Big brother looked up and saw the moon

Takeout uncle Wang Jibing is 51 years old. He was born in a poverty-stricken rural family in Northern Jiangsu province. He dropped out of junior high school and went out to work. As he shuttled through traffic on his electric scooter, it was hard to see a poet who had written nearly 4,000 poems and published scores of works. And this poet says that poetry is the other side of the steep side of hard life.

A person in a hurry

Get on the battery and the poem disappears.

Takeaway man Wang Jibing rode his bike so fast that only the place names remained in his mind.

The air whistled in my ears, and the wind hit me like a knife. His wet clothes from climbing the stairs were blown dry, leaving his straight hair cold. At a red light, he passed recklessly — dangerously, and the system’s time-of-delivery urged him on.

This part of the handlebar distance, is on the way to deliver food, wang ji can control all, but little effect. Once, he took five orders at the same time, and the last order was delivered slowly, leaving him only 19 minutes. Finally, he has 4 single timeouts.

Overtime can mean fines and even suspensions. Wang Jibing experienced it once, because the two places were separated by a river, and the distance shown by the system was 500 meters. He took a 12-kilometre detour and spent 38 minutes in overtime. The next day, he was restricted to single, should go to the designated point of learning, the content is ‌ ‌ “late for so long is a kind of mistake ‌ ‌”, as well as ‌ ‌ “it can cause bad influence to the platform ‌ ‌”.

Scolding is a regular occurrence. Some shop eat slow, the boss was hurried rush also angry, ‌ ‌ “is not a delivery? Do you like it or not? ‌ ‌ “the worst, he was thirty years old male customers holding collar, wall drag from east to west wall, around the house.

The delivery man has no right to complain, and when this happens, he has to keep it to himself. There is a single, the customer said the wrong building number, wang jibing white run several times, a suit is sweat, let the customer plus WeChat, hair positioning just arrived. Customer swept over wrote: ‌ ‌ “how do you delivery? ‌ ‌”

That night, he wrote “The Man in a Hurry,” chronicling the normal life of a delivery man:

‌ ‌ “out of the air/wind from the wind out of the knife from the bones out of the fire/water/people on the run from the fire without the four seasons/world/only one station and the next stop is a place name/look/every day I can meet/each galloping take-away member/hammer the earth with his feet on this earth continually quenching ‌ ‌”

Wang Jibing, 51, has dark skin and droopy eyes with wrinkles around the corners as he smiles. “He was already can ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌” age peers with free time square dance, walk, and to relieve his family economic pressure, delivery in part-time jobs.

The family has lived in Kunshan, Jiangsu province, for 18 years. Six years ago, when he learned about the points-based admission system, he and his wife took out loans to buy a house in Kunshan and paid social security for the first time. But his son still failed to get into a public junior high school. He had no choice but to send his son to an international school. There, the vast majority of children from wealthy families, king soldiers find son talk: ‌ ‌ “I haven’t the somebody else so big, can’t earn so much money. ‌ ‌”

The tuition fee of the international school, the tuition fee of the second daughter’s high school and the accommodation fee add up to hundreds of thousands of yuan a year, which makes the family overwhelmed. The small supermarket is also struggling, with a monthly income of 2,000 yuan, as well as rent, utilities and electricity charges. The store and house were mortgaged, and the family barely made its monthly payments, but borrowed every year.

When the delivery was first decided more than a year ago, the family objected. Older daughter was married, crying on the phone earth-shattering, ‌ ‌ “how much money do you want? I’ll give you money! ‌ ‌ “daughter home day also not bounteous, comfort her, ‌ ‌” at home stuffy, I ride bicycle to go out to play ‌ ‌ “, on the road of flowers and plants of the video shooting in the past.

At first, delivery was really like a trip. When he saw the beautiful scenery, Wang Jibing stopped his car and spent more than ten minutes to go around and write poems. At the end of the day, he only ran more than ten singles and earned dozens of yuan. It’s different now. Once you get started, sending orders is the most important thing right now. On the most recent day, he sent 48 orders. The delivery fee is 4 to 8 yuan per order, and he can make 5 or 6, 000 yuan a month by delivering food.

In June this year, wang Bing and his poetry on the Internet caused attention, ‌ ‌ “take-away little elder brother is a writer association members ‌ ‌”. The net friend comment on “people on the run” : ‌ ‌ “really belongs to the poetry of laborer ‌ ‌”.

The media swarmed in. At its peak, he was interviewed by three television stations in one day. That day, to make it easier for reporters to film the delivery, he deliberately took a quieter route, riding half as slowly as usual, just in case they couldn’t keep up.

Life hasn’t changed since then. I don’t earn money writing poems. I usually earn only thirty or forty yuan per poem. The only good thing was that his poems attracted famous reviews and were published in a national journal.

