search advanced search Wuchang Street minor 1 Wuchang Street minor Lin Qingxuan sometimes goes to Wuchang Street unconsciously to buy books on Chongqing South Road. Recently, I found that Wuchang Street is very different, especially at the intersection of Wuchang Street and Yuanling Street. Now it is so busy that it is difficult to walk. It's a great test of endurance to cross Yuanling market on holidays, even in severe winter, people will sweat profusely because of transpiration. In such a busy area, I always feel that there is something missing, so I can't think clearly for a while. Once it rained and took the children through Wuchang Street, and there happened to be a vendor selling the children's hats. I suddenly woke up when I paid for a hat. Isn't this a bookstall in Zhou Mengdie? How can I sell children's clothes, shoes and socks? At this time, I realized that it was the poet Zhou Mengdie who was lacking in Wuchang Street. There is nothing wrong with one less person and one more person in the long Wuchang street, but Zhou Mengdie is different from the whole Wuchang street without taste and style. I remember when Zhou Mengdie set up a stall in Wuchang Street in the old days, sometimes he stopped by to buy two books, chatted with Duke Zhou, and sometimes he did nothing but watch a shaved poet wrap himself up in a gray cloth robe and cross his legs to read scriptures. He always felt that there was a halo dancing around the poet's head and the bookstall. It's best if the sun shines obliquely in the morning, and the sunny color reflects the silhouette. The thin back background of a poet is a colorful spine, which is almost a picture with music. At that time, we were still young and had a long way to learn, but when we walked across Wuchang Street, the so-called literature became a kind of colored glass that led us away. Wuchang Street was very, very busy more than ten years ago, but I always felt that the place where Zhou Mengdie sat, Fiona Fang, was very, very quiet. All the human voice waves seemed to be filtered and became clear and light when passing through his bookstall. I often wonder how to describe that feeling. Although it is earthly, Zhou Mengdie sits there in the posture of sitting on a high mountain. Although it is a road where thousands of ants are running, his concentration is like meditation in a meditation room. Sometimes I think he is cast by moonlight, soft and cold in the sun. The first time I met the poet was the year when I graduated from high school and went to Taipei. At that time, Zhou Mengdie and the star coffee shop were both literary signs, and many famous writers often gathered in the stars. The lights of the stars are a little dark, and the wooden floor is knocking when walking. If there is anything attractive about ordinary coffee shops like that, it is literature. Because whenever literature goes to the stars, it is warm. Occasionally, the Duke of Zhou will come from his roadside stall to the stars to talk about Zen and poetry. His stall never cleans up and walks away. If a friend who first met him is worried that his book will be stolen, he will suddenly grin and say that stealing books is elegant, so why bother? Zhou Mengdie loves desserts. Usually, you have to add five or six spoonfuls of sugar to drink coffee, and so does coke. I really don't know why. A friend said, "Eating very sweet is also a practice." In my childhood, I remembered Zhou Mengdie as a distant mountain hidden in the mist, and he was silent most of the time. Sometimes I go to talk to him with a group of friends, but when I think about it at home, I realize that he said less than three words that day, and he was so deeply silent. Such a deep silence made Zhou Mengdie's life so fascinating that he even forgot his original name. It was only during the conversation that I gradually learned that he had been a librarian, married, had children, taught books and served in the army. And his latest occupation is well known as a ferryman in a small bookstall on Wuchang Street. Zhou Mengdie and I are not predestined friends. That's because of his silence. I'm not a talkative person. When I got married, he still gave me two books in his gray cloth gown. One was a collection of poems he had personally proofread, the other was Qian Zhongshu's prose "Written on the Edge of Life" and the other was a poem "Gloves and Love" written across his shoulder. Judging from his meticulous handwriting, he is meticulous and attentive even to ordinary younger generations. His handwriting and his people are quiet, undulatory and even more neat than printed ones. He writes like he eats. He eats very slowly. Once a friend couldn't help asking him, "Why is eating so slowly?" His answer was, "If you don't do this, you won't be able to appreciate the different taste of one rice from another." -This remark comes from other poets, but it is natural and moving for Zhou Mengdie. When Zhou Mengdie opened the bookstall, he was very poor and lived a light life that was almost unimaginable. In fact, he can live a better life, but he said that he always closes the stalls at 7: to 8: , and he often stops selling them when he has something to do. When he meets young people who are interested in learning, he can't bear to make money and would rather send books. The main reason why he is poor is that all the books he sells are selected by his own eyes and he will never sell some messy things. This attitude makes people walk into his bookstall like a writer's room. The sales are very limited, so naturally there is no profit. -Is a person with style setting up a book stand or