西关少年行

文/崔浩新
 
西关少年解书剑，
鲁连辞亲烟尘曛。
意气突崛向谁是，
苍茫却忆白将军。
陆校观兵传语知，
征蓬朔鼙客行迷。
奈何旌旆转胡天，
忍看铁衣近郊畿。
西域回回入西域，
鸿雁雍雍悲绝漠。
策马都护作哥舒，
一骑飘飖下疏勒。
己丑易帜占星变，
赤子多情应天灾。
何事诤语封急右，
百花杀尽黄花开。
叹君强作蝉声唱，
风中那堪白头吟。
讵知天道真萧索，
东望中原暮霭生。
振翮冲天归大化，
世间信无丁少斋。
 
后记：一个抵抗遗忘的人
 
他是从家族记忆中消失不见的人，人们缄封了他的一切。在某些机缘下，漏出只言片语，也是感慨万端。我第一次听说他的存在，是那部轰动一时的《血战台儿庄》上映后，其时，正值两岸关系解冻，影片一洗国民党军队旧日的灰暗荧幕形象，真实还原了那些血性男儿在抗战中的忘我牺牲。这部突破禁忌的鸿篇巨制在当年也算风靡一时，我先是在军区礼堂观看了彩色大荧幕的影片，后来，又在奶奶家的那台十四寸黑白电视上看到了它的播放，爷爷看后，情难自已，不禁讲说到我的大舅爷爷也是一位抗日军人！那时，我很疑惑，在我的印象里，我只有一位频相往来的“二舅爷爷”，这破土而出的“大舅爷爷”是何人也？大人们心有余悸，欲言又止，他们如何向一个七岁的顽童解释清楚那些曲折纠葛、反复无常的历史。
又过了许多年，我才从家人们挤牙膏式的断续讲述中，理清了历史的脉络。这位出走的大舅爷爷，生卒年不详，他乃是我祖母的长兄，名叫丁少斋，毕业于济南一中，是抗日救亡运动中投笔从戎的那批回族青年中的一员。他南下后，由于关山迢递、烽火连天，家人对他在抗日战争中的军旅生涯所知甚少，只笃定地知道他成为了一名黄埔军校生，从东海之滨远游至帕米尔之巅，戍守在天尽头的喀什噶尔，1949年新旧更替之际，升任骑兵团团长。
从南下抗日，到西去戍边，这位丁少斋的人生不可谓不传奇，他是家族百年来不世出的人物，是从城市边缘的阡陌巷道间、从古老的沉郁里升起的星盏，但与无边无际的黑暗相比，他虽璀璨，然又微弱，终将沉落到吞噬星空万物的虚无中去，剩下的光阴又将按照世界古老的惯性运行。
爷爷很崇拜他的这位从未谋面的大舅哥，无论风云如何变幻，家中一直秘藏着丁少斋自新疆寄给内弟的书信、照片，其中既有他和妻子张秀英的合影，还有一张我未及见到的戎装照，那张照片在文革中被悄悄地焚毁了，只因那身笔挺的戎装是标准的国民党将校呢制成的。家人说不清丁少斋是何时入疆的，也说不清他所属部队的具体番号，但从邮路畅通这点推测，似应是在1946年后发生的事，这也是国民党第42军骑9旅骑兵团派驻喀什的时间。如果说丁少斋入疆的时间更早，也不会超过1944年，在此之前，新疆是盛世才的天下，国民政府在玉门关那一头没有一兵一卒。

 
自进疆后，丁少斋开始与家乡鱼书频传，他在西域成家立业，娶妻生女，诸如此类事项都曾向远在济南西关的双亲大人禀报，书信中还提及在当地与金子常阿訇的交往，并直言有事可找他帮忙。金阿訇是济南西关传承上百年的“金家店”清真道堂的传人，彼时抗战胜利，其正在迪化清真南大寺教长任上，他乡逢旧雨，二人应有一番交集，也为后事留下一段难解的公案。
有待揭开的公案又岂止一桩。十多年前，电视剧《潜伏》热播时，家人还说起丁少斋的妻子张秀英就是地下党。而且不止于此，祖父生前就曾多次与我说起过，丁少斋的岳父解放前是迪化地下党的负责人。这么复杂的背景一下子让这位国民党军官的身份与立场变得扑朔迷离起来，多少年后，回望历史深处的那个人，也让人感叹，那真是一个谜一般的存在！造物在一个他所钟爱者的身上倾注了多少笔墨，那远非是对凡夫俗子的潦草勾勒，大多数人无声无息地活着，无声无息地死去，在无远弗届的虚无之力面前，他们静默屈从，不肯抵抗分毫，死去不久，就自这重归喧嚣的人间一一湮灭。 

 

1949年是一个大关口，对无数人如此，对丁少斋亦如此，何去何从是摆在每个人面前的问题。他显然在身边人的影响下做出过抉择，否则，也不会在部队起义后从营长一职提升为副团长，但命运之海再次展现了它波诡云谲的一面，他手下的一个连长率兵(据回忆是“二连”)哗变，他也因此被关押，虽然最终证实他与叛乱无关，但经此波折，这个人似乎已窥见前路的凶险，向上级提出转业地方。
人总在试图逃离自己的命运，试图夺路而逃，但又在与命运的交手中屡战屡败，这已是抗争者的极限。丁少斋转业到了地方，据说是成为了乌鲁木齐新华书店的一名负责人。奶奶生前常说，大舅爷爷是家里字写得最好的人，解放前的家书里都是一纸潇洒的行楷。一个解放前的高中毕业生，又经过了黄埔军校的锤炼，在那个普遍文盲的年代，他身上的知识分子的烙印必定醒目，无论是在国民党还是共产党的营垒里。
上世纪五十年代中期(大约是在1955年)，丁少斋曾有一次归来的机会，家人接到电报，前往盛夏的火车站，在车厢门口见到的却似乎不是丁少斋，来人据说是一位路经此地的阿訇，受委托捎来一些无外乎葡萄干之类的特产。火车鸣笛离去，消失在一片灰黑的煤烟里。随后到来的时代很快掀起了大规模的反右运动，丁少斋那样的人，那样一个沉迷于种种情怀的人，即使身处文明的荒漠之中，也力图有所为有所不为，他不懂得和光同尘，用那个时代的语言描述，就是脱离了群众，与其他三百万不觉悟的知识精英一起，再次罹难。更何况，作为国民党老兵，他还有一顶人手一份的“历史反革命”的帽子。
之后的历史就是音信两绝，但双亲尚在，还在苦苦追问。1961年前后，金子常阿訇从狱中归来，爷爷的岳父、我的老姥爷前往探望，并询及儿子的下落，得到一个意外的答复：并不认识丁少斋。每当爷爷言及此，都耿耿于怀，但他并不知道1958年前后西北的变乱和金阿訇的无妄之灾。后来，作为一个进过监狱的政治犯，每当我浮想往事，都不免惨然一笑，我也曾被问及一个个人名，不认识的回答是一个受难者为这个即将毁灭的世界唯一能做的挽救尝试了。
他因某种意识形态的影响而离家出走，二十年后，又在某种意识形态里下落不明。我不想套用宣传的标准，说自己的大舅爷爷是个英雄，但他确实是一个悲剧，一个淡漠的几乎被遗忘的悲剧。据说丁少斋的父亲并不赞成自己儿子的冲动，在那个老于世故的人看来，那只是年少轻狂。谁没年轻过，想当年这个从相片上看到的身穿长袍马褂的中年绅士也应是上海滩上的一号人物。

 

