Ask: original text of Yu Guangzhong Tower, thank you ~!

As soon as the summer vacation is over, 1800 boys and girls, like a beautiful blonde dandelion, blow away. So this turquoise four-story tower belongs to him completely. Forever, it stands here, waiting for his daily fortune, waiting for him to climb to the top and read this not-so-small kingdom. At sunset, he stood end to end at the top of the tower, in the center of a lonely place. After a while, the twilight crawled and everything was falling. The tower is silent, and the king is silent. Only iron discipline penetrated the void. The fireball of the sun fell on the horizon of Maryland.

Dusk is a weak ear, which frequently shocks the discord of crows. Western crows, shattered in amber fire. Looking to the west, it was brilliant red lava, spewing out from the solar furnace, which flooded Eisenhower's farm today. The southern army broke its heart here that day. Look east, there is no backlight. On the small dome, the artillery positions guarded by the northern army can be counted. Washington is in the south, and the straight white state road is in the south. The same highway, three miles north, is the downtown area of Gettysburg. All this, this series of incomprehensible kingdoms, belongs to him completely.

Gettysburg, Gettysburg. His eyes were fixed on the outline of the town. He has been familiar with every street and every historical building since he came here for half a year. Look, the Lutheran church pierced the white spire in the night sky. Blackened by the wind and rain is the bell tower of the College of Literature, and there are goo goo wild pigeons living in Yejiling. It used to be an "old dormitory" with black steps and white pillars. During the civil war, this was the camp of the northern army cavalry. In the past, in the past, it should be the green roof of his seven-story old house, although his eyesight has been lost.

Under the green roof, he spent several busy half years, reading, writing poems, writing long airmail letters, translating classical literature of BC, for those golden brown female disciples and for those daffodils. Those daffodils. Nabakov called American girls fairies. He thought that the girl in his class should be a fairy. Just under the green roof, those daffodils, those daffodils irrigated with milk, came in like the heroine in the translated novel, listening to his lingering "Mrs. Xiang" and heroic "national mourning" Laughing at his salted fish and light blackberry wine. He named them all China. The blonde is Pa Wen. Sufa is Dan Yu.

Jia Cuixia is the one with chestnut in gold. As soon as they arrived, they dug out his chopsticks and clamped everything. The most aggressive one was Pa Wen, who searched his refrigerator and wore his raincoat? Hat, turning over his Chinese dictionary, frowning, looking for half a dozen hieroglyphs she only knew. He jokingly called them daffodils, Greek sisters and bacchanalia. He can never see them clearly because they move too fast and sway too much. Because when her eyes turn, her golden hair will flutter with it. When they come, they talk like chanting, with crisp consonants and soft vowels. After they left, the shadow of Narcissus was still shaking in the apartment. He always wants to teach them to stop and let him read the blue in those pupils carefully, and to what extent. ?

But only green grass grows under the tower. When the wind blows in the evening, the new maple at the foot turns green. It was late autumn and summer vacation, and the daffodils had all dispersed, some with furry faun, and some really returned to Europe. Cui Xia wants to marry a sheep-hoofed man in the south. Pa Wen went to Germany to study German literature. Finally, they all broke up, so inexplicably, just like at the beginning, inexplicably gathered together. In the vast campus, only a few words are known to each other, and only those back benches, where no one can stay or sit, are staring at Mulan after the flower.

The grass cultivated by faun and narcissus is as green as ever. When I woke up, why did the town suddenly get 30 years older? For the first time, he found out how long the residents here are. The streets are full of policemen, shop assistants, insurance companies, tax collectors, battlefield guides and tourists with vague faces. In the sultry afternoon, the heat is pressing, and a fire dragon lies flat in the head space of Lincoln Square. Car accidents are frequent, and ambulance sirens kill a street sadly. ?

So the daffodils are scattered. Sai Ren replaced the pastoral. There are only some cigarette butts left on the grass trampled by sheep's hoofs. On the eve of departure, the god beast knocked at the door. "We will miss you," said Cordoli. "I hope you can come back and teach us again." Dan Yu accepted his denial. Sheep's hoof has been kicking his apartment all afternoon. Hofbrauhaus, a luxurious blonde Bebner, invited him to a German restaurant called Hofbrauhaus in Abbot City ten miles away, munching on German bacon and sausages and drinking Dutch beer. He doesn't particularly like bacon and sausages, but he is not drunk when drinking beer.

