Chapter 22 022 "Contemporary" Poetry Essay
Lu Yao is gone.
Carrying an old travel bag and a cigarette in his hand, he embarked on the long-distance bus to Qinbei. He would lie dormant in that small city deep in the Loess Plateau until he broke out again, which would shock the whole world. Literary world.
Fang Minghua still lives a leisurely life.
But one thing that bothered him was that he had finished the box of high-grade Longjing tea that Zhao Hongjun gave him!
Originally, one person couldn't drink it so fast, but he gave some to Lu Yao, and Zhang Baofu sometimes drank from him secretly.
Ask Zhao Hongjun again?
Sorry about that.
Now I have no choice but to drink labor protection tea, but the more I drink it, the worse the taste becomes.
As expected, it is easy to go from frugality to luxury, but difficult to go from luxury to frugality.
At noon that day, the people looking at the unit were all off work and there were few people around. He couldn't help but ride his bicycle and quickly went to the counter selling high-end tea in Minsheng Department Store and asked. Tea does not require any tickets, and the price of high-end Longjing is 30 yuan for half a catty. !
Holy shit!
I can’t buy half a catty of tea with one month’s salary!
With the royalties for the novel, I bought a bicycle and a set of clothes for my sister. I also bought a lot of things myself, and even treating guests to dinner cost me about the same amount.
After counting the money in the wallet together with the cents, it was only 23 yuan and 65 cents.
"Comrade, we can sell it for two taels." Seeing that he really wanted it, the salesperson said.
"Then two taels!" Fang Minghua couldn't bear it anymore.
Finally, I packed the two taels of Longjing in an envelope and rushed back to the unit's guard room, where I made myself a cup of steaming tea first.
Hmm.
The taste is similar to the one sent by Zhao Hongjun.
After taking a cup, Fang Minghua felt relaxed and happy.
Sitting on a chair and squinting at the spring flowers blooming in the corner, Fang Minghua was thinking about a question.
I have to write something to make money.
What to write? The fastest is poetry.
But all I can remember are some short poems, no more than ten sentences, and the manuscript fee of one yuan per line can't make much money.
Who stipulated this?
No wonder Gu Daxia was forced to break a large paragraph of text into sentence by sentence in order to earn more royalties.
But poetry can’t help
You can’t add water.
Write a novel?
I haven’t thought of any good topics yet.
Fang Minghua was flipping through a "Contemporary" magazine aimlessly, and was suddenly attracted by one of the poetry and essay contests. The title was: "The Call of the New Era—Poetry and Essay Contest."
The essay competition adopts two methods: primary selection and double selection. First, the editorial department of "Contemporary" will conduct a preliminary selection of all entries. After the author's name is concealed, they will be numbered one by one and published in the poetry column of "Contemporary" .
Readers will cut out the special voting page in the supplement and send it back to the editorial department of "Contemporary" after voting. The judges' score and the reader's vote will each account for 50% to determine the first prize and the second prize. Two, three third prizes, and several excellence prizes.
The prizes are also quite generous, the first prize is 500 yuan, the second prize is 300 yuan, the third prize is 200 yuan, the excellence prize is 100 yuan...
Each of the judges is even more impressive: Ai Qing, Feng Zhi, Bian Zhilin... these are all big names active in today's poetry world, while Bei Dao, Gu Cheng, Shu Ting, etc. who were highly praised by the literary youth can only be regarded as juniors now.
Wow.
Fang Minghua is a little tempted.
Let’s not talk about the first prize. If you can win the excellence award, it is also 100 yuan, which is your five months’ salary.
At least you can spend 30 yuan to buy half a catty of tea, which is enough for you to drink for a while!
When I looked at the deadline for submissions again, I saw that there were still four days left, so I had to start writing quickly.
What to write?
The essay did not emphasize the length of the poem, so the short poems will take advantage
Fang Minghua took out the letter paper and looked at the willow trees on the street outside showing new buds, and the spring flowers were blooming enthusiastically, and thought for a while , write a few lines on the manuscript paper.
"Premonition"
You haven't arrived yet
In early spring, an isolated house in the Yamano family
Heared the stars in the night sky
A sudden and intensive heartbeat.
Collapse the plug Put it in the envelope, write the address, then ride to the post office not far away and put the eight-cent stamp in it and mail it out, then ride back slowly.
Sitting in front of the table, holding an enamel vat and drinking slowly, he suddenly thought, Shu Ting Beidao and the others, who are currently in the limelight in the poetry world, should also participate, right?
It will be lively.
The beach on Gulangyu Island.
The sea breeze blows gently, the water is clear and the sand is white.
A woman wearing glasses was walking barefoot on the beach, with the sea breeze blowing her hair. She looked at the hard-working woman working in the distance and pondered a poem. Wildfires in the distance, far away
In your amber eyes
With the silver ornaments of ancient tribes
Restraining the soft waist
Although happiness is unpredictable, it is a girl’s dream
"The name of the poem should be "Hui'an Women"," she thought for a while and said to herself.
Her name is Shu Ting.
Yanjing, editorial office of Yanjing's "China Report".
A thin man in his early thirties wearing glasses is sitting at his desk carefully proofreading manuscripts with a serious expression.
The door was pushed open, and a fat man walked in. He held a magazine in his hand and said with a smile: "Old Zhao, here comes your strength. "Contemporary" magazine is holding a poetry event. The essay contest, sign up now!" After saying that, he put the magazine on his desk.
The man with glasses raised his head, picked up the magazine, opened it, looked at it, and said lightly: "Thank you."
The fat man knew that he had this temper, so he was not annoyed and continued: "Old Zhao, if Remember to treat me when you win." After saying that, he turned and left.
The man with glasses looked at the call for essays carefully again, thought about it, took out a brand new manuscript paper, and started writing seriously:
When the night breaks in the puddle
< br>Shaking a new leaf
Like rocking my own child to sleep.
Even tomorrow morning
The muzzle of the gun and the bloody sun
Let me hand over my youth, freedom and pen
I will never hand over this night
I will never hand you over
"Rainy Night" Beidao.
Shencheng, Wuyi Road.
A thin young man wearing a Chinese tunic suit was standing on the side of the road, looking at the door of a residence across the road.
The door opened and a woman came out.
He rushed over and called: "Xie Ye, this is a new poem I wrote for you."
"Gu Cheng, my mother is at home, and she doesn't let me have contact with you."
< br>"I don't care! I came to Shencheng from Yanjing just for you, to read poems to you!" Gu Cheng seemed very willful and took out the poem manuscript and read it aloud.
"I am still a willful child"
I want to paint windows all over the ground,
Let all eyes accustomed to darkness
be accustomed to light.
I hope
to draw on my beloved white paper
to draw clumsy freedom
Draw an eye that will never
cry
The girl looked at the man reading the poem in front of her and was immediately fascinated.
The entire poetry world was stirred up by the "Contemporary" essay solicitation. After Fang Minghua sent the poem manuscript, he paid no attention to it.
I go to work and get off work one day, and on weekends I ride a bicycle with my sister to take a correspondence class at Western University.
Time flies so fast, and it’s already mid-March in the blink of an eye. The spring scenery is bright in Anxi, and the birds are singing and the flowers are fragrant.
The tulips in Xingqinggong Park have "awakened" to sprout.
The color of the nandina on the ruins of Daming Palace is brilliant.
With such beautiful scenery, Fang Minghua took advantage of his vacation to ride his bicycle around.
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(End of this chapter)