The branches of the trees tried to tear the sky,

but only poked into a few tiny holes,

He penetrated the light beyond the sky,

people called it the moon and the stars.

The chimney

The chimney was like a giant rising up from the flat ground,

Looking out at the earth covered with lamps,

Keeping on inhaling the rolls of smoke,

Thinking about a kind of thing that no one knows.

Gu Cheng (1956-1993), a representative figure of hazy poetry, was born in Beijing in 1956, and was decentralized with his father to the Dongzuka Commune in Changyi County, Shandong Province, for five years in 1969. After returning to Beijing, he worked as a candy flipper and porter. 1987, he was invited to visit Europe and the United States for cultural exchanges and lectures. 1988, he went to New Zealand and was appointed as a researcher in the Department of Asian Languages at the University of Auckland. In 1988, he went to New Zealand and was appointed as a researcher in the Department of Asian Languages at the University of Auckland, and then he resigned and lived in seclusion on Rapids Island. He left behind a large number of poems, calligraphy and paintings, and published The Complete Poems of Gu Cheng, a full-length novel Ying'er, and several collections of essays.

After persistent questioning and difficult contemplation, we have reason to believe that there is a marvelous conflict and harmony between the branches of the tree and the moon, and the stars, and especially with the light outside the sky, so that the tearing and poking are no longer tragic episodes in Gu Cheng's twelve year old eyes, but for a spirit called light to reside there. Just as "when the plowshare turns up the frost-stained soil, the clods gain life and strength." In this void of awakening and growth, he determines that where there is pain, there is hope.

What kind of being is that giant chimney? What mysterious intentions does it have as it looks down on the lamp-covered earth? Or would it constantly exhale smoke rings and smog the world? Or will it also allow sharp, transparent aspens to grow at its head, stabbing into the sky and letting in the moon and the stars?

It is said that poets are extremely romantic beings with very colorful imaginations.

It is also not difficult to see their curiosity and yearning for life, for the unknown known those mysterious existence.

Perhaps a simple favorite, who knows it.