The heavy Stantao cup with handle, full of alcohol mash, and a layer of white foam floating on the water suddenly have a sense of heroism, rushing out of the stomach, making the drinker want to cry without tears and want to sing. German dream, Schubert dream and Schumann dream hover on the record player. A violin piece that twisted people's stomach reminded him of the man he had heard before and his lazy nasal voice. He is very homesick. He felt strongly that he had been away from home for a long time, far away. The double bed in the apartment is a barren desert, without the soft and round blessing of women. He was drunk that night. Under the hazy crescent moon, he drove back and almost ran into an old elm tree.

The next day, he got up late I sat in the shade of the towering old oak tree, letting the south wind blow my hair, staying in the headland, listening to the complaints and complaints of birds all afternoon. The sound seeped from the depths of the leaves. He had never heard such a beautiful bird song, and he was never so homesick that day. He can't tell whether it's cicada or thrush. Singers can sing. The audience listened with joy and admiration. He sat in a thick and shallow green thought. He thinks cool green liquid is dripping from his hair. Cheng Chun. Cheng Xia.

How deep the vegetation is. Taishan shrugged. The Yellow River is flowing. ..... There are too many sorrows in the East. Why should we feel gloomy for a few Greek sisters? He remembers that he has not contacted the tenderness of the East for a long time. The invisible singer is still singing. He imagined that he was stroking a hand, a hand white enough to pick lotus flowers. And sing a song "Niannujiao" to petite ears and black-haired ears. The invisible singer is still singing. ?

After she came. After she came. After she came. His life seems to be an eternal expectation, expecting miracles and a mirage to become a magnificent palace. Expectation is a kind of semi-conscious and semi-crazy burning, which makes anxious souls hallucinate and think that they are living in the future. The soul, the impossible Indian Thunderbird, cannot be tamed in the palm of your hand at this moment. Its wings prefer the past wind and the future clouds.

He admires heroes and explorers, who can live here and now with a high degree of concentration and desperate efforts, breathing at the speed of blood, and don't have to live morbidly in memories and expectations like him. A fighter who fought to the death, an eight-limb twisted lover, and an explorer who competed with mountains for heights, these are all things he admires. He admires Lawrence of Arabia more. With the same hand, he can fall into the city, write poems, measure the desert, explore the soul, conquer himself and conquer the enemy.

On the third day, the parking lot was empty and everyone left. Because it is an abandoned garden. The city is a dead city. He walked slowly along the deserted forest vagina, feeling more tired than ever. Only he can't leave In July, he will go further. He will go north to new york, follow the footsteps of the legendary henpecked hunter, cross the Kartzke Mountain and go to the open Canada. But before that, he must guard an ancient battlefield alone like a white-haired veteran. There are more tombstones than bronze statues in the suburbs of town, and there are more bronze statues than pedestrians.

At least that side of the tombstone is lively, masochistic and self-deprecating, he thought. At least the night is more lively than the day. At night, the moon in the cat's eyes sang for ghosts all night, and even the daisies on the window couldn't sleep. The advertising pictures in front of the cinema are bluffing and trying to snatch the late pedestrians. Only the mailbox that can't escape stands on the corner. Buses after midnight, tinkling alarm bells, trampling on the city center, the nightmare of the town deepened. Why is everything terribly transparent? There is no boundary here. The present overlaps with the future.

He walked through the theological seminary, the wax museum and the square where tulips wept blood, but most of the time, he walked in a dream, in China and on the street of memory. He can't tell whether this complete and pure loneliness is to enjoy or endure. When the refrigerator is full, he often doesn't say a word for a week. When the mailbox is empty, he seems to be forgotten by the whole world and doubts his existence. Standing at the top of the tower, standing in the air of steel structure, unprecedented, no one came after, people are cold and far away.

Why is the west boundless and the east boundless? Loneliness is the country, I am the king, laughing at myself and masturbating, he thought. When she comes, she will be the queen, and she will conquer this crystal country with me. When she comes, she will definitely take her to the top of the tower, where there are cheers from lonely people, cheers from bronze statues and stone tablets, silent tribute from the iron cannons of the two armies, drums and horns played in unison, and solemn and stirring military songs of ghosts and heroes. When she comes, be sure to take her to the chair in the park and tell her how he sat in the chair and read to her. I also asked her to touch the mailbox on the corner, which is the starting point of all his airmail letters. When she comes, be sure to take her to that German restaurant and ask her to try it, he thought.

But at the moment, he is the only one in the world. The crow has settled down. The sunset is dead. He is left, hanging between memories and expectations, like Galileo's pendulum, fleeing to the ends of nothingness and never escaping. Without him, blood is idle, semen is idle, tears and sweat glands are idle, and angry cries are idle. He was left behind to review his fears again and again and predict the danger before it came. For him, this is a transitional period, and the ferry floats between the two sides. This is a nap with a sword in the Great Conquest.

