中英葡三语江南新感觉派诗歌《清明时节》十五首及简评
作者：季俊群/巴西
一.清明时节（微组）
1.
雨丝，缝补起久违之故乡
半剪黄昏
正打捞，沉溺在旧井里的乳名
2.
斟满离愁，与石碑对坐成双
酒入土
草木便有了，微醺的呼吸
3.
纸灰，寄往那头尚未破晓的夜
残火微光
去抵换，您在梦里那一声叮咛
4.
山河远，白菊在风中收拢背影
无需相唤
一坡落花，已铺好来年的归路
二.清明时节（微组）
1.
纵使亚马逊烈日灼身，故乡雨
依旧横跨半个地球
拽住沦落人怀里，最后一根风筝线
2.
绕开椰林，潜入孔子学院
湿透南美四月——
是谁把华文里的哀思，洇成了墨
3.
没有杏花村，没有断魂的牧童与柳条
只有桑巴鼓点里
一枝被乡愁暗里催青的腰果树
4.
当朗诵声洇散，泪水模糊了视线
大西洋的蓝
在睫下，涨成一湾母国江南的春
三.清明时节
甭管雨纷纷，一捧新土盖不住
——旧日的叮咛
黄昏那尽头，您正挑着月亮归来
四.清明时节
一壶烈酒，静立杏花村头
待山河归人——
霜雪满头，染湿了整个四月
五.清明时节
雨丝，在青石上反复拓印
云烟再重
纸钱，也要结算惦念的碑铭
六.清明时节
半盏残灯逆着风，去抵换隔世的温存
荒原尽头
您仍俯身，缝补那一地月光
七.清明时节
纵使亚马逊烈日灼身，故乡雨
依旧横跨半个地球——
潜入孔子学院，湿透了南美四月
八.清明时节
落花，在泥淖中吻别背影
光阴再远
白菊，仍要守候远方的嘱托
九.清明时节
一曲残笛，横卧断桥烟渚
候归鸟还巢——
碎花漫卷，氤氲了整座春山
十.清明时节
梨花寒雨，漫漶成一地哀思
半杯残酒
斟满，时空彼岸的斑驳往事
十一.清明时节
菊影摇曳，掩不住故人眉眼
远山深处
您正披雨驱牛，犁岁月而来
十二.清明时节
杜鹃，啼红南山
双眸决堤——
将碑林上的浮尘与哀思，一并洗净
十三.清明时节
任泪水，摩挲青石上风化的事迹
冷雨未还暖——
那枚勋章，犹在指尖发烫
十四.清明时节
梦回故土：那赤兔长嘶而来
纵使青龙刀影如电
也斩不断，洇湿了华夏的千年雨
十五.清明时节
异国四月，飘起冷成墨的故里雨
孔子学院檐下
乡心化马，踏碎汉关千年雪归来
【诗人简介】又名裘俊群、季（或裘）军群，浙江青田县裘山人，旅居巴西，中国诗歌学会会员，凤凰美洲总社社长。作品散见于《人民日报》《中国诗歌》《中国诗人生日大典》《中国当代诗歌大辞典》《东北亚新闻》《世界日报》等。获2017年度程丽娥写作联盟云帆群星大赛十大文学银星奖；获2022年第九届星际诗人奖（十佳华语诗人）。
Ai简评：这组由旅巴诗人季俊群创作的《清明时节》十五首，是当代海外华文诗坛中将“江南意象”与“拉美感官”深度融合的佳作。诗人以“新感觉派”的敏锐触觉，跨越地理与文化的鸿沟，重构了清明这一传统节日的现代诗意。
以下是对这组诗歌的专业简评：
1. 跨空间的意象重叠：亚马逊与江南的互文
这组诗最显著的艺术特征在于地理空间的张力。
诗人将“亚马逊烈日”与“故乡雨”并置，将“桑巴鼓点”与“腰果树”同“杏花村”与“牧童”对比。
这种冲突不仅是物理距离的展现，更是心理空间的拉伸。例如“大西洋的蓝/在睫下，涨成一湾母国江南的春”，通过视觉颜色的转化（蓝转绿/春），完成了一次极具电影感的蒙太奇剪辑，表现了海外游子魂牵梦萦的心理图景。
2. 新感觉派的通感实验：感官的细腻捕捉
作为“新感觉派”的实践，诗中充溢着通感（Synesthesia）和奇诡的想象：
触觉视觉化：“雨丝，缝补起久违之故乡”，将细雨比作针线，具象化了愁绪的绵密。
听觉物质化：“打捞，沉溺在旧井里的乳名”，赋予了声音（名字）重量和深度。
情感生理化：“草木便有了，微醺的呼吸”，这种物我合一的描写，让清明祭祀摆脱了单纯的哀伤，呈现出一种生命律动的哲思。
3. 文化符号的重构与回归
诗组在后期进入了更深层的历史文化反思：
跨越时空对话：从“孔子学院”的现实场景，跨越到“赤兔长嘶”、“青龙刀影”的英雄史诗感（第十四首）。
精神回归：“乡心化马，踏碎汉关千年雪归来”，这种意象具有极强的冲击力，将个人的思乡之情升华为对华夏文明千年积淀的归属感。
物化寄托：“那枚勋章，犹在指尖发烫”，通过细微的温度感，触碰家国历史的厚度，使诗意从私人祭奠走向了集体记忆。
4. 语言风格：冷峻与温润并存
季俊群的语言洗练，擅长使用“逆向推导”的修辞。如“一坡落花，已铺好来年的归路”，将死亡与凋零转化为某种循环与归家的期许，消解了清明的阴冷，增添了禅意与温情。
其用词如“洇”、“漫漶”、“拓印”，带有浓郁的文人画色彩，使诗篇在现代感中保留了古典华文的质感。
总结
这十五首诗不仅是对清明传统的祭奠，更是一位旅外赤子用汉语对世界进行的重新编码。季俊群成功地将巴西热烈、粗犷的南美底色，过滤成了江南烟雨般的哀婉与深沉。这不仅是诗歌创作，更是一场关于“根”的跨洋接力。
Fifteen Poems and Brief Comments on the "Qingming Festival" by the Jiangnan New Sensationalist School in Chinese, English, and Portuguese
