Chapter 76: Stirring Trouble at the Poetry Gathering (Please Continue Reading)

On Sunday afternoon, the May Fourth Literary Society’s poetry gathering began after three o’clock. The four dormmates changed into clean clothes and made their way to the large classroom where the event was held. It was Liu Yimin’s first time attending, but he already had a rough idea of how it would go.

A group of literary youths would discuss poetry and literature, recite a few poems when inspired, and once everyone had had their turn to shine, the event would draw to a close.

Liu Yimin followed behind Liu Zhenyun and the other two. They had attended several times and were now familiar faces here. Most students from the Chinese department had seen him, but only those from other faculties or outside the university hadn’t met Liu Yimin before.

Yet as Liu Zhenyun announced loudly that he was Liu Yimin, people came over eagerly to shake his hand.

“Class of ’77, Law Department, Jiang Ming’an!”

“Class of ’77, Chinese Department, Guo Xiaocong!”

Liu Yimin greeted everyone one by one; there were so many that he would forget some moments after meeting them.

The four found a spot and sat down. Liu Zhenyun glanced over the crowd and remarked regretfully, “She didn’t come!”

Not here? I was hoping to catch a glimpse. Liu Yimin had no choice but to take things as they came.

Today’s poetry gathering was special. They had invited Zou Huofan from Poetry Magazine to give a lecture on poetry composition. Who among them hadn’t submitted work to Poetry Magazine? Yet only a handful had ever been accepted. Everyone was filled with anticipation, clutching their little notebooks.

Zou Huofan, led by Chen Jianggong, entered the classroom. He immediately spotted Liu Yimin lurking in the corner and nodded in greeting. Chen Jianggong raised an eyebrow—his young junior showing up was a pleasant surprise.

Still owes a manuscript to Lake Weiming!

After his lecture, Zou Huofan received a bundle of submission letters, with Liu Zhenyun and the others pulling crumpled letters from their pockets.

“Jianggong, you all carry on. I’ll listen from the side and soak up the energy and creative passion of the young folks!” Zou Huofan said to Chen Jianggong, then strode over to Liu Yimin.

The emergence of Today magazine had undoubtedly ignited creative fervor among students. Everyone started discussing the poems featured in Today, some of which inspired the feeling, “I could do that too.”

“Despicable is the passport of the despicable, noble is the epitaph of the noble!” a student, whose name Liu Yimin had already forgotten, loudly recited Bei Dao’s “The Answer.”

“Comrade Zou Huofan is coming our way—could it be my poem has caught the eye of this veteran?” Li Xueqin, watching Zou Huofan approach, tugged excitedly at Liu Yimin’s arm.

As Zou Huofan drew nearer, the three grew anxious, wondering how they should respond when he spoke to them.

Zou Huofan extended his hand to the three at once. He seemed momentarily surprised but shook hands naturally, exchanged a few pleasantries, then fixed his gaze on Liu Yimin: “Where’s your manuscript?”

“Comrade Zou, spare me! I have two pockets, the left is empty and the right is empty too.”

“Enough teasing. You joined the Literary Society?” Zou Huofan asked.

Liu Yimin found Zou Huofan a seat and said cheerfully, “I had nothing to do, so I stopped by. Didn’t expect you’d be here today—had I known, I’d have come earlier.”

Zou Huofan chuckled, patting Liu Yimin’s arm, “You, your handwriting is superb, and your words are sharp. Old Ma told me, when you’re free, he wants to have a drink with you.”

“I’ll visit Old Ma when the weather warms up—it’s too cold now.”

The three nearby watched their banter with envy. To be able to drink with an editor!

“Bei Dao and the others have started Today magazine—what do you think?”

“Some of it’s quite good.”

“Yes, some are quite good. Your words have proven true. Their editorial preface took aim at the older generation of poets, criticizing them all. Bei Dao is proud and solitary, but which veteran poet wasn’t once young? Take Mr. Ai Qing—in his youth, he too was passionate, his words a call to save the nation. Zang Kejia’s ‘Some People’ is a masterpiece for the ages.”

Liu Yimin understood Zou Huofan’s point. Pride isn’t a flaw for literati; it can even be admired. But are the old poets truly obsolete?

“Liu Yimin, could you speak about Today? As a representative of the new generation of young poets, what’s your view on the editorial preface in Today?”

Just as the two were chatting, a sudden voice interrupted their conversation. Looking up, they couldn’t tell who had spoken. The whole poetry gathering fell silent, all eyes fixed on Liu Yimin.

Before he could reply, thunderous applause broke out.

Zou Huofan smiled, leaning in to whisper mischievously, “Now you have no choice but to answer!”

“Is that very becoming of a senior?” Liu Yimin snorted.

“Young man, I’ve long considered you a friend across generations!”

“Go on, you’re our representative at Yan University.” Someone urged impatiently.

Outside the door, several late-arriving girls were craning their necks to see Liu Yimin. They’d come too late to squeeze into the classroom and could only stand on tiptoe at the entrance.

“I see him—I see him! He looks so young.”

“Let me see, let me see—lift me up a bit…”

“Oh, I can’t see, that old gentleman’s face is in the way!”

“Ah, that old gentleman…”

Liu Yimin stepped forward with a smile. “Who posed the question just now? It’s a sharp one—I could easily get scolded for my answer.”

Across from him, a female student raised her hand and smiled shyly. “Liu Yimin, I’m a journalism major. What’s your take on the so-called new era of poetry?”

“You’re a promising journalist.”

“Hahaha!”

“I think poetry’s essence is to express the poet’s emotions or happenings around them in concise language. If it’s substantial, emotive, and resonates with the reader, it’s good poetry. It has nothing to do with old or new. Bai Juyi said poetry is written for the times and for events. Different eras, different backgrounds, produce different poems. I like the old generation’s poetry, but that doesn’t stop me from liking Bei Dao’s ‘The Answer.’”

“Which do you think is the representative of the new generation of poets, you or Bei Dao?”

Deliberately stirring trouble, Liu Yimin looked at the journalism student, recognizing in her the essence of modern media’s obsession with popularity.

“If you say that, the whole room will disagree. We gather here because we love poetry; everyone is a poet. There’s no distinction between great poets and lesser poets—even if one isn’t a poet now, one will be in the future. As for who is the representative, it’s not for me to decide. The readers decide.”

The girl who asked the question blushed and lowered her head, and the classroom burst into applause again.

“Well said—we’re here because we love poetry!”

“No distinction between great poets and lesser poets!”

Liu Yimin’s words were especially comforting to those struggling for publication. Everyone fought for recognition, after all. If nothing else, the expressions of his three dormmates made it clear.

From then on, if anyone said you weren’t a poet because you hadn’t published, they could quote Comrade Liu Yimin: as long as I love it, I am a poet!

“Crafty!” Zou Huofan applauded while pursing his lips at Liu Yimin—his words offended no one.

At the classroom door, eight girls were nearly cramping from standing on tiptoe. Chu Hong exclaimed excitedly to the others, “Listen, Liu Yimin speaks so well!”

“What did he say? I couldn’t hear—just applause.”

Their commotion drew the attention of several students in front, who turned around impatiently. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Thank you, classmate! Yan University students are truly heroes!”