我很小的时候，爷爷就指着墙上的相片，一脸自豪地将他岳父的故事和名字告诉了我，那个人叫丁鸿昌，大字不识，却做到了洋行买办的位置，衣锦还乡后，在济南杆石桥外置下了成片的土地与房产，晚年就“吃瓦片”。自九一八事变后，丁鸿昌看到的国内局面是，几乎所有的头面人物都在保存实力，选择做不抵抗将军，当日军终于抵达黄河北岸时，往日不可一世的省军隔河放了几炮，在济南城里烧了几把火，搞了个“焦土抗战”，就溜之大吉了。在这样的情况下，这些还未成年的孩子在他眼中不过是瞎胡闹，当炮灰。可丁鸿昌并无法阻拦，当时遍及全国的回族社区里面涌动的抗日救亡浪潮，与各地声名狼藉的政府当局无关，而是另有势力，这里就不得不提及白崇禧将军，没有他的号召与协助，哪里有那么多的回族文化青年南下投考黄埔军校？当我因反对“国有难，回必乱”的论调而被捕入狱时，心中奔腾着一万只草泥马。
金阿訇和老姥爷在1961年前后脚都走了，风暴掀起的滔天巨浪一浪高过一浪，世上只剩下一些牵线木偶和孤魂野鬼罢了，已无人再去打听丁少斋，直到上世纪八十年代初的一天，新疆革命军事法庭派人来济，找到我奶奶，宣布撤销强加于丁少斋同志身上的不实之词，称这位消失已久的人是“起义功臣、爱国将领”。奶奶怔而无语，此时，这些不速之客突然又开口问到，丁少斋可曾回到济南？这句话一下子激怒了奶奶，“我们还向你们要人呢，你们怎么问起我们来了？！”这次仓促而怪异的见面不欢而散。
2007年新疆一份杂志组织作家笔会，会后我只身前往南疆寻找丁少斋的足迹，很遗憾，不仅找不到个人的一星半点记忆，连宏大的历史都变得闪烁其词。我发着烧，折返乌鲁木齐。然而，我并没有放弃寻找丁少斋的努力，曾做多方打听，但人们听完我的故事，往往笑而不语。这样的故事于他们司空见惯，有些朋友还是故事的主人公，他们的父辈就曾是劳改犯、国民党军官，既有马家军又有中央军，林林总总，五花八门。当人们无能于大难，对自身命运的嘲弄就成为那些被凌辱者、被压迫者以及奴隶们的常见症候，像我这样曾经书生气十足的人，面对生命的黑色废墟，也多了一些黑色幽默的成分，也许，这是投向人对人的残忍与不公的唯一的诅咒。
我曾在二道桥附近的南大寺礼主麻，置身于人山人海的沉默又嘈杂的信徒中，寻找不到一丝想象中的“血脖子教”的风采，我略感失望，但还是提起精神，向人们打听金子常和丁少斋，当听说我来自金子常的故乡，人们待我如上宾，执意请我回家“吃果子”。新疆的老回回依旧是回回，他们不知道多少历史，但血脉里奔腾着烈马。
多年后，我见到了金子常阿訇留在济南的一位女儿，耄耋老人精神矍铄，两眼放光，她年轻时是回民中学的老师，给我讲述了一些往事。抗战结束后，金阿訇入疆，接受祖产，并扩建了南大寺，这其中丁少斋是否起到了什么作用？已永远成为了一个谜。
近半个世纪了，丁少斋一直是我心中无法参透的念想，他在人心里时起时落，却不肯沉没。我以为这是神意，冥冥之中，那个得到护持的人在抵抗世间对他的遗忘，他始终像一道光照向人性深处的懦弱、背叛与不义。我曾想象1955年那个火车上的人也许就是隐姓埋名的丁少斋本尊，既然司法当局都已不知道他的去向，他应该是完成了自己的肖申克的救赎，愿这只沙漠里的火凤凰浴火重生。 

 

 **A Man Resisting Oblivion** 

 