Because of his battlefield, his bed, his desert in China, in China, in the direction of sunset, his enemies and lovers and companions. Since he chose a pen, since he chose his own weapon, and chose blue blood instead of red blood, he has not enjoyed a deep and quiet summer vacation like a temple for a long time. Summer vacation is a luxurious time, belonging to teenagers who dream of watching clouds.

He looked back on the summer holidays when he was a child with the memory of being single-handed. When he grows lazily in summer, he is as fat as a pumpkin and as dull as a pumpkin, while he is as leisurely as a cicada. Those summer vacations in the shade of coconut trees, black locust trees and yellow cedar trees. Read fairy tales, myths, and the summer vacation of Arabian Nights. At that time, mother was as reliable as a tree, and he was the only fruit on the tree. At that time, he had many "important" classmates, who shared the same bed in class, wrote the same notice when recording demerits, and cursed each other's mothers. What about those summer vacations? What about the mothers? What about those important partners?

At least his mother died and so did his hospitable aunt, under another tower. There, time is meaningless, and space is pinned on religious concessions. This is a place full of Bai Fan, and the incense extends all the way to the shrine. He comes from the country of the tower. This ancient kingdom has been in Lu Chen, leaving only the towers that stand in pieces with tenacious self-esteem, just like the survivors of a heroic tribe. After World War II, he and his mother took a steamboat down the river and came to the Yangtze River. Boating in Anqing.

Mother and son climbed the tower of the Buddhist temple, overlooking the dense river and the gray enamel of thousands of families in the city. The tower is tall and windy. The foggy space is dizzy under his feet, which makes him feel that the spire is shaking like a giant mast. He is an eagle. As soon as he spread his wings, all the clouds had to give way. A boy of 19 years old is tired of the decay and aging of the ancient country. Foreign geography is his favorite subject.

In the afternoon of summer vacation, under the shade of half an acre of cotinus coggygria, he will be fascinated by the attractive map, and he will be fascinated by Italy's feet in the Mediterranean, the desire to eat Denmark in northern Europe, the Ivory Coast, the mouth of the Nile River, Canada with rivers and lakes, and Australia with islands everywhere. From a calendar, he saw a landscape photo, a train, hovering in the Rocky Mountain in Pang Wei, with curled black smoke dragging in the air. He imagined himself sitting in this car, reading the works of Xuefeng and Zhang Lian all the way to Chicago and new york. Go to a foreign country, go to a distant foreign country and leave ordinary China forever.

From Anqing to Gettysburg, the two towers are twenty years apart. Standing on this steel watchtower, on the side of 20 years, he stroked himself 20 years ago, his hair, his innocence, with sympathy and blame. The loveliest, most mysterious and greatest land in the world is China. The soil that is out of reach is the most fragrant soil. Can you be angelica in the distance? Just like this moment, there are plains outside the mountains and green hills outside the plains. Outside Ohio, outside Indiana, Iowa, Nebraska and Nevada, there is still a crow or a homing crow to the west of the crow.

Only his way home is infinite, infinite, infinite. How many strangers have looked at it like this for half a century? Hu Shizhi once looked so far. Wen Yiduo looked so far. Liang Shiqiu sees far away. Since the May 4th Movement, many international students have seen it this way. Coral color gradually draws in thick blue, and there is still a corner attachment in the southwest. In the direction of Gettysburg, the lights are bright. A small town worth remembering, he thought, the battlefield a hundred years ago, the park a hundred years later, Gettysburg, Lincoln's Freedom Hall. A train is winding through the city center.

Lincoln took the train that day, came here to pay tribute to the fallen soldiers, and made that speech. He had a hunch that someone would miss this place in the future, in China, the days of Narcissus, the days of loneliness and freedom, in another battlefield, another kind of war. This time, he will join his companions again, and he will plunge into the torrent of history and swim to the center of the whirlpool. Because this is also a kind of civil war. Cultural civil war, spiritual civil war, I duel with myself, in order to attack the biased Bastille in China, liberate the imagination of Confucius' descendants and create life. Maybe he succeeded. Maybe he failed. But the future history will be changed.

But before going back, he must stay awake and burn alone. Just like Polaris over there, it shines calmly, does not lose its direction, and holds a fixed point for other lights. The night is deployed quickly, and in an instant, intimidation has been multifaceted, from rat gray to turquoise to jet black. But darkness only strengthens the light of the stars. Star arrays are deployed faster. At night and in the morning, the lights of various names, from the red of martyrdom to the clear color of the prophet, announce their positions one by one. When he turned his back to the north, he found that the big bear and the little bear were open and bright, like a bright flag, which had never been lowered at half mast. This angle is much higher than that seen in China.

