For some time, I've always wanted to write some words in memory of my teacher and poetry friend, Mr. Di Jiang, one of the main founders of Xinxiang Local Poetry School in China. A month ago, I heard from a friend in Changsha that Changsha Evening News reported that Mr. Di Jiang had left his beloved hometown of poetry. Later, friends in Changsha and people in the poetry circle confirmed this news. I can't help but feel extremely sad and burst into tears. Mr Di Jiang is only in his early forties this year. Since ancient times, most poets in China have died young. What kind of fate is this? Mr. Di Jiang was not trapped by emotion, but was killed by illness, which was really helpless and extremely regrettable. What he left us, apart from eternal pain, is the fragrant words that have devoted his life's efforts and exuded pastoral flavor.

Left Changsha 13 years. I have been busy with my livelihood these years. I should say that I have left my beloved poems and have less contact with friends in Changsha. Although very concerned, but no contact at all. 1at the end of 987, through the introduction of my comrade-in-arms Truman, I had the honor to know the poets Fan Xi, Shan San and Linlin who were serving in the army at that time. Later, through Fan Xi, I got to know the famous poets Chen Huifang and Peng Guoliang at that time. Together, we set up a "poetry guide" to introduce the "Xinxiang local poetry" garden to the poetry community. In a short time, he gained a foothold in the social and literary circles, and then he continued to expand his influence. Xie Mian, a critic, wrote in his article "The New Realm of Poetry": "When I read" Poetry Guide ",I felt great relief: a few young poets put together what little money they had in their pockets and printed such a brilliant newspaper! Poetry Magazine advocates local poetry in Xinxiang, and many poets have responded, and there are many excellent works, which is even more gratifying. " Mr. Di Jiang attached great importance to our newspaper, sent the latest poems to the newspaper as soon as possible, and gladly served as honorary president of the newspaper according to our entreaties. With his support, our newspaper has been further promoted to the whole country. The first time I met him was in Mr. Chen Huifang's small room of Hunan Daily. At that time, more than 0/0 young poets in Hunan poetry circle held a preparatory meeting for the establishment of Hunan Young Poets Association in Changsha. He is very thin, completely "intellectual", nothing special. He comes from Hunan University. Later, except for Linlin, he left the newspaper earlier for other reasons.1In the summer of 990, Shanshan returned to Huaihua, and I went to Guilin and Shijiazhuang with the Chu people. In addition, due to economic and political reasons (active servicemen are not allowed to participate in various local organizations and activities), the newspaper had to stop publishing after the last issue was published in the summer of September1,and I also started my own difficult life journey. As a result, I almost lost all contact with my friends. This is especially true for Mr. Jiang, but because I still have a deep love for poetry in my bones, I occasionally read Mr. Jiang's poems in books and periodicals after heavy work.

Xinxiang local poetry was put forward by Di Jiang, Chen Huifang and Peng Guoliang in 1987. In 1990s, young Hunan poets devoted all their energies to the cohesion and development of Xinxiang local poetry, showing great perseverance and determination to promote the development of poetry. Subsequently, dozens of overseas periodicals, such as Star, China Youth Daily, Youth, Hunan Daily Rural Edition and Hunan Literature, as well as Li, Autumn Water, Blue Star and Heart in Taiwan Province Province, successively published albums, special comments or opened columns for local new poets in Hunan, forming a powerful poetry tide. Mr. Di Jiang is at the forefront of this poetic trend, leading many poets in Hunan and even the whole country to make the gesture of "returning home" and "returning home".

Mr Di Jiang is called "the urn carrier". In Feng Menglong's History of Laughter in Ancient and Modern Times in Ming Dynasty, there is a historical piece called "Man Holding an urn", and its original text is like this:

Sheep rust (note: the word should be next to the "king" because the font is not expected) is brewed in winter, which often makes people hold an urn and change people in an instant. This wine is fast and delicious.