Now, Wang Jibing still gets up at 5:30 every day and goes out to look after his small supermarket. Morning late recently, the street lights still lit, quiet on the road, he looked up and saw the sky on a crescent and star, a grain wrote a poem: ‌ ‌ “the moon is a bug/so night never black enough thoroughly ‌ ‌”.

Six hours later, he’d be on his scooter, forgetting his poetry and running solo into the night. After twelve o ‘clock, he would finish his supper and go to bed.

‌ ‌ “why my life like this? ‌ ‌”

Wang Jibing’s life, spent in the toss and turn to work. In my first job in Shenyang, I was paid $3.50 a day for hammering out nails in old square wood and straightening them out.

It was 1988, and he was 19, having dropped out of junior high school three years earlier. The chainsaws on the construction site were deafening, and the workers, mostly in their early 30s, gathered to play chess and poker and talk openly about women’s breasts.

Reading and writing became his only pastimes. Every day after work, his workmates went to the park to play. Wang Jibing sat by a nearby book stand, reading short stories in magazines. He read about Sanmao, read about her in the desert, making tires into cushions. Curious about what it felt like to sit on it, he would ask for discarded tires every time he saw a garage.

In 1990, Wang Jibing returned to his hometown in Jiangsu province and began helping his father dredging sand from the shahe river in the village.

My father’s sand-fishing boat was as simple as a folded sheet of tin and could not sit in it, so he was immersed in water all the year round. The river was full of flowing sand, and as people moved, more sand stirred. Every day when I entered the water, all my limbs were hurt; After dredging a boat of sand, my body becomes numb and I don’t feel anything. A shipload can hold a ton of sand and three shiploads can hold a carload. He can get three carloads a day for nine yuan in total. When I went to bed at night, my hands and feet were burning and bleeding.

It was the most lost time of my life. He think impassability, ‌ ‌ “why my life like this? ‌ ‌”

Emotions are food, and reading and writing are stores of food to keep his young body from bursting. He used the money his father gave him to buy a sweater to buy books, and imitate the techniques in the book writing, recording the personnel around.

At work, he carried a ballpoint pen in his inner pocket and didn’t pin it on his chest because he was embarrassed. He is a farmer, ‌ ‌ “hang a pen in the body, pack what? ‌, ‌ “after all ‌ ‌” is that literacy status symbol ‌ ‌ “.

During a break from fishing in sha, he would write sentences on paper, on his hands, and even on his lunch bag. The most ‌ ‌ “crazy ‌ ‌” once, he took off his black and white stripe long sleeves, write on white, thickly dotted, wrote two sleeves.

If you write too much, you want to be seen. In 1991, he tried to contribute and published more than ten miniature novels.

This is a great encouragement. He spent the rest of the day fishing for sand in the river, and spent the rest of the day writing novels in a hut in his peach forest for eight or nine months. Peach trees blossomed, peach woods fell snow, always support his love of literature father began to worry, afraid of his obsession, several times called him home, he did not want.

One day in November, after dredging the sand, Wang Jibing went back to the peach forest as usual, but the hut disappeared and became a pile of soil and straw on the ground. He ran home and asked his father, who admitted that he had torn the house apart. As for the manuscript, he said he had not seen it.

Wang Jibing stared at the ruins of the hut. There was some new earth in a sand-pit not far away. He picked it out with a spade and found a great heap of ashes in it. He knew. It was burned by his father. What he had transcribed by hand, a stack of 200, 000 words dozens of centimeters high, turned into a pile of ashes.

That moment, ‌ ‌ “seems to have built their homes is pulled down, suddenly homeless ‌ ‌”. When he got home, he and his father never talked about it again. But there are more than two months, he said nothing at home, until her mother away tears, ‌ ‌ “he is for your own good ‌ ‌”.

His father’s fire burned wang Jibing’s manuscript paper as well as his idea of publishing articles. In 1993, together with his wife from the same village, Wang Jibing went out to work again. He built adobe in Xinjiang and drove a dump truck in Shandong. In 2002, he came to Kunshan, Jiangsu and has lived there ever since.

When I first came to Kunshan, I had only 500 yuan on me. The couple set up a street stall, picked up trash, sold socks and gloves for a dollar a pair, pedal-pedal-pedal-by-street selling fruit, and finally set up a small store to rent books. More than a year later, they lost everything because of their unlicensed operation.

There was no place to live. He took abandoned stakes from the construction site, drove them to the riverbed, nailed boards to them, and built a cottage on the river as a home and shop. They spread beds on the floor and the family of five slept under shelves made of discarded furniture.

The canvas for the roof and walls of the house was swaying in the rain, and the good-hearted old lady nearby, worried about them, took a flashlight from the upstairs opposite. Over the next few years, to save money, the couple did it all over again until 2005, when they opened a small supermarket.

