maker
I want to go with you to the night of Hengdian and the oil and flower fields in the night
I want to fall in love with you before the flowers wither
Fiercely demand from each other until they abandon each other
Reborn like a flower, and die like a flower
I will not ask you for a single fruit
Just as the stars don't ask for a deep blue in the sky
When we reach middle age, our bodies decay
This decaying body is fit to build a palace of love
I wonder about facing the village that is slowly lost
Are you as sad as I am?
I wonder how many times you've wandered around the night just like me
I also wonder how many bodies you've passed
Is there still a lot of respect for love?
But I don't want to know, our pair of farmers
This rough body and mind
Whether it is also to a rape flower, to the heart of the flower bee
Take a closer look
Because the secrets they have stolen have always been there
The palms of our hands
07
Subtle stagnation
I love those subtle stagnations: before the snow falls
The moment the lights go out
Butterflies fold their wings in the evening. The hoarfrost is already hanging over the ridge
I love these subtle stagnations: the hand you want to knock on the door
A greeting after you walk in the door
The body you want to turn around when you say goodbye
What I like most is this stagnation: my coffin rests in the house
You knelt down, but you did not bow
It's gone
What I like is when I stay on earth
You happen to be there too
08
sugar
I found the contact information for my junior high school tablemates. Oh, that bolt of lightning
- Two teenagers run in a thunderstorm, running farther and farther
He still has a piece of candy in his palm
"When it's finished, I can't bear to say goodbye to this world"
He's always been on the tip of my heart, picking at the body
One more touch and he melts a little
The tip of my tongue is full of bitterness. I can't bear to lick it
My world is in the heart of a piece of sugar
At that time, we wrote to each other, like lovers who had been separated for many years
Not really
I was delighted to see that he had become a middle-aged greasy man
And I'm more at odds with the world
At that time, we were not capitalized for the first letter of the English language
Debate. His eyes were red
Now, we are no longer arguing about the capitalization of "person".
Succumb to thirty years of life and death
These days, we haven't been in touch
Perhaps, I am also a piece of candy for him
Don't dare to lick it
Even if this piece of sugar is doped with a small dose of arsenic
09
There was no gunfire inside the rose
As she descended the stairs, the bomber flew past the chimney
The wind lifted the skirt: a pleated skirt with a few holes in the rat bite
Seems to be heavier than her people
She hunched over and went to the well to fetch water. She felt that the well was getting deeper and deeper every year
Go and water the roses
Her lover was separated forty years ago
Her water trickled down on the roses: Oh, young lad
He was sixteen years younger than her at the time
"You see, I'm alive. I don't dare to die, you don't come
Who carved a tombstone for me"
At that time he was married, and she bought this house to live next door to him
She thought he didn't know she loved him
On the day his wife remarried, she said to her: We know everything
She shrugged: "I just know
"You should be sixty-six years old now, and if you don't come again, you won't be able to carve the monument"
He's dead, she's not unaware
The bomber flew back and blew her hair around
Snow-like messy hair
10
When I love you
When I love you, you have light in your body. And I am also beautiful, it is not your light that shines on me.
When I love you, the world is warm and affectionate, but it is not God who sees you and me at this moment.
When I love you, I resent my imperfections, but prefer to live in peace with it.
I wonder if you love me too, is this world too beautiful, too beautiful for me to bear?
If you love me too, will the fruits of this world be able for us to squander, and when we are powerless, we can only hug each other and cry?
So thank you, and please thank yourself: your presence has given you beauty that you never knew existed.
So please thank me also for the light that once burned for you.
But praise me, O dearest one, if I cannot yet write for you.
Praise my affection is powerless to hold the words, praise me for my tight-lipped love.
Because there is no other meaning to construct my life than love.
Text | Excerpted from "Blossoming in the Back Mountains", by Yu Xiuhua, Guangxi Normal University Press, 2024-05
Picture | From the documentary "The Rickety World" (2016)
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