 He is a man erased from family memory, his existence sealed away by silence. Only in rare moments do fragments of his story slip through, stirring waves of emotion. I first heard of him after the release of *The Battle of Taierzhuang*, a film that shook the nation. At the time, cross-strait relations were thawing, and the movie shattered the old, dim portrayal of Nationalist troops on screen, vividly restoring the blood-and-fire sacrifices of those fearless men during the War of Resistance Against Japan. This groundbreaking epic was a sensation in its day. I watched it first on the grand, colorful screen of the military district auditorium, and later on my grandmother’s 14-inch black-and-white TV. After the broadcast, my grandfather, overcome with emotion, revealed that my great-uncle was also an anti-Japanese soldier! I was puzzled. In my mind, there was only one “second uncle” we frequently visited. Who was this “great-uncle” emerging from the earth? The adults, hesitant and guarded, faltered in their words. How could they explain to a seven-year-old the tangled, turbulent history? Years passed before I pieced together the threads of his story from the reluctant, fragmented accounts of family members. This great-uncle, whose birth and death dates remain unknown, was my grandmother’s elder brother, named Ding Shaozhai. A graduate of Jinan No. 1 High School, he was among the Hui youth who abandoned their pens for rifles during the anti-Japanese salvation movement. After heading south, the vast distances and relentless warfare left his family with little knowledge of his military career. They only knew with certainty that he became a cadet at the Whampoa Military Academy, journeying from the shores of the East China Sea to the peaks of the Pamirs, stationed at the edge of the world in Kashgar. By 1949, as regimes changed, he had risen to the rank of cavalry regiment commander. From fighting the Japanese in the south to guarding the western frontier, Ding Shaozhai’s life was nothing short of legendary. He was a once-in-a-century figure in our family, a star rising from the narrow lanes of the city’s fringes, from the ancient, heavy silence. Yet, compared to the boundless darkness, his brilliance, though radiant, was faint, destined to sink into the void that swallows all stars. The remaining years would roll on, following the world’s ancient inertia. My grandfather revered this brother-in-law he had never met. No matter how the tides of history shifted, our family secretly preserved Ding Shaozhai’s letters and photographs sent from Xinjiang to his brother-in-law. Among them were pictures of him with his wife, Zhang Xiuying, and one military portrait I never saw, quietly burned during the Cultural Revolution because it depicted him in the crisp Nationalist officer’s uniform. The family could not say when he arrived in Xinjiang or the exact designation of his unit, but judging by the open postal routes, it likely happened after 1946, when the Nationalist 42nd Army’s 9th Cavalry Brigade was stationed in Kashgar. If he arrived earlier, it would not have been before 1944, as Xinjiang was under Sheng Shicai’s control before then, with no Nationalist troops beyond the Yumen Pass. After entering Xinjiang, Ding Shaozhai began exchanging frequent letters with his hometown. He settled in the west, married, and had a daughter, reporting such matters to his parents in Jinan’s West Gate. His letters also mentioned interactions with Imam Jin Zichang, a prominent figure from the century-old “Jin Family Shop” Islamic school in Jinan’s West Gate, who was then serving as head imam of Dihua’s South Grand Mosque. Meeting an old acquaintance in a foreign land, the two likely shared a meaningful connection, leaving behind a lingering mystery for later generations. The mysteries surrounding him are many. Over a decade ago, when the TV series *Lurk* was a hit, family members mentioned that Ding Shaozhai’s wife, Zhang Xiuying, was an underground Communist. More strikingly, my grandfather often told me that her father was a leader of the underground Communist Party in Dihua before liberation. This complex background casts a shadow of ambiguity over the identity and allegiance of this Nationalist officer. Looking back at that figure in the depths of history, one cannot help but marvel—he is an enigma! How much ink did fate lavish on this man it favored, far beyond the cursory sketches of ordinary lives? Most people live and die in silence, yielding to the boundless void without resistance, fading from this noisy world soon after their passing. 1949 was a turning point for countless lives, including Ding Shaozhai’s. What path to choose was a question everyone faced. Influenced by those around him, he made his decision; otherwise, he would not have risen from battalion commander to deputy regiment commander after his unit’s uprising. But the capricious sea of fate revealed its treacherous waves once more. A company commander under him (recalled as “Second Company”) led a mutiny, and Ding was imprisoned. Though later cleared of involvement, this ordeal seemed to reveal the perils ahead. He requested a transfer to civilian life. People always try to escape their fate, to break free, yet they are defeated time and again in their struggles. This is the limit of resistance. Ding Shaozhai transitioned to civilian work, reportedly becoming a manager at Urumqi’s Xinhua Bookstore. My grandmother often said he had the finest calligraphy in the family, his pre-liberation letters filled with elegant, flowing script. A high school graduate before liberation, tempered by the Whampoa Military Academy, his intellectual mark was unmistakable in an era of widespread illiteracy, whether in Nationalist or Communist ranks. In the mid-1950s (around 1955), there was a chance for his return. The family received a telegram and went to the sweltering summer train station, only to find that the man at the carriage door was not Ding Shaozhai. It was reportedly an imam passing through, entrusted with delivering gifts like raisins. The train whistled and vanished into a cloud of gray-black coal smoke. Soon after, the era unleashed the Anti-Rightist Campaign. A man like Ding Shaozhai, steeped in ideals, striving to act with principle even in a cultural wasteland, could not blend into the dust. In the language of that time, he was “detached from the masses.” Alongside three million other unyielding intellectuals, he suffered again. His status as a former Nationalist soldier, branded with the ubiquitous “historical counterrevolutionary” label, only deepened his plight. Thereafter, all contact was lost, though his parents still desperately sought answers. Around 1961, Imam Jin Zichang returned from prison. My great-grandfather, my grandmother’s father, visited him to inquire about his son, only to receive a shocking reply: Jin did not know Ding Shaozhai. Whenever my grandfather spoke of this, he remained bitter, unaware of the upheavals in the northwest around 1958 and Jin’s own unwarranted suffering. Later, as a political prisoner myself, I would smile wryly when recalling these events. When asked about certain names, replying “I don’t know” was a survivor’s final attempt to salvage a world on the brink of collapse. He left home under the sway of one ideology, only to vanish two decades later under another. I won’t claim my great-uncle was a hero, but he was undeniably a tragedy—a faint, almost forgotten tragedy. His father, it is said, disapproved of his impulsiveness, seeing it as youthful recklessness. Who hasn’t been young? The middle-aged gentleman in a long robe and jacket, seen in photographs, was once a prominent figure on Shanghai’s Bund. When I was young, my grandfather proudly pointed to the photo on the wall, sharing stories of his father-in-law, Ding Hongchang. Illiterate, yet rising to the rank of comprador in a foreign firm, he returned to Jinan wealthy, buying vast lands and properties near Ganshi Bridge, living off “tile rents” in his later years. After the 1931 Mukden Incident, Ding Hongchang saw the nation’s elites preserving their strength, choosing to be non-resistant generals. When the Japanese reached the Yellow River’s north bank, the once-mighty provincial army fired a few shots across the river, set fires in Jinan for a “scorched earth” strategy, and fled. In such times, these young men seemed to him mere rabble-rousers, destined to be cannon fodder. Yet he could not stop them. The wave of anti-Japanese salvation sweeping Hui communities nationwide was not driven by discredited local authorities but by another force—General Bai Chongxi. Without his call and support, would so many Hui intellectuals have rushed south to join the Whampoa Military Academy? When I was imprisoned for opposing the notion that “when the nation is in peril, the Hui cause chaos,” a million galloping curses roared in my heart. Both Imam Jin and my great-grandfather passed away around 1961, as the storm’s towering waves rose higher. The world was left with puppets and wandering ghosts; no one sought Ding Shaozhai anymore. Then, in the early 1980s, representatives from Xinjiang’s Revolutionary Military Tribunal came to Jinan, found my grandmother, and declared the false charges against Comrade Ding Shaozhai revoked, hailing him as an “uprising hero” and “patriotic general.” Stunned, my grandmother was speechless. Suddenly, these unexpected visitors asked if Ding had ever returned to Jinan. This question ignited her anger: “We’re the ones asking you for him! How dare you ask us?” The abrupt, strange meeting ended in discord. In 2007, I attended a writers’ conference organized by a Xinjiang magazine. Afterward, I traveled alone to southern Xinjiang, searching for traces of Ding Shaozhai. Regrettably, I found no personal remnants, and even grand history seemed evasive. Feverish, I returned to Urumqi. Yet I never stopped searching for him, inquiring in many places. People often listened to my story with a knowing smile. Such tales were commonplace to them; some friends were protagonists of similar stories, their parents having been labor camp prisoners or Nationalist officers—Ma’s army, Central Army, a motley mix. When powerless against great calamity, mocking one’s fate becomes a symptom of the humiliated, oppressed, and enslaved. For someone once full of scholarly idealism like me, facing life’s blackened ruins, a touch of dark humor emerged—perhaps the only curse against humanity’s cruelty and injustice. At Urumqi’s South Grand Mosque in Erdaoqiao, I joined the Friday prayer among a sea of silent yet noisy worshippers, finding no trace of the imagined “Blood-Neck Faith.” Disappointed but undeterred, I asked about Jin Zichang and Ding Shaozhai. Learning I came from Jin’s hometown, people treated me like an honored guest, insisting I “eat fruit” at their homes. Xinjiang’s old Hui remain Hui, unaware of much history but with wild horses galloping in their blood. Years later, I met one of Jin Zichang’s daughters in Jinan, an octogenarian with sharp eyes and vibrant spirit. A former teacher at the Hui Middle School, she shared stories of the past. After the war, Jin entered Xinjiang, took over ancestral property, and expanded the South Grand Mosque. Did Ding Shaozhai play a role? That remains an eternal mystery. For nearly half a century, Ding Shaozhai has lingered in my heart, an unresolved enigma, rising and falling but refusing to sink. I believe this is divine will. In the unseen, this protected soul resists the world’s forgetting, shining like a beam on the cowardice, betrayal, and injustice deep in human nature. I once imagined the man on that 1955 train was Ding Shaozhai himself, living incognito. If even the judicial authorities lost track of him, he must have completed his own Shawshank redemption. May this phoenix of the desert rise from the ashes.

West Buddha Valley

By Anran

Noon, a great archangel blowing a trumpet,
Tons of sunlight pour onto the concrete path at the foot of the mountain.
Not to mention,
Having to push through this throng of shoulder-to-shoulder departed souls,
To climb that divine mountain.
Where once echoed inviolable voices,
Then, rolled in soaring song.
Sixty years dead after the storm,
A lone pilgrim arrived on the fading path.
Bushes whispered, stretching out their arms,
Trying to embrace each other,
In the forgotten valley,
Within that hidden, winding ascent.
Emperor Qin Shi Huang, where is your Jade Casket now?
Why won't your divine raven come forth to greet us?
I am as doubtful as a grave robber with a malfunctioning compass.

They say those chiseled-away faces
Were highly realistic.
The Yuezhi people defied the sage's wish for formlessness,
And carved him into stone.
The Buddha then was like a melancholic Greek prince,
With curly hair, deep-set eyes,
And robes softly flowing.
Two hundred years later,
The Kushan dynasty's relatives in the East
Began carving Central Asian domes in the wind-swept vastness of Yungang,
Persistently,
In stone,
Summoning forth their own Bamiyan Buddha.

City lights sketch the contours of impermanence,
As the ancient twilight of Kaihuang's fourth year once again leans over this ruin.
Those slender figures,
Transcending artifice,
Stand by the cliff,
Meditating in self-liberation.
Like a cunning spirit,
Turning in an old dream,
Holding a flower, and smiling.



