Zhu Ziqing is one of the outstanding prose writers in my country since the May Fourth Movement. His articles are rigorous and meticulous, with a simple and natural style. There are few gorgeous layouts and decorations, but he can find new ideas and magic in the ordinary.
Creative style
Zhu Ziqing’s creation can be roughly divided into three periods. Poems before 1925, prose after that, essays after the victory of the Anti-Japanese War, and Zhu Ziqing’s poems in exile. The depressed and sad mood reflected the hesitant mood of the May 4th Movement, but Zhu Ziqing was not like this. He used poetry to actively express life and express the voice of the times. He also deliberately innovated in art and opposed the creation of artworks that transcended the essence. His poems are rich in format and are prose poems that express philosophical thinking. He is a young poet with outstanding achievements.
Prose is the most important part of the overall creation, including lyricism, narrative, travel notes, close-ups, essays, as well as descriptions of social fragments and ruthless revelations of life. In short, realism is the rule of his creation. That is to say, objective observation and in-depth appreciation of things.
It is no accident that Zhu Ziqing engaged in essay writing. It was the result of the harsh reality that taught him after the victory of the Anti-Japanese War. He learned from Lu Xun, chose essays as a weapon, and challenged the darkness. At this time, his creative vision was the most broadened. , so the essay is a milestone on his creative path.
Zhu Ziqing's life was a life of yearning for light and pursuing progress. He had the courage to destroy and innovate, opening up the path of literature for our country.
He is not the first person to write poetry in vernacular, but his creation is very unique and has a great influence
Famous lines:
You are smart Yes, tell me, why are our days gone forever?
What can I do in this world of thousands of households in the days when I am running away like flying away? There is only wandering, nothing but hurrying; in the rush of more than eight thousand days, what is left but wandering? The past days are like light smoke, blown away by the breeze; like mist, evaporated by the early sun; what traces do I leave behind? Have I ever left traces like gossamers? I came to this world naked, will I go back naked in a blink of an eye? But I can’t get over it, why do I have to go through this life in vain?