Holding the urn is holding the jar and making wine with the body temperature of people. He said that he was born in the countryside, lived in the city, and walked around the city with a local urn, and all the wealth at home was put in the urn. These possessions are nothing more than a roll of farming history, a roll of immigration history, a roll of family history, a roll of genealogy, several prescriptions, as well as sweet potatoes, potatoes, radishes, pesticides, fertilizers, waterwheels and rice seeds; It is nothing more than a winding ridge in Song Like, a generous grain depot like vilen, a dense building complex like a forest, a public hazard like weeds and a famine like stars; It's nothing more than confusion under the red flag, the passion of broken life, the sadness of street view, the anxiety of amphibians to imagine traveling, the rock of nightlife death ... it's nothing more than all thoughts, logic, philosophy, human feelings related to the house of destiny, and materials related to the root of emotional life. Yes, he knows that this fate is irresistible, and does the hidden danger in his heart come from his "sense of life" towards home? Even though he knew it was the end of his life, he would hold on to the urn.

Pass said, "I'm human: I end up doing very little/and the night is huge." But every time I look up, the stars turn white. /I inadvertently understood: I was also written down,/and at this moment/someone was trying to interpret me (Selected Poems of Oak Tavio de Paz). Pass expounded the relationship between poetry and poets: poets create poetry, and poetry ultimately creates poets. In a sense, the person who finally creates poetry may be called a poet, and the real poet can finally trace back and "interpret" the poetry text. Therefore, poetic text is very important. However, Mr. Di Jiang's rural poems in Xinxiang are not a pure record of imaginary spiritual wandering and being far away from home, let alone simply and objectively repeating the old mixed chorus. Instead, he listened with a complicated heart, listening to the broken voice from the spiritual home inside things, listening to the voice of the defective urban industrial civilization raping the orderly natural ecological civilization. He knows very well that this pursuit of art may trap him in a spiritual cage and put himself in an unexpected dangerous situation before holding the urn. But he, without hesitation. This spirit is like allen ginsberg living in a city surrounded by rural areas far away from the United States, holding his head high on the ruins and howling loudly: "I saw the most outstanding minds of this generation being destroyed crazily!" ",showing infinite confidence.

The approach to "native land" is based on its own life reality. Mr. Di Jiang and his poetry friends took a completely opposite attitude to the "public emotional time zone"-shrinking themselves to the same position as crops, so as to more truly and widely perceive and look up to the spiritual connotation of rural space. Some of Di Jiang's poems belong to the memories of rural life in the present state of mind, and often have a faint sadness about the life character in poor life. "It's still May .../Mother curled up on the ridge of the field/called the name of rice in her dream" ("Looking at Mother, Looking at Snow"); "The last day of the year/celery herb in Papaya Village (that is, my mother-in-law's name)/How should I face the snow" (Sunny Day in Papaya Village). This subtle description contains real feelings, showing the ability of the dike to enter the local background after removing the affectation. Another part of his poems is the local feelings he expressed in real city life. "Children cry at night/nipples are on their mouths/milk drips down/like rain on the eaves .../sons start talking at this time/wives understand/I don't understand" (Nightingale).

"Many people in Huda know me/but I'm not a brother/I'm holding cabbage/walking on campus. He looks like a professor. I am really a professor/someone who knows me. I found it in the list of Chinese cabbages/They were surprised/Often when I got off work/I stood by the side of the road and watched/I held a hundred cabbages and didn't bow my head/The cabbages glistened overhead/The light made some words twinkle/Papers like poems. I am lonely in Hunan University/I grow cabbage alone/I sneak into local life. In this way, Mr. Di Jiang proudly walked out of the campus of Huda University with his cabbage. Now, I see him walking all the way with Chinese cabbage, disappearing into the campus of Huda University forever, and walking into the fragrant soil where Chinese cabbage grows. And the footsteps of clinging to the land still reverberate in the campus, in three places and four waters, and in the ancient and young rural land of China. Yes, a village becomes a village only when there is rice, and it is beautiful only when the rice blooms: "When the rice blooms/the air is filled with faint fragrance/we are back to the starting point of language". Therefore, he wants to return to the origin of growing rice. He really went. ...