showing his style? In 1981, Zhou Mengdie was hospitalized for gastrointestinal discomfort, and the book stall in Wuchang Street officially ended and the tone of Wuchang Street died. When he went to the hospital for surgery, he was still silent and hardly disturbed. If he was not particularly careful, I am afraid that he would not find a bookstall missing when crossing Wuchang Street. For many people, sometimes it doesn't matter whether there is moonlight or no moonlight in the sky. The Duke of Zhou used to write poems at a slower rate than eating because of his poor income from selling books. In all, he has only published two poems in his life, Lonely Garden and Huanqingcao. Later, a part of Lonely Garden was selected and merged with Huanqingcao, and only one volume was published according to his standards, although his poetic style was unique because of his lofty and profound influence. After he got sick, his life was in trouble. Some friends donated money to him together, totaling about 11, yuan. After he got well, he lived on the interest of 2, yuan loaned to his friends. Now the poorest students spend more than 2, yuan a month, and Zhou Gong's life is even lower than this standard. You can imagine what kind of life he leads. Unfortunately, the friend who borrowed money from him failed in business and dumped all his only 11 thousand yuan. Now he doesn't even have two thousand yuan a month. Of course, friends feel sorry for him. Only Duke Zhou smiled cross-legged. He shrugged himself off to such a state. If a giant tree has lost its gains and losses like some dead leaves falling around, what harm will it do to the tree? Since Zhou Mengdie retired in Wuchang Street, he has devoted himself to Buddhist scriptures with great care. In the past two years, he sometimes told young people that he has been reading Buddhist scriptures for decades. Many of his early poems are rice grains from the scriptures. It is reasonable for him to write poems so slowly and so hard. People who read Buddhist scriptures carefully must be cautious and afraid of Zhou. However, in recent years, the world he has explored has become wider, and a friend sent a picture of him saying, "All laws have no place to go, no place to live, such as spinning a steam wheel. Although there are few people who hate this idea, the number of warriors in the world who have thorns is constant." Do you know what can confuse him with his recent mood? Remember he said that the fortune teller calculated that he would live to 6 years old. He is 68 years old this year. How can he be uncertain? Last week, my friend invited us to listen to Duke Zhou's "statement" and remembered that we had not seen each other for three years. That day can't be regarded as saying that Zhou Mengdie himself explained a poem published in 1976, "Good Snowflakes Don't Fall Elsewhere", explaining where each sentence came from in the Scriptures or explaining which meaning of the Scriptures each sentence had, which showed the poet's painstaking efforts. There are thirty-three lines in that poem, but it has been talked for five hours. Every line is almost a book. But in fact, I didn't go to listen to the Dharma. I just went to see the poet. Seeing the poet is equivalent to seeing Wuchang Street. Thinking of Wuchang Street is equivalent to returning to the star cafe and returning to the star. It is a time when I was a teenager. It was a real life. When I saw that the Duke of Zhou was still the Duke of Zhou, I felt comforted as before. Several friends in the room were also friends of my childhood, and now more than ten years have passed in a hurry. When I heard Zhou Mengdie read out these two poems with a strong accent, they were born in cold, nurtured in cold, strong in cold and cold in cold mountains. How high the moon is, how deep the clouds are, and how deep the sunset is. There is only one inch of golden arm on your arm to support you. You have the best foot to guide your gaunt pedestrians under your feet. Let's close the bowl and bowl and recognize your footprints outside the wind. It's really deeply touching that the world is not like this. Is it true that the higher the moon climbs? The brighter the light, the heavier the clouds, and the deeper the sorrow, and the huge sunset on that day is only a short inch. What are we still asking for? Are we still asking for a book stall in Zhou Mengdie when we return to Wuchang Street one day? Although great poets set up stalls to sell books in this world, I'm afraid it's rare. When I bid farewell to the poets, I asked my friends that they can be regarded as national veterans, and now they can receive a retirement pension of 5 to 6 yuan a month. He lives on that 5-6 yuan, and sometimes he has some contributions, but the contributions don't exceed 5-6 yuan a month. It's sad to hear. What has our society given such a good poet? Walking in the streets of Zhongxiao East Road in the middle of the night, the drizzle in Taipei is already very empty. The rain is still so cold and it hasn't stopped for a while. I feel that this cold smells a little northland. I can't help but think of the poet's poems, "It's extremely cold when it gets here", "We all came here to get cold" and "You can only recognize the origin of this snow in the dark and use your other eyes more clearly. I stood in the air-cooled street and looked up at the dark sky before I really knew in despair that the minor of Wuchang Street had been sung. The minor of Wuchang street has been sung, and the years have gone further and further. The bookstall is gone, the stars are dim, and the lights have been dim for a long time.