一个人离开,天上就多了一颗星。一个诗人离开,就成了其中最亮的一颗。在浩瀚的宇空中,“星辰都是一团旧火”(里尔克)。在我从一九八○年代开始的如饥似渴的阅读谱系中,外国诗人占了相当大的比重。诗歌写作既要脚踏实地,又要仰望星空。一个个远去的诗人,成为一个巨大的传统,如一团团旧火,在暗夜里泄露光辉,照亮我前行的诗句。传统与现代、心灵与现实、形式与技巧、自身与抒情、语言与字词——诗人何为——在一次次的阅读与仿写、叩问与自语中无极限地去接近它们,被俘虏、被拒绝,甚或被灼伤,在阵痛中蜕变,在聚敛中敞开澄明——最后又回到我小镇上的生活与写作。 When one leaves, one more star in the sky. A poet left, became one of the brightest one. In the vast sky, “stars are a bunch of old fire” (Rilke). Of the famously reading pedigree that I began in the 1980s, foreign poets make up a significant proportion. Poetry writing should be down-to-earth, but also look to the stars. One by one the poet, has become a huge tradition, such as an old fire, revealing the glow in the dark, illuminating the lines of my predecessor. Tradition and modernity, mind and reality, form and skill, self and lyricism, language and words - what the poet does - approaching them endlessly in reading and imitation, in inquiry and in conversation The prisoners, who were rejected or even burned, mutated in their throes, opened their eyes in the gathering - and finally returned to life and writing in my little town.