What fortune-telling shops are there in Zhuzhou?

Poet Liang Shiqiu

Someone said, "A poet seems sacred in history, but the poet next door is a joke." That's not bad. Look at the portraits of ancient poets. They are all taking off their coats, Dai Bo. They seem to be out of touch. The characters in Wangchuan Villa are all Confucian Guan Yu, and their attitudes are bleak. We only think that they were charming in those days, and that he fell into jealousy as soon as he was bitter. We visited the thatched cottage of the Ministry of Industry at the edge of Huanhuaxi, and remembered the appearance of Du Lao's classic Yi Yi wine in the wool, singing surging waves and uncontrollable coquettish, and the scene that he was so angry with the cow-roasted white wine in Leiyang was unsightly. For the dead, as usual, we hide evil and promote good, not to mention the ancient poets, whose words are inherited and seem malicious, even if they are a little odd, they should be beautified for reference. Wang Moqiao fell into the vinegar jar. That's his own vinegar jar, not ours. Du Gongbu was in trouble during the trip, but he was tired of Leiyang County magistrate and didn't ask my family. Ordinary people read poetry, just like watching a play, just enjoy it at the front desk, without running to the back of the toilet to inquire about the heroine's life. Even if I hear a lot of anecdotes, I just tell stories for the pear garden in cooperation.

It would be different if a poet lived next door. Although almost every household has written "Poetry Will Live Forever", not many people know about poetry. If I am a man of fame and fortune, and there lives a poet next door, his masterpiece will never be shown to me, and I will feel worthless after reading it. He'll give me a dirty look, and I'm sure he won't like it. The poet doesn't often go to the barber shop. His hair looks like a flying canopy, poodle and artist. If he wears Hanfu, he must look like a blind fortune teller with muddy feet. If he is wearing a suit, he must be as dusty as a blanket seller in Belarus. He is idle, daydreaming, moaning without illness, sometimes living in seclusion, refusing guests behind closed doors, sometimes wandering all the year round, sometimes laughing, sometimes overeating, sometimes poor, and sometimes spending money like water. If she is a poetess, she can have a big cigar in her mouth; If it is a man, he worships all kinds of women. He likes cigarettes, wine, children, flowers and small animals-he can make a poem when he sees a mouse and touches a louse on his chest. His living habits are different from others in many ways. A man told me that he once lived next door to a poet. Once on a long trip together, the poet left his toothbrush at home for his wife to use. He asked, "Do you share one?" The poet was shocked and said, "Do you each use one?"

The poet lives next door and is a monster. Walking in the street is particularly easy to cause misunderstanding. Browning has a poem "Contemporary People's Views on Poets", which describes a Spanish poet who likes to observe social life so much that he is mistaken for a spy. How ironic! Dressed in shabby black clothes, he knocked on the ground with a crutch, followed by a bald and blind old dog, watching the shoemaker repair shoes, watching people cut lemon slices into drinks, watching the brazier bake coffee, and watching the book stand with half an eye. Whoever mistreats livestock and curses women can't escape his attention-so he is probably a spy and reported his observations to the king. Look at his appearance, he is a little old, and those two eyebrows, thanks to his eyes living below! The nose is shaped and colored like an eagle's claw. A was killed, a B disappeared and a C got a mistress-isn't it all his fault? He worked so hard that he didn't know how much money he had taken. Everyone said that he went home for dinner with bright lights, four famous paintings hanging on the wall, and twenty naked women gave him a plate to change. In fact, the poor man leads a different life. He lives in the third house near the bridge, which is a newly painted house. People all over the street can see him crossing his legs, putting his feet on the dog's back, playing cards with his maid, eating cheesecake and fruit and going to bed at ten o'clock. When he died, he was still wearing that shabby coat, stepping on knee-deep mud and eating bread shells, as dirty as Ichijo Kaoru fish!

The Spanish poet was lucky to be considered a spy. In another country, such a suspicious poet may become the target of a spy.

A juggler always says a few spells to confuse him and increase his mystery. A poet can't help being a quack. He is either an immortal, a genius, or a dream, and there is always a little bit of yin and yang. Foreign poets are more powerful. When they write poems, they can directly ask God for help, just like being possessed by a fairy.

To see a world in a grain of sand,

To see a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand.

Put eternity in an instant.

If you have no wisdom, can you say such nonsense? Don't you understand? You are a fool! If you say you know, you can be in an elegant forest. God knows if you understand.

Probably everyone has had the experience of being a poet. In the season of "resentment against the yellow, resentment against butterflies in pairs", it is also frightening to see flowers and thank them, and it is also sad to listen to cats and meows, and poetry will come, as natural as the branches are slack. However, after China's entry into WTO, it has gradually become a "boiled egg". Prose comes in through the door and poetry goes out through the window. "Lips only sing when they can't kiss." When a person reaches a certain age, he still has a childlike innocence. After the storm, he can still be poetic. Blessed is he, he is a poet.

Poetry cannot be sold. A new poem, if it has a few broken hairs, can be published, but the cost is still light. I'm afraid it's like pearls in an oyster. This is a disease. How long does it take to be tempered and cultivated to succeed? Where can I find my employer? Poetry can neither decorate the living room of the rich nor entertain the readers. The rich want rare calligraphy and painting, while the masses want novels, plays and poems, which are short and useless. Poetry is such a useless thing, so it is a joke that a poet lives next door to poetry. Whether the future will become sacred in history is also very slim.