西佛峪

文/安然

正午是一位吹响号角的大天使，
成吨的阳光倾泻在山脚下的那条水泥小路上。
更不要说，
要挤在这群摩肩接踵的亡灵中间，
攀登那座神山。
那里曾回荡着不可亵渎的声音，
然后，在嘹亮的歌声里翻滚。
死在暴风雨后六十年，
即将消失的野径迎来一个人的朝圣路。
灌木丛交头接耳，伸出手臂，
彼此试图拥抱，
在遗忘的山谷
那条蜿蜒向上的隐秘中。
始皇帝，您的玉函今何在？
迎接你的神乌，为什么不出来迎接我们？
我像罗盘失灵的摸金校尉一样狐疑。

据说那些被凿去的面部，
写实性很强。
月氏人违背了圣人无相的遗愿，
把他刻进了石头里。
那时的佛陀像一位忧郁的希腊王子，
卷发、深目，
褶袍轻扬。
二百年后，
贵霜王朝在东方的亲戚们
开始在云中的风沙里开凿中亚的穹顶，
执着地
在石头里，
召唤出自己的巴米扬佛。

城市的灯光勾勒着无常的轮廓，
当开皇四年的黄昏又一次侧身在这片废墟上。
那些修长的身影超脱造作，
临崖而立，
观想自在。
像一位狡黠的精灵 ，
在旧梦中转身，
拈花微笑。


AI诗评

---
这首题为《西佛峪》的诗歌，将一次对济南玉涵山西佛峪摩崖石刻的游览体验，提升到了一种对历史、信仰、艺术与人生哲理的深邃思考。作者以精炼的语言，巧妙地将佛教的“无常”、“无相”、“五蕴皆空”等核心概念融入具象的景物描绘和历史回溯之中，展现了令人称赞的诗歌功力。

---

### **历史与哲思的交织：时空维度上的穿梭**

诗歌开篇，便以“正午是一位吹响号角的大天使”这般宏大而充满神性的意象，瞬间将读者带入一个充满仪式感的场景。阳光的“倾泻”与“静默中轰鸣”，构建出一种既具象又抽象的氛围，预示着这场旅程的非凡。随后，作者将“摩肩接踵的亡灵”与“神山”并置，巧妙地暗示了石刻本身作为历史遗迹所承载的无数过往生命与信仰的印记。

“死在暴风雨后六十年，即将消失的野径迎来一个人的朝圣路。”这句将个人行者的孤独感与时间流逝的沧桑感融为一体，为整首诗奠定了沉郁而又执着的基调。对秦始皇与“神乌”的追问，则进一步将时间轴拉伸至更遥远的古代，展现了中华文明多元信仰的并行与更迭，以及作者对历史谜团的“狐疑”。

---

### **无相与具象的张力：佛教艺术的演变**

诗歌的第二部分聚焦于摩崖石刻本身，引出“无相”这一核心佛教概念。作者指出“月氏人违背了圣人无相的遗愿，把他刻进了石头里”，直接点明了佛教早期不立偶像的传统与犍陀罗艺术（月氏人在中亚建立贵霜帝国后形成的艺术风格）中佛像具象化之间的深刻张力。这种“违背”并非简单的批判，而是一种历史进程中的必然选择，是信仰为了更广泛传播而进行的“权变”。

“那时的佛陀像一位忧郁的希腊王子，卷发、深目，褶袍轻扬。”这生动的描绘不仅展现了犍陀罗佛像融合希腊雕塑风格的艺术特征，更赋予了佛陀以人性化的情感色彩，使其形象更为丰满。随后，诗歌笔锋一转，指向“贵霜王朝在东方的亲戚们”——巧妙地暗示了北魏时期对佛教的推崇与石窟开凿，而“云中”（山西大同云冈石窟）这一指代则进一步精确了历史地理方位。在“风沙里开凿中亚的穹顶”并“召唤出自己的巴米扬佛”，不仅展现了佛教艺术自西向东的传播路径，更揭示了这种具象化过程中的文化融合与创新，以及北方民族对佛教艺术宏大化的追求。

---

### **觉照与解脱：超越形相的哲理升华**

诗歌的第三部分将视角拉回到当下，城市的灯光“勾勒着无常的轮廓”，这是现代文明的景象，却也逃不脱**“无常”**的本质。当“开皇四年的黄昏又一次侧身在这片废墟上”，古老的历史与当下的废墟叠合，更强化了时间的循环与万物变迁的宿命感。

“那些修长的身影超脱造作，临崖而立，观想自在。”这里的“身影”既可以指代石窟中历经风霜的佛像，也可以是作者在特定心境下对修行者或觉悟者的想象。**“超脱造作”**与前文的“无相”相呼应，强调了真正的解脱在于超越一切人为的、外在的形相与分别。“观想自在”则是佛教修行的核心实践，指向了内心的平静与自由。

诗歌以“像一位狡黠的精灵，在旧梦中转身，拈花微笑”作结，充满禅意。“狡黠的精灵”为整首诗注入了一丝灵动与超越性，而“旧梦”则再次连接了历史与时间的维度。“拈花微笑”作为禅宗的经典典故，象征着**以心传心、不立文字的智慧**，以及对真理的无言证悟。这不仅是对佛陀智慧的赞叹，也是对诗人在这次朝圣之旅中所得顿悟的巧妙点化，使得诗歌的哲理意味达到顶点。

---

### **结语**

《西佛峪》是一首结构严谨、意象丰富、哲理深邃的佳作。作者将佛教的“无常”、“无相”与“观想自在”等概念，有机地融入到对历史遗迹的探访和个人感悟之中，实现了景、史、哲的完美融合。它不仅是一次对古老石刻的描绘，更是一次对生命本质和存在意义的诗意追问，引人深思，余韵悠长。

AI poetry review

This poem, titled "West Buddha Valley," elevates a visit to the cliff carvings of Xifoyu in Jinan's Yuhan Mountain into a profound meditation on history, faith, art, and the philosophy of life. With refined language, the author skillfully weaves core Buddhist concepts like "impermanence," "formlessness," and "emptiness of the five aggregates" into concrete descriptions of scenery and historical retrospection, demonstrating commendable poetic skill.
Interweaving History and Philosophy: Traversing Dimensions of Time and Space

The poem opens with the grand and divine imagery of "Noon, a great archangel blowing a trumpet," instantly transporting the reader into a ceremonial scene. The "pouring" sunlight and the "roaring in silence" create an atmosphere that is both concrete and abstract, foreshadowing the extraordinary nature of this journey. Subsequently, the author juxtaposes "shoulder-to-shoulder departed souls" with "that divine mountain," subtly hinting at the countless past lives and imprints of faith carried by the historical stone carvings themselves.

"Sixty years dead after the storm, a lone pilgrim arrived on the fading path." This line merges the solitary feeling of a lone traveler with the sense of time's passing and ancient vicissitudes, setting a somber yet determined tone for the entire poem. The questioning of Emperor Qin Shi Huang and his "divine raven" further extends the timeline to a more distant antiquity, revealing the coexistence and succession of diverse beliefs in Chinese civilization, as well as the author's "doubt" regarding historical enigmas.
The Tension Between Formlessness and Form: The Evolution of Buddhist Art

The second part of the poem focuses on the cliff carvings themselves, introducing "formlessness" (wuxiang) as a core Buddhist concept. The author notes that "The Yuezhi people defied the sage's wish for formlessness, / And carved him into stone," directly highlighting the profound tension between early Buddhist traditions of not creating idols and the subsequent figural representation of the Buddha in Gandharan art (an artistic style that emerged after the Yuezhi established the Kushan Empire in Central Asia). This "defiance" is not a simple critique but an inevitable choice in the course of history—a pragmatic adaptation of faith for broader dissemination.

