Zhang Qi

Zhang Qi

Zhang Qi (1971 -), a contemporary Chinese poet, writer and self-study scholar. The name of Zhang Qi's ID card is Zhang Hong, and it was only when he began to write that he used this pseudonym. In 1971, Zhang Qi was born in a beautiful plain village in Cangzhou, Hebei Province. His father, Zhang Xuelu, is said to be an admirer of Mr. Lu Xun.

Brief introduction to Zhang Qi

Zhang Qi, male, Han nationality, was born in Hebei in 1971. Published since 1992. I've been a teacher, a reporter and a teacher. He is a member of Hebei Writers Association, and has a collection of works such as the flying tree and Zhang Qi's poems. He participated in the 18th "youth poetry meeting" of the poetry magazine of China Writers Association in 2002, and his representative work "China in the distant years" caused repercussions in the poetry world. After graduating from middle school, Zhang Qi studied in the Chinese Department of a normal university. He worked as a teacher for about eight years and then worked as a journalist and a journalist. In 1993, Zhang Qi wrote his first poem. Around 2001, Zhang Qi left Hebei and came to Beijing. Zhang Qi is a representative poet of Chinese "Post-70s poetry". His poetry has strong lyricism, and is praised by many famous poets for its clear image, beautiful metaphor and deep thinking. In May 2002, Zhang Qi participated in the "youth poetry meeting" organized by the then "poetry journal" and published his famous work "China in distant years" in "poetry journal". Although Zhang Qi always pursues the tendency of realism in his writing, he is almost a reclusive poet in the field of oral poetry. Some critics believe that Zhang Qi's poetry defends the purity of contemporary Chinese, and its solid quality and clear character reflect the pursuit of idealism in poetry. Zhang Qi's main works include the flying tree (1994), 100 love songs (2001), collection of Zhang Qi's poems and Essays (2003), and collection of essays, death of an aesthete (2006). In addition, Zhang Qi has made great achievements in poetic criticism and translation. His comments on Beidao, Haizi and other poets are quite insightful, and his translations include Emerson, Borges, frost, Dickinson, Yeats, pesoa, herdlin and many other poets' works. appendix: Selected Poems of Zhang Qi included in the Chinese Poetry Library.

Selected poems by Zhang Qi

Zhang Qi is currently the content director of the new poetry website and the chief editor of the online poetry magazine new poetry. It advocates writing that is fresh and natural, facing life directly, and thinks that poets should be observers, thinkers and actors of social reality. Now I live in Beijing. I want to say my anxiety and desire when others are used to calculation and judgment bird song in the early morning natural aesthetics cloud field, cloud plateau sometimes, when I feel tired of poetry for a little poet in 2006 China in distant years to future readers

The pain of spring

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------I want to talk about my anxiety I want to talk about my physical anxiety, I want to talk about the restlessness of the city day and night, I want to talk about those people who are waiting and yearning, but don't know what they are pursuing. I want to talk about the pain in my heart, I want to talk about the most shameful secret of this country, I want to talk about those people who are being bullied and abandoned, but they are dissuading themselves from keeping silent. I want to say the anger of my eyes, I want to say the blind retina of this nation, I want to say that I am like a balloon, a piece of iron, can't explode in expansion, can't cool in heat. I want to say the silence of my mouth, I want to say the weakness of the world, I want to say to who: "get out of here, damn thing!" everyone's ears hear it again in silence. 2002 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Craving

I crave a room that I can enter. I long for the tiniest crack in your windowpane. I long for a hand that can only hold my own. I long for a sky unfolding in the clouds. A butterfly in my eye. I long for a kind of water to burn with me and a kind of fire to flow with me. I long for a size, from the back of the mirror I can touch it. I long for a name that makes my pen and paper its servants. I long for a coordinate system where my hand can clearly point out where I am not. I long for an accidental injury that makes me feel real pain. I long for a long kiss like lightning. I long for someone as much as I do, and I can never refuse her request to die or live with me. 1994 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"When others are used to calculation and judgment"

When others are used to calculating and judging size, number, left and right, high and low, interest rate, return, focus on form and skill, words and decoration, taste and style, genre and system, throw out a round dice to play against the unpredictable possibility, or use a screwdriver to dismantle the great machine one by one, to count its every screw and glittering hair Metal fragments of light; but I close my eyes and force my will to forget myself, and blur the boundaries of those things with the halo of ink, like touching my chest, I listen to the beating of another heart - "you and I are together, never separated" -- and carefully spread and glue those drawings that have been cut and crumpled, until I In front of my eyes, there is another complete and beautiful starry sky (even the other half under the horizon is not lacking). 2004 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Birdsong in the morning

In my childhood in the countryside, whenever I wake up quietly in the sound of my mother's bellows, I always hear the clear birdsong coming from the locust trees near the pond in the south of the courtyard. in the city of a foreign land, whenever the sprinkler passes through the street with few pedestrians, through the curtains, I can always hear the familiar birdsong from a branch in the depth of my dream. how many years have passed, this bird song has been with me, whether I am intoxicated with ecstasy, or lonely, the birds in the tree are always singing, and their songs are always as clear as the spring at dawn. I know it's not a bird that sings to me, the melody of the bird's song is not exactly the same, just as I become old, tired and mediocre day by day, I also learn to forget the things I remember. I just pray in the bottom of my heart, these wonderful songs can always follow me, when the light of life drives the night of death away again and again, I will gladly accept the gentle greetings of these angels. 2006 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natural aesthetics

In the Silent Woods, I was indifferent to the shrieks of birds and the flirtation of a pair of butterflies. Flowers show their tender skin, but the fingers of the wind do not intend to touch them. Bees have the gift of geometricians, and they like to show off their graceful dancing. in the mind of a little fish, of course, a pond can hold countless extragalactic galaxies. Hordes of wolves are on the move - ah, how perfect is this country of autocracy and dictatorship! The tiger gently licks and sucks the blood on the neck of the antelope, and the gorgeous gold on its back burns my retina. love, thought, architecture, killing, everything is beautiful, everything goes to its place here. So, on the broader horizon, I began to look for the meaning of standing "person". 2006 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cloud field, cloud Plateau

Cloud fields, cloud plateaus, cloud mountains and rivers, cloud houses and trees, looking out from the porthole near the wing, how I long to see a cloud sparrow flying by suddenly. There is nothing here that the exile of Florence imagined: the cross of the cloud, the wreath of the cloud, the steps of the cloud, and the pure and beautiful rose of the cloud. I guess they may be higher, look up, there are no clouds, only a piece of brilliant blue and light. My reason told me that it should be the habitat of the sun, the moon and the stars. Is the world real or illusory

Chinese PinYin : Zhang Qi