Back to 80: My Literary Life

"Hey, Minghua, why don't you speak?" Li Tuo and Fang Minghua sat together and asked in a low voice.

Fang Minghua was holding the coffee cup and had just taken a sip. When he heard Li Tuo's words, he smiled and asked, "Didn't you say nothing too?"

"My literary criticism only focuses on novels and essays, and I really don't do much research on poetry." Li Tuo replied.

Then what are you doing here?

Fang Minghua was a little confused but it was hard to ask directly.

Li Tuo seemed to have guessed what he was thinking, and said with a smile: "As for me, Bingling invited me to join in the fun. It is also very happy to be with a group of domestic literature people and listen to them speak Chinese and talk about familiar literature. Of course Boss Liu’s coffee tastes good too.”

He raised his coffee cup and took a sip.

Of course the coffee is good, it seems to be Blue Mountain coffee.

only

To be so lonely?

Finally, Bei Dao also spoke, and his speech was more professional. He pointed out: The decline of poetry is reflected in the disconnection between words and objects, and the isolation between poetry and the real world, which makes poetry lose its original function of social criticism and cultural inheritance. .”

Fang Minghua listened carefully and felt that what he said made sense.

If a literary genre, whether novel, poetry, prose, etc., loses its two major functions of social criticism or cultural inheritance, it basically becomes dispensable.

Or it can no longer be called literature.

Some people spoke in the morning, but Bingling was still taking notes. In his words, there will be an interview summary later, whether it is published in "Today" sponsored by Beidao or in "Oriental Magazine" sponsored by Chinese.

For lunch, the owner of the villa, Liu Junjie, prepared a Taiwanese specialty—Taiwanese Braised Pork Rice.

Dig in half a spoonful of rice, soak it with marinated sauce, then put a piece of braised pork into your mouth. The fresh, sweet, fragrant and glutinous taste is really good.

Everyone ate casually, each holding a bowl and finding a place to sit down. Fang Minghua was sitting alone on a chair and had just finished a bowl when he saw Bingling coming over with a bowl and sat next to him and asked:

"Minghua, why didn't I see you talking to me this morning?"

"As you know, I just write novels and have little research on poetry." Fang Minghua was very modest.

"Isn't it right? I remember that you were once the deputy editor-in-chief of poetry in Yanhe magazine, and you also published several theoretical articles on poetry. One of them was called "Poetic Imagery in the Post-Misty Poetry Era", which was very forward-looking. "

Oh?

This guy has a good memory.

It was still in 1984, when I had just taken up the post of deputy editor in charge of the poetry section. I created a "college student poetry issue" in Yanhe magazine and rejected the spoken-word poetry that was beginning to become popular in the poetry world at that time.

As a result, Shang Zhongmin, a student at Chongqing University, was dissatisfied and skipped school to go to Xijing to argue with Fang Minghua. So the two held a public debate on poetry at Northwest University.

This is the topic that Fang Minghua talked about.

Think about it, that era was really full of passion.

Now that Bing Ling suddenly mentioned old memories, Fang Minghua couldn't say anything else, so he said with a smile.

"Okay, I'll say a few words during the discussion in the afternoon."

After dinner, everyone took a break and the salon activities continued.

"Minghua, please say a few words." Bing Ling began to name names directly.

Fang Minghua put down the coffee cup and said, "Okay, then I will talk about my personal views."

"Just now I heard Duoduo mention "In Defense of Poetry" by the Canadian poet Slaughter at the Rotterdam International Poetry Festival. It reminded me of a short poem written by the Polish poet Adam Zagajewski. I guess everyone has also heard it. Pass."

After Fang Minghua finished speaking, he began to recite:

"In Defense of Poetry, Etc."

Yes, in defense of poetry, sublime style, etc.,

But also to protect the summer evening in a small town,

Where the garden smells fragrant and the cat sits quietly

The front steps look like Chinese philosophers.

The living room was quiet, listening to Fang Minghua reciting this poem.

"What I want to say is: when poetry has been called upon to become an object to be defended, it means that some people still regard it as a precious cultural style, but it also illustrates a mentality of praying for mercy from society." Fang Minghua first analyzed a Then the conversation changed:

"But I don't think this is necessary. As a form of human spiritual activity, I believe that poetry in any era will be a need for some people's spiritual life. Because only she can convey in her own unique form how human beings face some specific events. It is because of this that poets should be arrogant.”

Fang Minghua's words immediately caused everyone in the living room to whisper.

"Minghua, let me interrupt." The speaker was the woman sitting by the fireplace, Zhai Yongming.

Fang Minghua once met her once. It was in 1990. Fang Minghua went to Sichuan Province to attend the funeral of Zhou Keqin on behalf of the Qin Provincial Writers Association. Later, he found Shang Zhongmin. He invited a former poet to accompany him for hot pot, one of whom had just returned from the United States. Zhai Yongming.

But at that party, no one talked about poetry.

Now when Zhai Yongming interrupted, Fang Minghua stopped and smiled.

Zhai Yongming said: "According to your point of view, since you think poetry does not need to be protected, then we should just stand by and let it decline naturally?"

This is a bit harsh.

Everyone looked at Fang Minghua.

Fang Minghua smiled, drank coffee, and suddenly said to Bei Dao, who was sitting in the corner: "Teacher Bei Dao, do you still remember that in 1980, "Contemporary" magazine held a poetry contest?"

"I remember." Bei Dao's serious face showed a smile, and he continued:

"That time, your poems, as well as Shu Ting's, Gu Cheng's, and mine all won awards, but I can't remember the specific poems."

"Well, I remember you wrote "Rainy Night", Shu Ting wrote "Huian Woman", Gu Cheng's was "I am a Willful Child", and I wrote a short poem called "Premonition""

"Yes, it seems so." Bei Dao agreed.

Fang Minghua did not answer Zhai Yongming's question, and suddenly talked about the past with Bei Dao. Everyone was a little surprised, but they didn't interrupt and listened to them talking about the past.

"At the award ceremony, the host, Zhang Zhong'e, the deputy editor-in-chief of "Contemporary" magazine, asked the winners to speak about their views on poetry, but I declined."

"That's right, Editor-in-Chief Zhang was a little disappointed, because you were the youngest among the winners at that time." Bei Dao smiled.

"In fact, I had prepared a speech, but I felt it was a bit inappropriate at the time because my speech was very pessimistic. Seeing everyone enthusiastically discussing the bright future of poetry, I didn't want to pour cold water on everyone. But today I want to tell you the main content of my speech!"