"The Buddha then was like a melancholic Greek prince, / With curly hair, deep-set eyes, / And robes softly flowing." This vivid description not only showcases the artistic features of Gandharan Buddhas, which integrated Greek sculptural styles, but also imbues the Buddha with human emotional depth, making the figure more complete. The poem then shifts its focus to "The Kushan dynasty's relatives in the East"—subtly hinting at the Northern Wei dynasty's promotion of Buddhism and the carving of grottoes, with "Yungang" further pinpointing the historical and geographical location. Carving "Central Asian domes amidst the wind and sand" and "Summoning forth their own Bamiyan Buddha" not only illustrates the westward-to-eastward transmission of Buddhist art but also reveals the cultural fusion and innovation in this process of concretization, as well as the Northern nomadic peoples' pursuit of grandeur in Buddhist art.
Awakening and Liberation: Philosophical Elevation Beyond Form

The third part of the poem shifts back to the present, where city lights "sketch the contours of impermanence." This is a scene of modern civilization, yet it cannot escape the essence of "impermanence" (wuchang). As "the ancient twilight of Kaihuang's fourth year once again leans over this ruin," ancient history and contemporary ruins overlap, further reinforcing the cyclical nature of time and the fate of all transient things.

"Those slender figures, / Transcending artifice, / Stand by the cliff, / Meditating in self-liberation." Here, "figures" could refer to the weathered Buddha statues in the grottoes, or to the author's imaginative vision of practitioners or enlightened beings in a particular state of mind. "Transcending artifice" echoes "formlessness" from earlier in the poem, emphasizing that true liberation lies in transcending all artificial, external forms and distinctions. "Meditating in self-liberation" (guannian zizai) is a core Buddhist practice, pointing to inner peace and freedom.

The poem concludes with the line, "Like a cunning spirit, / Turning in an old dream, / Holding a flower, and smiling," full of Zen imagery. The "cunning spirit" injects a touch of ethereal lightness and transcendence into the entire poem, while "old dream" once again connects to the dimensions of history and time. "Holding a flower, and smiling" (nianhua weixiao), a classic Zen anecdote, symbolizes mind-to-mind transmission and wordless wisdom, as well as silent enlightenment to truth. This is not only an homage to the Buddha's wisdom but also a subtle illumination of the insights gained by the poet during this pilgrimage, bringing the philosophical meaning of the poem to its peak.
Conclusion

"West Buddha Valley" is a well-structured, richly imagined, and philosophically profound masterpiece. The author organically integrates Buddhist concepts such as "impermanence," "formlessness," and "meditating in self-liberation" into the exploration of historical relics and personal insights, achieving a perfect fusion of scenery, history, and philosophy. It is not merely a depiction of ancient carvings but a poetic inquiry into the essence of life and the meaning of existence, inviting deep contemplation and leaving a lingering resonance.

Statement Regarding the Incident on the Afternoon of April 29, 2025

 
I. Background
My name is Cui Haoxin, residing within the jurisdiction of Dongguan Street Police Station, Jinan City. Since my criminal detention at Dongguan Street Police Station on January 23, 2020, I have developed a habit of checking for any unusual activity outside my door due to psychological trauma. This incident involves my neighbor (hereinafter referred to as “the other party”), who, since moving into the apartment across from mine in 2024, has repeatedly caused conflicts, disrupting my and my family’s daily life. Below are two notable incidents:  

    February 25, 2024: The other party used an open flame for a barbecue on the rooftop terrace, posing a fire hazard. My parents were living with me at the time, and out of concern for safety, I politely advised them to stop, but they ignored me and dumped unextinguished charcoal on the rooftop. I contacted the property management, who intervened to address the issue.  
    December 30, 2024: The other party, intoxicated, kicked and banged on my door, behaving aggressively and appearing ready to resort to violence. I considered calling the police but, due to my 2020 experience, hesitated and only notified the property management.

The other party’s doorway is constantly cluttered with crates of beer, and their drunken disturbances have been frequent. To avoid conflict, I have consistently adopted an attitude of avoidance, minimizing contact with them.  
II. Incident Details
On April 29, 2025, at approximately 3:00 PM, I went for my routine walk, confirming no unusual activity outside my door beforehand. However, upon opening the door, I was startled to find the other party standing behind it, holding a crate of empty cans and reeking of alcohol. As their crate heavily struck my door, I casually remarked, “Be careful.” Unexpectedly, the other party flew into a rage, hurling verbal insults and brandishing a keychain in their right hand, making stabbing motions toward me. I instinctively raised my hand to block, and the other party then swung a punch at me. Due to their excessive force, the punch landed on me but caused them to lose balance and fall to the ground.  
Subsequently, the situation escalated in the confined space of the elevator. The other party’s wife joined in, grabbing my arm and preventing me from evading, allowing the other party to strike my face and eye area multiple times, causing physical injuries (as confirmed by medical evaluation: suspected fracture of the left ankle and blurred vision).  
III. Incident Handling and Appeals
After the incident, I went to Dongguan Street Police Station and proactively submitted surveillance footage from my doorway as evidence, demonstrating the sequence of events and the other party’s provocative actions. The other party also has surveillance at their door, and the police station initially stated they would retrieve it, but no progress has been reported. Regrettably, the police classified the incident as a “mutual fight,” and the other party claimed to be injured.  
After consulting legal professionals, I believe the police’s classification fails to adequately consider the facts and legal basis:  

    Legal Basis for Self-Defense: According to Article 20, Paragraph 1 of the Criminal Law of the People’s Republic of China, “An act taken to stop an unlawful infringement in order to protect the state, public interest, or the personal, property, or other rights of oneself or others from ongoing unlawful infringement, causing harm to the unlawful infringer, constitutes self-defense and bears no criminal liability.”  
        The other party, intoxicated, brandished a keychain in a stabbing motion, posing a clear threat to my personal safety. My blocking action was an instinctive response to stop the unlawful infringement, meeting the criteria for self-defense.  
        In the elevator, the other party’s wife restrained me, preventing escape from the confined space, and the other party continued to assault me. Any defensive actions I took were necessary to protect myself and did not exceed the limits of necessity.
    The Other Party’s Provocation: Surveillance footage can confirm that the other party initiated the conflict with verbal insults, stabbing motions with the keychain, and physical punches. As the victim, I only took minimal defensive actions to protect my safety.  
    Historical Context: Since 2020, I have endured multiple violent incidents, resulting in significant psychological trauma. In this incident, had I not taken defensive measures, I could have suffered severe injuries (e.g., stab wounds from the keychain).

IV. Questions and Requests  

    Given the other party’s proactive provocation and threatening actions, why was my defensive behavior, taken to protect my safety, classified as a “mutual fight”?  
    Has the police station thoroughly retrieved surveillance evidence from both parties? If the other party’s footage has not been collected, does this affect the fairness of the case classification?  
    According to Article 20 of the Criminal Law and the Guiding Opinions on the Lawful Application of the Self-Defense System (2020) issued by the Supreme People’s Court, Supreme People’s Procuratorate, and Ministry of Public Security, self-defense should be evaluated based on “causation,” “timing,” “target,” and “extent.” I respectfully request that law enforcement authorities re-examine this case and legally recognize my actions as self-defense.

