Writer 1978: I Need to Give the Literary World a Lesson

Chapter 29 Too Boastful
The Poetry Journal holds a position in the hearts of poets almost the same as People's Literature in the literary world; it is the only national-level poetry magazine that professionally publishes poetry and poetry reviews.

Both are under the Writers' Association, so they are practically twins. Their fates are also similar; both were only recently revived, with *Poetry Journal* having resumed publication in 76.

After the four men had beaten him down, Poetry Journal was completely free of its burdens and ready to make a big splash. They even came up with a slogan: "Look only ahead, don't worry about the past."

On August 13th, the editors of "Poetry Journal" were frantically searching through piles of manuscripts, each one sweating profusely from the heat. On an empty table in the middle of the editorial office sat a bowl of sliced ​​watermelon, with clean watermelon rinds next to it.

On the wall of the editorial office hang the editorial office's mission statement: "Serve socialism and serve the people," and the "double hundred" policy of "let a hundred flowers bloom" and "let a hundred schools of thought contend."

Poetry is different from novels. It is at most a few hundred words long. An editor can read it carefully in about ten minutes and will not miss any good poems.

Of course, some poems are quite profound, and editors may have to work hard to understand them, which tests their ability to analyze poetry.

When they come across a good poem, these editors will loudly recite it, oblivious to everyone else, and then have their colleagues in the editorial department comment on it. If this were an editor from *People's Literature*, reading a short story of a few thousand words would be exhausting enough for them, and a novella would be absolutely agonizing.

Zou Huofan, an editor at Poetry Journal, was rummaging through a pile of letters for submissions. He is not only a poet but also a writer. For him, the work of editing is not boring at all, but rather makes him feel very fulfilled.

At the age of 61, he still works like a young person.

His favorite submissions are from his former poet friends, through which he can learn about their current living conditions and psychological state.

Since he was transferred to the editorial department of Poetry Journal this year, he has often kept in touch with his old friends. When he learned that some people were having a hard time living in the countryside, he would offer them help from time to time.

When Zou Huofan receives a submission, he first checks the sender's address and name to see if it's from a friend.

"Liu Yimin." Zou Huofan looked at Liu Yimin's name here and read it softly. He felt that these three words were familiar, but he couldn't remember them for a while.

So he shook his head, stopped thinking about it, and quickly opened the envelope. A small note fell onto the table first. Zou Huofan curiously opened it and immediately laughed.

"Please indicate the author's affiliation as Ruxian County when publishing," Zou Huofan snorted coldly. This tone was far too arrogant, as if the author already knew that publication was mandatory.

"Let's see if I let you publish it!"

Zou Huofan pushed up his reading glasses and decided to take a closer look at this author's "masterpiece" to see what kind of work could make the author's mouth sound like he had eaten garlic, with an overbearing stench.

Zou Huofan even had a wicked thought: he would refuse to approve the author's manuscript and instead find fault with it before returning it to the author.

Zou Huofan opened the manuscript and began to read it aloud with a mocking tone.

Upon seeing the first sentence, Zou Huofan's playful gaze vanished, and his hand unconsciously tightened its grip on the manuscript.

I was leaning back in my chair reading the manuscript, but as I became more focused, I unconsciously sat up straight.

When he finished reading, he slammed his hand on the table, stood up excitedly, and kicked the chair behind him away.

This action startled the editor on the other side. They were all sharing a large table, and when he slammed his hand on one side, it was like an earthquake on the other. He immediately looked at the enthusiastic Zou Huofan with a resentful expression.

Zou Huofan then struck a pose, arms outstretched, and began to recite with exaggerated gestures:

"My motherland, my beloved motherland!"
I am the old, dilapidated waterwheel on your riverbank.
For hundreds of years, we have spun weary songs;

I am the blackened miner's lamp on your forehead.

"Just like you're groping your way through the tunnels of history." "Great! Old Zou, who wrote this?" After Zou Huofan finished reading it, an editor asked curiously.

“You all go first, what do you think of this poem?” Zou Huofan asked each of the group of editors in turn.

"Well written, so well written. Vivid and touching, full of genuine emotion. And the metaphors are very original and imaginative."

Inside the editorial office, a group of editors were talking all at once.

Editor-in-Chief Yan Chen heard the commotion outside and quickly came out as well. It was impossible for him to avoid hearing the noise Zou Huofan had made. Unfortunately, when he came out, he only caught the latter half; the first half was faint and indistinct. It was this faintness that made him anxious.

He quickly walked up to Zou Huofan, smiled, took the manuscript, and began reading it again.

“This author must be from the North, Lao Zou, do you agree?” Yan Chen looked up and made a bet with Zou Huofan after reading the first few sentences.

"Why, Lao Yan?" Zou Huofan asked.

"Because it describes withered wheat ears, if it were a southerner, it would be rice ears!" Yan Chen said with a smile.

“Not bad. Take another look. These metaphors are quite unique. This person has a kind of inspiration when writing poetry. You can’t be a poet without inspiration.” Zou Huofan picked up a slice of watermelon and ate it in big bites. He felt very thirsty after reading it.

"The theme is clear, and the patriotism leaps off the page. In this new era, we need this kind of passionate young people. The instructor is right, the world belongs to the young. The author who can write such a poem must also be a young person."

After reading it, Yan Chen turned his gaze back to Zou Huofan.

Zou Huofan didn't nod because he didn't know Liu Yimin's age: "Old Yan, then guess who wrote this?"

"Stop making me guess, just tell us already, the comrades are getting impatient," Yan Chen urged.

“Liu Yimin, I’ve never heard of that name before. He must be a newcomer,” Zou Huofan said with a smile.

The editors in the editorial department were deep in thought, chin in hand, when suddenly someone slapped their thigh and said, "Isn't it Liu Yimin from Ruxian County, Luoyang City, Henan Province?"

Seeing his strong reaction, Zou Huofan quickly took out the envelope and glanced at it. Finding it to be true, he asked, "Do you know this Liu Yimin?"

"Oh dear, have you all forgotten about 'Mr. Donkey' published in this issue of People's Literature and Art? Its author is Liu Yimin!"

Zou Huofan suddenly slapped his forehead, realizing, "Oh, it's him! No wonder he seemed so familiar, but I just couldn't remember. He's the author of 'Mr. Donkey.' No wonder he can write such good poetry."

I was wondering who was being so arrogant!

The others immediately burst into laughter, filling the room with a joyful atmosphere.

The discussion surrounding the poetry has reached a new level; this newcomer not only publishes excellent novels but also excellent poems.

It has the potential to make a name for itself!
During the break, and with Zou Huofan taking the lead, everyone got up and grabbed a slice of watermelon to eat. It would be embarrassing to be the first to eat if no one else was doing it.

They ate the watermelon quickly, with almost no one spitting out the seeds. While eating, they glanced at the other colleagues in the editorial department, their smiles carrying a deeper meaning.

Thanks to Liu Yimin, I finally have a chance to get a watermelon to eat!
(End of this chapter)