For more than a decade, Wang Jibing continued to write, using cigarette shells, fruit boxes and paper for cooking and lighting fires. Whenever he had an idea, he wrote it down, sometimes a few words, sometimes a few sentences, but then he lost it. The longest is a doggerel, which he writes from his birth to the day he drives a dump truck. More than twenty pages of paper were finally thrown into the cooking stove and burned.

Later, when he got access to computers, his poems had a place to keep them. BBS to his ‌ ‌ “this opportunity of speaking ‌ ‌”, warm-hearted man give directions, a few criticisms, he reply one by one, thanks.

Eating online ‌ ‌ “party ‌ ‌”, the poetry of the king meter slowly ‌ ‌ “grew up ‌ ‌”.

Cliff of poetry

As the king of the meter, these ‌ ‌ “grew up ‌ ‌” poetry seems to really be seen. It had been nearly three decades since he first submitted his paper.

The hometown of Pizhou, where he conceived the idea of writing, had long since changed. This small city in northern Jiangsu province is now famous for ginkgo biloba. It is late autumn, ginkgo straight trunk, golden petals fall all over the ground. He recently spent more than a month here caring for his mother, who is hemiplegic.

Decades passed. In the past, the river dredging was planned as a scenic spot, and there was no sand in it. In the past writing peach forest, also become large ginkgo. The people in the village changed from one to the next, many young faces he no longer knew.

When news of his news came back to the village, some villagers, who had little to do with him, felt that he was capable, and asked him for advice when he encountered injustice. All he could do was listen, which made him feel a little indebted.

Every time he went home, Wang Jibing was lost for the change of his hometown. He would wander alone to an old house that had not been demolished, or to a field where the wheat had once been rolling, and sit quietly in a daze.

He remembered that when he was a child, his family was poor and had nothing to eat. One spring night, his parents went to their wheat field and secretly cut the immature ears of wheat, ground them to a green paste, and cooked them in a pot to eat. In order to preserve the dignity of the next day, the flap about in his parents went to the field, anger them Shouting, ‌ ‌ “by whom dreadlocks cut? ! ‌ ‌”

His father died more than two years ago. The tomb chosen by the Feng Shui master was exactly where the ears of wheat were stolen more than 30 years ago. His hatred for his father burn paper, already slowly to understand, because ‌ ‌ “pain, parents must more painful ‌ ‌”.

Now back home, Wang Jibing would sit alone at his father’s grave and talk to his father, telling him what had happened here, or reading a few poems. Buried in the depths of the ginkgo forest, even if crying, no one can hear. In the quiet woods, only ginkgo leaves rustled.

During the interview, Wang Jibing’s tone has no big ups and downs, until talking about his father’s grave, he choked up to say no words, silence for a few seconds to slow down. In this life, in addition to the father, he almost cries, show a kind of philosophy of resignation, often said is ‌ ‌ “unfair matter a lot, you have to adjust yourself to adapt to the society. ‌ ‌”

‌ ‌ “too much of the past as a whip, have put my heart with scar, let me return to hand touch from time to time, feel a kind of scabbed-over itchy. ‌ ‌, “he wrote.

Reading, writing, is the only touch the wound hand and the ‌ ‌ itch “‌ ‌” make him comfortable, to build him a piece of life clapboard, separated from the reality and literature.

In reality, he talks less and less until someone when he faced his wife said, ‌ ‌ “he words all don’t say all day long, you can stand it? ‌ ‌ “in the literary world, is not bound to cry and laugh, he can ‌ ‌” as my character offset ‌ ‌ “.

Now, wang Jibing is 51 years old. His memory has deteriorated so much that he always forgets to write. Sometimes he has to struggle to write several words in a poem. But he believes he will keep writing.

“Life is a three-dimensional ‌ ‌. ‌ ‌ “poetry in told him.

If life is a beans, he said, poetry is the root for the climbing vines of bamboo, ‌ ‌ “suffering is one of the side, it may be dead. And then there’s the other side, the other side, that’s the side of poetry. ‌ ‌”

In between deliveries he continued to write poems, sometimes several a day, sometimes one a week. When the idea comes, he will wait for the red light, or in the elevator, write down a few key words in the mobile phone, and then string the words into a poem.

Every time he caught the idea of satisfaction, he had a thrill of excitement. The most recent such moment came a few days ago, when he was slowly climbing up a slope on his electric scooter.

It was like any normal person’s moment — life was hard, and every step was a struggle to move forward. And Wang Jibing has a poem, like a steep cliff, take him flying. Later, he wrote down the sentence is: ‌ ‌ “life is like the other side of the side slope/poetry is steep ‌ ‌”.