Kneel and beg to revise modern hazy poetry with an open mind

I'm Floating" I'm Floating.

wandering; The vicissitudes of the road.

I can't keep anything, and the rest of the memories that accompany me are pain.

Let the mountains want to block my way, let the dangerous shoals want to hinder my feet, I don't care.

Just because I'm floating, wandering with the wings of my soul, I'm aimless....

Find a place to be. Even though in the end, I turned to dust.

I was still me when I landed....

Have your own journey....

Here's what makes my opinion.

1 Feel free and peaceful.

Flying with the wind. I don't think it's okay, it should be a little detached from the following.

2 Let the cold wind bite.

Let the scorching sun be scorching.

The poem is already very abstract, and it should be a little more specific here to flesh out the whole poem.

3 Just to be me when I land.

I can have my own direction.

This should be the center of the whole poem, you can read it, it seems to be a bit like it is not over.

The above is only a personal opinion, the poem is very well written, and there is a chance to talk together.

I'm floating. Wandering around, casual and peaceful;

Flying with the wind, the vicissitudes of the road.

I can't keep anything, and the rest of the memories that accompany me may be painful!

No matter how dangerous the road is, no matter the wind and rain are combined, because I am free to float.

Where is the return, I am floating, aimless is not belonging.

When it comes to landing, there is always a direction to guide you.

That's where we belong!

- Laughed yourself according to what you wrote.

It's the bird clouds that obscure the light.

Still with a clear conscience.

Refuses to let out that piece of light.

Maybe. The galaxy is in famine.

Hungry. The miserable white is mixed with wax yellow.

Maybe. There is war in the firmament.

The smoke of gunpowder blinded the eyes.

Flowing out of helpless sorrow.

Sluggish thoughts. Don't dare to face Jiaoyang.

My heart swelled.

Evil desires. Narrow-minded.

Even the sea is dry.

The osmanthus flower is drifting away.

Cold and empty.

Jade is not missing. Everything is desolate.

Loneliness. Insincere.

It's rambling.

Fictitious. A furrowed brow.

Step by step, approaching the haze.

Day by day, I became confused.

The hazy smoke and rain suddenly descended on a deep path, waking up the sleeping flowers on the side of the road.

In the distance, there seemed to be a smell of a pungent aroma, which, I guess, must have been the mischievous rain and dew, inadvertently, quietly, bringing the fragrance of flowers.

Am I snuggling in a dream, or am I intoxicated by the shade of the flowers in March?

It's hazy, when will I wake up?

The hazy smoke and rain, dancing with his seductive shadow, induced too many good wishes in me, although, after all, it will turn into a void without regrets.

The hazy smoke and rain, like tears left behind in a happy day, blurry, déjà vu.

I am a figure in the hazy smoke and rain, full of stares ahead, never looking back for the road that has passed.

Rain at the moment. Hazy.

Slender. There is no sun shining on it.

Tears also fell from the earth.

Possible. God still understands me.

In this rainy season.

Don't forget to help me render.

Atmosphere. I don't know my eyes.

A mist like cotton wool, simply not to be believed.

It's dawn.

There is nothing to say about the distant mountains and the near view.

When looking out through the dusty glass.

I'm sure someone is signing for a life.

Someone guards the sleeping love in a dream.

Through a pair of eyes, it is a possible early morning.

I'm going to try to pretend to be as deep as a light.

Those who have bodhichitta.

It was never born.

A song hurts the autumn, and the strings are broken.

The waves are gone, red flowers and green.

Too often, build up.

Thousands of layers of time are short and blurry.

The autumn clouds are rolling high, and the cool breeze is looking.

Psychedelic crescent moon, lost in the night.

Whose sleeves are cold, whose autumn shadows are cold.

In the haze, the moon pavilion.

The yellow grass is miserable, and the cool breeze is deep.

Dreamy and confused, time and space are confused.

In the end, for which boiled teardrops?

Mo, Mo.

Forget the dust, the wooden fish beats the heart.

Beidao's, Gu Cheng's, Shu Ting's, Index Finger's, Meng Ke, Mu Dan, Love, Xichuan, Gomai, Niu Han, Luo Yihe, Duoduo, Haizi, Liang Xiaobin, Wang Xiaoni, Yang Lian, Lin Mang, these are all hazy poetry, and most of the poems written are hazy poems, I recommend you a book, I have read a very good "Hazy Poems" Hubei Literature and Art Publishing House, the version is very good!! Their works are !!

Error Zheng Chouyu.

I hit Jiangnan and walked through.

The face that waits in the season.

Like the blossoming and falling of a lotus flower.

The east wind does not come. The catkins in March do not fly.

You're as good as you are. A small lonely city.

Just like the bluestone street is late.

The trampling sound is silent. The spring curtain of March is not lifted.

You are in your heart. The small window is closed.

The hooves of my Dada's horses.

It's a beautiful mistake.

I am not a naturalist.

It's a passerby...

There are critics in the poetry world who say that the brilliance of imagery and artistic conception cannot be used as a criterion, but in fact, it is not far from the door if it is all fart. Because poetry is not a vernacular, if you want to pursue the meaning of the words and words, it is better to read prose.

Only then did I find that I had to explain a bunch of words, so I would briefly talk about the "virtuality" and "reality" you asked. The light bulb is fitted with a lamp sleeve that can project various hollow shapes and voids, and the striking thing here is the different shapes, and more deeply, the universality and aesthetic category of all mankind (you can call it kitsch, but you can't say that Hitler's scenes with prayer flags and magnificent Wagner symphonies are not extremely moving).

The number of sparrows controversy about hazy poetry.

Wu Sijing: Radical young people, especially university students, fanatically support the obscure poets, while some conservatives fiercely criticize them. In the early days of the hazy poetry controversy, it was not called "hazy poetry" at that time, but was called "obscure poetry" and "eccentric poetry" in Tu Xizao.

It was precisely after the publication of "The Depressing "Hazy" that the playful name of "Hazy Poetry" began to spread, and the controversy became more and more intense. In October 1980, the "Poetry Theory Symposium" was held at the Dingfuzhuang Coal Management Cadre College in the eastern suburbs of Beijing. At that time, the controversy surrounding hazy poetry involved issues such as the big self and the small self, self-expression, modernist evaluation, poetry and the times, the vitality of realism and realism, and the relationship between realism and modernism.

The Liaoning poet A Hong copied many words on pieces of paper the size of mahjong tiles, and then shuffled the words face down like shuffling cards, and then randomly arranged the pieces of paper into several lines, and then turned them over to see if they looked like a hazy poem. Ah Hong is critical of hazy poetry, and the game he initiated was intended to satirize hazy poetry, but it inadvertently opened a precedent for today's computer to write poetry.

"Facing the Sea, Spring Blossoms" is a sea.

From tomorrow onwards, be a happy person.

Facing the sea, spring flowers are blooming.

Feed the horses, chop wood, and travel the world.

From tomorrow, care about food and vegetables.

I have a house facing the sea and spring is blooming.

From tomorrow onwards, we will communicate with each and every one of our loved ones.

Tell them about my happiness.

The blissful lightning told me.

I'm going to tell everybody.

Give every river and every mountain a warm name.

Stranger, I bless you too.

May you have a bright future.

May you have a lover and eventually become married.

May you be blessed on earth.

I just want to face the sea and bloom in spring.

When I was a child, I liked hazy poetry.

I don't like it now.