Grasping the railing of his frozen hand, he felt the rising will and unshakable power of metal. He felt that the life of steel rose from the palm of his hand and the soles of his feet, like mercury loyal to temperature, rising against the current and reaching his limbs and his heart. In a crazy and sudden moment, he imagined himself integrated with the tower, based on the solid ground, exploring the unknown space, as if eavesdropping on the mystery of the stars and the subtle operation of the cosmic brain. In a flash, he wanted to scream.

But the silence in the tower frightened him. The straight spine, the vertical and horizontal bones and muscles, and the spiral ileum of the spiral staircase evoke an orderly super music when struggling. Loneliness, loneliness is a transparent castle, coldly high above, overlooking everything, but so far away from everything. Birds, wind, sun and neon all flew off the chest rib above his head, leaving him, the tower, the tower and him, the arrogant crystal prison and metaphysical glass building in superman's high-latitude climate, and leaving him. Is it self-destruction, self-help or self-defense?

1965 June 17, Gettysburg

Extended data:

Yu Guangzhong's Tower is a lyric prose, which expresses the homesickness of overseas wanderers for their motherland, hometown and relatives. Through the inner duel and pain, the author's homesickness is set off. Various rhetorical devices are integrated into narrative, material, scenery description and understanding, which shows the author's rich talent and wealth.

Yu Guangzhong has been engaged in poetry, prose, criticism and translation all his life, calling himself a "four-dimensional space" for his own writing and being known as a "colored pen" in the literary world. Galloping in the literary world for more than half a century, he dabbled extensively and was known as "artistic polygamy". His literary career is long and profound, and he is a master of contemporary poetry, an important town of prose, a famous critic and an excellent translator. At present, 2 1 species of poems have been published; Prose collection 1 1 species; 5 kinds of comment sets; 13 translation; * * * More than 40 kinds. His representative works include White Jade Bitter Melon (a collection of poems), Memory as Long as a Railway (a collection of essays) and On the Watershed: A Collection of Comments by Yu Guangzhong (a collection of comments). His poems such as Nostalgia and Four Rhymes of Nostalgia, as well as his essays such as Listening to the Cold Rain and My Four Imaginary Enemies are widely included in Chinese textbooks in Chinese mainland, Hong Kong and Taiwan.

Character evaluation:

1. From the perspective of poetic art, Yu Guangzhong is known as "an artistic miscellaneous poet". His works are extremely inconsistent in style. Generally speaking, his poetic style varies from subject to subject. Poems expressing will and ideals are generally magnificent and powerful, while works describing homesickness and love are generally delicate and soft.

2. His literary career is long, broad and profound, with the spirit of China classical literature and foreign modern literature. His creative technique is novel and flexible, and his metaphor is strange. His description is exquisite, lyrical and touching, singing three sighs, implicit and meaningful, with beautiful rhythm and strong sense of rhythm. Therefore, he was honored as a wine offering in the poetry circles of Taiwan Province Province. His poetic theory has a broad vision and is full of sharp vitality for exploration; He emphasizes the writer's national consciousness and sense of responsibility, and is good at grasping the character and value of poetry from the perspective of language, which is unique. ? [24]? (People's Daily Review)

3. Yu Guangzhong is a complicated and changeable poet, and the change track of his writing style can basically be said to be a trend of the whole poetry circle in China for more than 30 years, that is, westernization first and then return. After the 1980s, he began to realize the importance of his national life to his creation, and extended the pen of poetry back to that continent, writing many emotional homesick poems, and his attitude towards local literature changed from opposition to kindness, showing an obvious trajectory of returning from west to east, so he was called the "prodigal son" by the poetry circles in Taiwan Province Province. ? [25]? (China Taiwan Province Province Network Review)

4. In the field of new poetry, Yu Guangzhong is an advocate of artistic supremacy; In terms of prose, he believes that literature has the opportunity to give consideration to artistry on the basis of popularization through the popularization of education. He equates the prose since the May 4th Movement with colloquial and popular prose, and calls artistic prose modern prose, which means that this kind of prose has both the connotation of modern life and modern techniques in its creative form. ?

5. Professor Yu Guangzhong is a literary master with extensive influence and enjoys a high reputation in the field of modern poetry and prose. Professor Yu's poems mostly express the poet's compassion, his love for the land, and his perspective, analysis and capture of all modern people, things and things. In addition, Professor Yu has made outstanding achievements in criticism, editing and translation. Professor Yu devoted his life to creation, research, teaching and educating people, and made far-reaching contributions to art, literature and society. Philosophers are weak, but Fan Dian is eternal.

References:

? Baidu Encyclopedia-Yu Guangzhong