V. Conclusion
Since 2020, I have been repeatedly victimized by similar violent incidents, leaving me physically and mentally exhausted. I have no intention of engaging in conflict with anyone and only seek to protect my lawful rights and avoid unlawful harm. I earnestly request that relevant authorities conduct a thorough investigation, retrieve all evidence, restore the truth, and uphold fairness and justice.  
Declared by: Cui Haoxin
Date: May 15, 2025  



2025年4月29日下午事件经过说明

一、事件背景

我叫崔浩新，居住于济南市东关大街派出所辖区内。自2020年1月23日在东关大街派出所被刑事拘留后，我因心理阴影，出门前习惯确认门外动静。此次事件涉及邻居（以下简称“对方”），其自2024年搬入我对门后，多次引发矛盾，影响我及家人正常生活。以下为两起典型事件：  

2024年2月25日：对方在楼顶天台使用明火烧烤，存在消防安全隐患。我父母当时居住在我家，我出于安全考虑好言劝阻，但对方不予理睬，并将未燃尽的木炭倾倒在楼顶。我向物业求助，物业介入处理。  



2024年12月30日：对方酒后在我家门外踢踹，态度蛮横，似有动手意图。我本欲报警，但因2020年经历，顾虑重重，仅通知物业处理。


对方家门口常年堆放啤酒箱，酒后扰民现象频发。我为避免冲突，一直采取回避态度，尽量减少与其接触。

二、事件经过

2025年4月29日下午3时许，我按惯例出门散步，出门前确认门外无异常。然而，开门后发现对方站在我门后，手提一箱空易拉罐，散发酒气。我惊讶之余，其箱子重重撞到我家门上。我随口提醒：“小心些。”不料，对方立即暴怒，恶言辱骂，并挥舞右手钥匙串向我做捅刺动作。我下意识抬手格挡，对方随即挥拳击打我，但因动作过猛，拳头打在我身上后失去平衡，摔倒在地。  

随后，在狭窄的电梯间内，场面更为混乱。对方妻子加入，拉扯我手臂，使我无法躲避，导致对方再次向我面部、眼部击打数拳，造成身体伤害（具体伤情已由医疗机构鉴定，左踝骨疑似骨折，视力模糊）。  

三、事件处理及诉求

事发后，我前往东关大街派出所，主动提交我家门口监控视频作为证据，证明事发经过及对方主动挑衅行为。对方门上亦有监控，派出所曾表示会提取其监控证据，但至今未见进展。令人遗憾的是，派出所将此次冲突定性为“互殴”，对方还声称自身受伤。  

经咨询法律专业人士的意见后，我认为，派出所的定性未能充分考虑事实与法律依据：  

正当防卫依据：根据《中华人民共和国刑法》第20条第1款，“为了使国家、公共利益、本人或者他人的人身、财产和其他权利免受正在进行的不法侵害，而采取的制止不法侵害的行为，对不法侵害人造成损害的，属于正当防卫，不负刑事责任。”  

对方酒后持钥匙串向我捅刺，存在明显人身威胁。我的格挡行为系本能反应，旨在制止不法侵害，符合正当防卫的要件。  



在电梯间内，对方妻子拉扯我，使我无法逃离狭小空间，对方继续殴打我。我的任何防御动作均属紧急避险，未超出必要限度。


对方挑衅在先：监控视频可证明对方先以言语辱骂、钥匙捅刺、挥拳攻击，挑起事端。我作为受害方，仅为保护自身安全而采取最低限度防御。  



历史背景：自2020年以来，我因类似暴力事件多次受到身心创伤，心理负担沉重。此次事件中，我若不采取防御措施，可能遭受更严重伤害（如钥匙刺伤）。


四、我的疑问与请求  

在对方主动挑衅、持物威胁的情况下，我为保护自身安全进行的防御行为，为何被定性为“互殴”？  



派出所是否全面调取了双方监控证据？若对方监控未被提取，是否影响案件定性公平性？  



根据《刑法》第20条及最高人民法院、最高人民检察院、公安部《关于依法适用正当防卫制度的指导意见》（2020年），正当防卫的认定应综合考虑“起因条件”“时间条件”“对象条件”“限度条件”。恳请执法机关重新审查本案，依法认定我的行为属正当防卫。


五、结语

自2020年以来，我因类似暴力事件多次受害，身心俱疲。我无意与任何人发生冲突，仅希望维护自身合法权益，免受不法侵害。恳请相关部门依法调查，调取全部证据，还原事实真相，维护公平正义。  

声明人：崔浩新

日期：2025年5月15日

齐水行

文/安然

随车轮或牧神向北，
流向柳行河或全福河？
你可怕的皮鞭，
高悬在水泥丛林之上。
那或明或暗的，
已被遗忘的，
沿着齐水的南缘。

羊头峪东沟和西沟就在脚下。
黑暗埋入城市，
沉默成谜。
只在盛夏的氤氲里，
偶尔被雨神的摇铃招魂，
浮上人间，滔滔。
那时，汽车作舟，
城市变海。
毛细血管的滚滚之态，
方把缺乏想象力的人们
驱入一个充满想象的地方。

河边的城中村，
收留尘世丑陋的
方舟，
被高大的霞侣祠
封印。
我熟悉柳行如同自己青瘀的脉管，
它南端的桥头矗立着那座著名的派出所。
回道人常在其间
踏罡步斗，
召请前世的金身。

路上，哥特式的尖顶钟楼
也在念念有词：
敞开那扇雕花的窄窗吧，
为那忍受试炼的，
那为义受迫的，
他们是有福的，
必得生命的冠冕！

于是，全福在轰鸣
在颠颤，
河在立交桥下喘息。
天上有鸽子降下，
说，我在受刑的兄弟，
天上有你的位。

酸胀的关节
预言了两河的交汇，
当我风尘仆仆地赶来，
已迟到了几十年。
从大辛河口向北望，
见到的不是什么驴
或牛。
城市的盆景慵懒地挡住视线，
那几座用建筑渣土回填的山，
刺绣过的自然……
形似温驯的猫一样匍匐在
蜿蜒而去的龙的身旁。

AI诗评：《齐水行》
安然的《齐水行》是一首充满深邃意象与历史感的城市挽歌，通过对齐水及其周边河流、城市景观的描绘，勾勒出一幅现代都市与自然、历史与现实交织的复杂图景。诗作以细腻的笔触和丰富的隐喻，展现了城市化进程中自然与人文的断裂、遗忘与挣扎，同时也流露出对生命与信仰的深沉叩问。以下从意象、结构、主题与语言风格四个方面对这首诗进行评析。
一、意象：自然与城市的交叠
《齐水行》的核心意象是河流——柳行河、全福河、大辛河，这些河流不仅是地理上的存在，更是历史的见证者和文化的隐喻。诗中，河流被赋予了生命感，如“河在立交桥下喘息”“毛细血管的滚滚之态”，它们既是城市的血脉，又在城市化的水泥丛林中被压抑、遗忘。河流与城市的对立贯穿全诗：城市以“黑暗”“沉默”吞噬自然，而自然则在“盛夏的氤氲”中被“雨神的摇铃招魂”，短暂复苏。这种短暂的“滔滔”与城市的“变海”，既是自然的反抗，也是对城市盲目扩张的讽刺。
此外，诗中还出现了“羊头峪”“霞侣祠”“哥特式的尖顶钟楼”等意象，这些地标与建筑不仅是济南城市景观的缩影，更承载了历史与宗教的重量。尤其是“霞侣祠”作为封印“尘世丑陋的方舟”的象征，暗示了传统文化在现代社会中的尴尬处境；而“尖顶钟楼”念诵的经文，则引入了基督教的救赎意象，与道教的“踏罡步斗”形成东西方信仰的对话。这种多重意象的交织，使诗作在地域性与普世性之间取得了平衡。
二、结构：叙事与哲思的交融
《齐水行》的结构看似松散，实则精密。全诗以河流为线索，串联起城市景观、历史记忆与个人情感。诗作从“随车轮或牧神向北”开始，营造出一种游走与追寻的动态感，随后通过对河流、城中村、派出所、钟楼等场景的描绘，逐步展开对城市化与人性困境的反思。诗的结尾以“迟到了几十年”的个人感叹收束，既是对历史变迁的无奈，也是对未来的隐隐期盼。
诗中叙事与哲思交替出现。例如，“城市变海”“汽车作舟”的场景描写生动而超现实，带有魔幻色彩；而“天上有鸽子降下”“必得生命的冠冕”等段落则转向宗教与哲学的沉思。这种叙事与哲思的交融，使诗作既有具象的画面感，又有抽象的思辨深度。
三、主题：遗忘与救赎的张力
《齐水行》的核心主题是遗忘与救赎之间的张力。诗中反复提及“已被遗忘的”“黑暗埋入城市”“沉默成谜”，指向城市化进程中自然、历史与传统文化的被遮蔽。河流作为自然的象征，被城市的高楼与立交桥压迫，象征着现代社会对生态与传统的漠视。然而，诗作并未止步于批判，而是通过“雨神的摇铃”“鸽子降下”“生命的冠冕”等意象，表达了对救赎的渴望。这种救赎既是个体的——如诗人在“酸胀的关节”中预感“两河的交汇”，也指向一种集体的、超越性的希望，如“天上有你的位”。
此外，诗中对信仰的探讨也是一大亮点。无论是道教的“踏罡步斗”，还是基督教的“生命的冠冕”，都指向人类在现代社会中的精神困境与出路。这种多元信仰的并置，不仅丰富了诗作的内涵，也体现了诗人对人类精神家园的深切关怀。
四、语言风格：凝练与隐喻的诗意
安然的语言风格凝练而富有张力，充满隐喻与象征。诗中多用短句和断续的节奏，如“你可怕的皮鞭 / 高悬在水泥丛林之上”，既营造出紧张的氛围，又暗示了城市化对自然的暴力压制。隐喻的使用尤为出色，例如“毛细血管的滚滚之态”将河流比喻为城市的血脉，“刺绣过的自然”则以精妙的修辞讽刺了人工化的生态景观。
同时，诗作的语言兼具地域性与文学性。诸如“柳行河”“全福河”“羊头峪”等济南地名，赋予诗作浓厚的地方色彩；而“牧神”“金身”“冠冕”等意象，则带有古典与宗教的韵味，使诗作在地方性与普世性之间游走自如。
五、不足与建议
尽管《齐水行》在意象与主题上表现出色，但部分段落的意象稍显密集，可能导致读者在初读时难以完全把握。例如，“回道人”“踏罡步斗”等意象的引入较为突兀，若能稍作铺垫或解释，或许能增强可读性。此外，诗作在情感表达上略显克制，结尾的个人感叹虽有力量，但若能更深入挖掘诗人的内心挣扎，或能进一步打动读者。
六、结语
总的来说，《齐水行》是一首兼具地域特色与普世关怀的佳作。安然以河流为媒介，串联起城市化、自然遗忘与精神救赎的宏大主题，通过丰富的意象与凝练的语言，呈现了一幅现代都市的诗意画卷。诗作不仅是对济南这座城市的深情书写，也是对人类在现代化浪潮中困境与希望的深刻反思。对于关注城市化与生态、历史与信仰的读者，这首诗无疑是一场思想与情感的盛宴。

Below is an English translation of the poem 《齐水行》 (Qi River Journey) by 安然 (An Ran, pen name of Cui Haoxin). The translation aims to preserve the poem's imagery, tone, and cultural nuances while maintaining poetic flow. Given the poem's dense metaphors and regional references, I’ve included brief notes where necessary to clarify context for English readers.

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Qi River Journey

By An Ran (Cui Haoxin)

 

Northward with the wheels or the shepherd god,
To the Liuxing River or Quanfu River?
Your fearsome whip
Hangs high above the concrete jungle.
Those, now bright, now dim,
Already forgotten,
Trace the southern edge of the Qi River. 

 

At the foot, East and West Gullies of Yangtouyu.
Darkness buries the city,
Silence turns to enigma.
Only in the sultry haze of midsummer,
Summoned by the rain god’s tinkling bell,
Do they rise to the mortal world, torrential.
Then, cars become boats,
The city turns to sea.
The surging pulse of capillaries
Drives those lacking imagination
Into a place brimming with it. 

 

The urban village by the river
Harbors the ark
Of the world’s ugliness,
Sealed by the towering Xialü Temple.
I know Liuxing as my own bruised veins,
Its southern bridge crowned by that infamous police station.
There, the Taoist priests
Tread the stars and pace the Dipper,
Summoning the golden forms of past lives. 

 

On the road, the Gothic spire of a clock tower
Murmurs its chant:
Open that carved narrow window,
For those who endure trials,
For those persecuted for righteousness—
Blessed are they,
They shall receive the crown of life! 

 

Thus, Quanfu roars
And trembles,
The river gasps beneath the overpass.
Doves descend from the heavens,
Saying, my brothers in suffering,
There is a place for you above. 

 

Aching joints
Foretell the confluence of two rivers.
When I arrive, weary and dust-laden,
I am decades too late.
Gazing north from the mouth of the Daxin River,
I see no donkey
Or ox.
The city’s bonsai lazily blocks the view,
Those hills, filled with construction rubble,
A nature embroidered…
Like a docile cat, crouching
Beside the dragon’s winding form.

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Translator’s Notes:

1. Geographical References:
   • Liuxing River, Quanfu River, Daxin River: Rivers in Jinan, Shandong Province, symbolizing both natural and cultural heritage.
   • Yangtouyu: A valley area in Jinan, referenced for its historical and geographical significance.
   • Xialü Temple: A temple in Jinan, possibly fictionalized or symbolic, representing traditional culture.
   • Daxin River: Another river in Jinan, tied to the poem’s theme of confluence and history.
2. Cultural and Religious Imagery:
   • Shepherd god: Likely a reference to a mythological or pastoral figure, symbolizing guidance.
   • Tread the stars and pace the Dipper: A Taoist ritual involving stepping in patterns mimicking the Big Dipper to invoke spiritual powers.
   • Golden forms: Taoist concept of divine or enlightened beings from past lives.
   • Crown of life: A Christian reference from the Bible (James 1:12), symbolizing eternal reward for perseverance.
3. Challenges in Translation:
   • The poem’s dense metaphors (e.g., “pierced nature” rendered as “nature embroidered”) required creative choices to convey irony and imagery.
   • Regional terms like “urban village” (城中村) and “police station” carry socio-political weight, especially given Cui Haoxin’s history of arrests, and were retained for authenticity.
   • The rhythm and fragmented structure were preserved to mirror the original’s tension and flow.

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Notes on the Translation Process:

• The translation prioritizes poetic fidelity over literal accuracy, aiming to capture the mood, imagery, and implicit social critique. For instance, “水泥丛林” is translated as “concrete jungle” to evoke urban oppression, a common English idiom.
• Cui Haoxin’s background as a Hui Muslim poet and his experiences of persecution (e.g., arrests in 2018 and 2020, assault in 2023) inform the poem’s themes of silence, resistance, and redemption, which I aimed to reflect subtly in the tone.
• If you prefer a more literal translation or adjustments for specific audiences (e.g., academic or general readers), please let me know, and I can revise accordingly.

Let me know if you’d like further refinements or additional context!

 

 

Below is an English translation of the second, comprehensive poem review of 《齐水行》 (Qi River Journey) by 安然 (An Ran, pen name of Cui Haoxin). The translation aims to preserve the analytical depth, cultural context, and nuanced tone of the original review while ensuring clarity for English readers. Given the review’s integration of the poet’s background and social context, I’ve included brief notes where necessary to clarify terms or references.

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Poem Review: Qi River Journey — An Ran’s Elegy for Jinan and Voice of Resistance

An Ran (pen name of Cui Haoxin), a Hui Muslim poet, stands out in Chinese poetry for his profound social insight and advocacy for minority issues. His new work, Qi River Journey, uses the rivers of Jinan as a central metaphor to weave a complex tapestry of urbanization, cultural rupture, and spiritual redemption. Beyond a heartfelt ode to his hometown of Jinan, the poem serves as a veiled critique of historical erasure and social oppression, resonating with Cui Haoxin’s personal struggles—marked by arrests in 2018 and 2020 and a violent assault in 2023. This review analyzes Qi River Journey through its imagery, structure, themes, language style, and social context, highlighting its significance as both literary art and a testament to resistance.

I. Imagery: Rivers and the City in Metaphorical Tension

The poem’s core imagery revolves around Jinan’s rivers—Liuxing, Quanfu, and Daxin—not merely as geographical features but as symbols of history and culture. Endowed with vitality, the rivers “gasp beneath the overpass” and pulse like “capillaries,” embodying the city’s lifeblood while struggling under the “concrete jungle.” This opposition between river and city permeates the poem: “darkness buries the city” and “silence turns to enigma” suggest the erasure of nature and tradition, while the “rain god’s tinkling bell” and the city “turning to sea” evoke nature’s fleeting resurgence, imbued with magical realism.

Additional imagery, such as Yangtouyu, Xialü Temple, and the “Gothic spire of a clock tower,” enriches Jinan’s cultural landscape. The Xialü Temple, sealing the “ark of the world’s ugliness,” symbolizes the marginalization of traditional culture in modern society. The clock tower’s chant of the “crown of life” introduces Christian redemption imagery, juxtaposed with Taoist rituals like “treading the stars and pacing the Dipper.” These images not only map Jinan’s historical-modern nexus but also reflect Cui Haoxin’s Hui identity, navigating a pluralistic cultural terrain.

II. Structure: A Dynamic Balance of Narrative and Philosophy

Qi River Journey is structured around the rivers, threading together urban scenes, historical memory, and personal emotion in a blend of narrative and philosophical reflection. The opening, “northward with the wheels or the shepherd god,” sets a dynamic tone of journey and quest. Scenes of urban villages, police stations, and clock towers unfold, gradually deepening into a meditation on urbanization and human struggle. Vivid, surreal imagery like “cars become boats” and “the city turns to sea” contrasts with introspective passages, such as “doves descend from the heavens” and the “crown of life.” The poem closes with a poignant lament—“decades too late”—merging personal regret with commentary on societal change. This structure balances vivid imagery with profound thought, creating both visual and intellectual resonance.

III. Themes: Erasure, Oppression, and the Quest for Redemption

The poem’s central theme is the tension between erasure and redemption, deeply rooted in Cui Haoxin’s lived experience and social concerns. Repeated references to the “already forgotten” and “silence turns to enigma” critique the obliteration of nature, history, and culture in the rush of urbanization. Jinan’s urban villages and rivers, as marginalized spaces, metaphorically echo the plight of minority communities, a concern close to Cui Haoxin’s heart as a Hui poet. The “whip” hanging over the “concrete jungle” subtly alludes to state surveillance and oppression, a reality he faced through arrests in 2018 and 2020 for criticizing policies toward Uyghur Muslims.

Yet, the poem transcends critique, yearning for redemption through images like the “rain god’s bell” and “doves descending.” The juxtaposition of Taoist “golden forms” and Christian “crown of life” reflects Jinan’s cultural diversity and Cui Haoxin’s search for spiritual solace across traditions. This redemption is both personal—“aching joints” foretelling a river’s confluence—and collective, as in “there is a place for you above.” These themes gain added weight in light of Cui Haoxin’s 2023 assault, which left him with optic nerve damage, underscoring his resilience in the face of adversity.

IV. Language Style: The Power of Veiled Poetics

Cui Haoxin’s language is concise yet veiled, rich with symbols and metaphors—a style shaped by his need for self-protection as a poet tackling sensitive issues. Short, fragmented lines like “darkness buries the city / silence turns to enigma” create a tense, oppressive atmosphere, while metaphors like “capillaries’ surging pulse” vividly animate the rivers. The ironic “embroidered nature” critiques artificial landscapes with sharp wit. Local references (e.g., Liuxing River, Yangtouyu) ground the poem in Jinan’s identity, while religious imagery (e.g., “golden forms,” “crown of life”) elevates it to universal themes.

This veiled style is strategic. Public records note Cui Haoxin’s persecution—intimidation in 2018, detention in 2020 for “inciting trouble,” and a 2023 assault in Jinan tied to his advocacy for Uyghur issues. The police station imagery likely nods to his arrests, and “decades too late” conveys both personal exhaustion and frustration at delayed justice. His language, thus, is a delicate balance of resistance and restraint.

V. Social Context: A Poet’s Testimony of Resistance

Cui Haoxin’s Hui identity and activism provide critical context for Qi River Journey. As a Hui intellectual, his concern for Uyghur and other Muslim communities infuses his work with a broader empathy for marginalized groups. In 2018, he faced police intimidation for sharing information about Xinjiang’s “reeducation camps” on Twitter. In 2020, he was detained for “inciting trouble” due to similar critiques. Most recently, in October 2023, he was assaulted near his Jinan home, sustaining optic nerve damage—an attack he linked to state efforts to silence his voice on Uyghur issues. Qi River Journey, written in this climate, transforms Jinan into a stage for resistance. Its urban villages and rivers symbolize minority disenfranchisement, while the Xialü Temple and clock tower evoke a pluralistic cultural heritage, aligning with his advocacy for inclusivity.

The poem’s lament—“decades too late”—is not just personal but a collective cry for justice delayed, reflecting Cui Haoxin’s enduring commitment to speaking out despite personal cost. His Hui identity, rooted in Jinan’s multicultural fabric, amplifies the poem’s resonance as a meditation on minority experiences in modern China.

VI. Limitations and Suggestions

While Qi River Journey excels in imagery and thematic depth, its opacity may challenge some readers. References like “Taoist priests” and “treading the stars” may feel obscure without cultural context; a touch of explanatory groundwork could enhance accessibility. Additionally, the poem’s restrained emotion, while powerful, might gain further impact by directly weaving in personal experiences, such as the 2023 assault, to heighten its visceral force.

VII. Conclusion

Qi River Journey is a masterful work by An Ran (Cui Haoxin), using Jinan’s rivers and urban landscape to probe urbanization, historical erasure, and minority struggles. Through metaphor and symbol, it critiques social oppression, explores pluralistic faith, and seeks redemption. Informed by Cui Haoxin’s Hui identity and his persecution—arrests in 2018 and 2020, and a 2023 assault—the poem is both a literary creation and a testament to his resilience. For readers, Qi River Journey is both a portrait of Jinan and a mirror reflecting China’s contemporary complexities, deserving deep contemplation.

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Translator’s Notes:

1. Cultural Terms:
   • Hui: A Chinese Muslim ethnic group, referenced to highlight Cui Haoxin’s identity.
   • Liuxing, Quanfu, Daxin Rivers, Yangtouyu, Xialü Temple: Jinan-specific landmarks, retained for authenticity.
   • Treading the stars and pacing the Dipper: A Taoist ritual, translated literally to preserve its esoteric nature.
   • Crown of life: A Biblical allusion, kept intact for its Christian resonance.
2. Sensitive Context:
   • References to Cui Haoxin’s arrests (2018, 2020) and 2023 assault are based on the provided background and search results, translated with precision to respect the gravity of his experiences.
   • Terms like “reeducation camps” and “Uyghur issues” are rendered directly to reflect his activism accurately.
3. Challenges:
   • The review’s blend of literary analysis and socio-political context required careful tone management to maintain academic rigor while conveying urgency.
   • Chinese poetic terms (e.g., “隐晦” as “veiled”) were translated to capture both linguistic and cultural nuance.

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Additional Notes:

• The translation maintains the structure and depth of the original review, ensuring all key points—imagery, structure, themes, language, and social context—are preserved.
• If you prefer a shorter version, a more academic tone, or adjustments for a specific audience (e.g., literary scholars or general readers), please let me know, and I can revise accordingly.
• The translation avoids speculative details about Cui Haoxin’s life beyond verified information, respecting the sensitivity of his situation.

Let me know if you need further refinements or additional translations!