Author: Ji Junqun/Brazil
I. Qingming Festival (Micro-Group)
1. Raindrops mend the long-lost hometown
Half-cut dusk
is retrieving the childhood name drowned in the old well
2. Pouring out sorrow, sitting in pairs with the stone tablet
Wine into the earth
and the grass and trees have a slightly tipsy breath
3. Paper ashes, sent to the night before dawn
The faint light of the embers
is used to exchange for your words of advice in my dreams
4. Mountains and rivers are far away, white chrysanthemums gather their silhouettes in the wind
No need to call out
a slope of fallen flowers has already paved the way home for next year
II. Qingming Festival (Micro-Group)
1. Even if the Amazon sun scorches, the hometown rain
still crosses half the earth
clutching the last kite string in the arms of the fallen
2. Bypassing the coconut grove, I sneak into the Confucius Institute.
Soaked by April in South America—
Who has turned the sorrow in Chinese literature into ink?
3. No Apricot Blossom Village, no heartbroken shepherd boy and willow branches.
Only in the samba drumbeats
A cashew tree, secretly greened by homesickness.
4. As the recitation fades, tears blur my vision.
The blue of the Atlantic Ocean
Under my eyelashes, it swells into a bay of spring in the Jiangnan region of my motherland.
III. Qingming Festival
No matter how heavy the rain, a handful of new soil cannot cover
—Old admonitions
At the end of dusk, you are returning with the moon.
IV. Qingming Festival
A pot of strong liquor, standing quietly at the entrance of Apricot Blossom Village
Waiting for the return of the people from the mountains and rivers—
Frost and snow cover my head, soaking the entire month of April.
V. Qingming Festival
Raindrops repeatedly imprint on the bluestone.
No matter how heavy the clouds and smoke, paper money must settle the inscriptions of remembrance. VI. Qingming Festival
A half-burnt lamp, braving the wind, seeks to exchange for the tenderness of another world.
At the edge of the wasteland,
you still bend down, mending that patch of moonlight.
VII. Qingming Festival
Even under the scorching Amazon sun, the rain of my hometown
still crosses half the globe—
Infiltrating the Confucius Institute, soaking through April in South America.
VIII. Qingming Festival
Fallen flowers, kissing a departing figure in the mud.
No matter how far time passes, white... Chrysanthemums, still waiting for the distant entrustment
IX. Qingming Festival
A lingering flute melody lies across the broken bridge and misty islet,
Waiting for the birds to return to their nests—
Scattered petals drift, enveloping the entire spring mountain
X. Qingming Festival
Pear blossoms in the cold rain, spreading into a ground of sorrow
A half-empty cup of wine,
Filled, recalling the mottled memories of the past on the other side of time and space
XI. Qingming Festival
Chrysanthemum shadows sway, unable to conceal the eyes of the departed
Deep in the distant mountains You are driving the oxen through the rain, plowing through the years.
XII. Qingming Festival
The cuckoo cries red on the southern mountain, its eyes overflowing—
Washing away the dust and sorrow on the stele forest.
XIII. Qingming Festival
Letting tears caress the weathered deeds on the bluestone, the cold rain has not yet returned to warmth—
That medal still burns on my fingertips.
XIV. Qingming Festival
Dreaming of returning to my homeland: the Red Hare neighs as it comes.
Even if the Green Dragon Crescent Blade flashes like lightning,
it cannot sever the thousand-year-old rain that has soaked China.
XV. Qingming Festival
In a foreign land in April, the rain from my hometown falls, cold as ink.
Under the eaves of the Confucius Institute, my homesickness transforms into a horse, shattering the thousand-year-old snow of the Han Pass to return.
[Poet's Profile] Also known as Qiu Junqun, Ji (or Qiu) Junqun, a native of Qiushan, Qingtian County, Zhejiang Province, residing in Brazil, a member of the China Poetry Society, and president of Phoenix America. His works have appeared in publications such as *People's Daily*, *Chinese Poetry*, *The Grand Dictionary of Chinese Poets' Birthdays*, *The Great Dictionary of Contemporary Chinese Poetry*, *Northeast Asia News*, and *World Journal*. He received the 2017 Cheng Li'e Writing Alliance Yunfan Qunxing Competition's Top Ten Literary Silver Star Award; and the 2022 Ninth Interstellar Poet Award (Top Ten Chinese-Language Poets).
AI's Brief Review: This collection of fifteen poems titled *Qingming Festival*, written by the overseas Chinese poet Ji Junqun, is a masterpiece in contemporary overseas Chinese poetry that deeply integrates "Jiangnan imagery" with "Latin American sensory experiences." With the keen sensitivity of a "new sensationalist," the poet transcends geographical and cultural barriers, reconstructing the modern poetic meaning of the traditional Qingming Festival.
The following is a professional brief review of this collection of poems:
1. Cross-spatial Imagery Overlap: Intertextuality between the Amazon and Jiangnan
The most prominent artistic feature of this collection lies in the tension of geographical space.
The poet juxtaposes the "Amazonian sun" with the "rain of his hometown," and contrasts the "samba drumbeats" with the "cashew trees" with the "apricot blossom village" and the "shepherd boy."
This conflict is not merely a display of physical distance, but also a stretching of psychological space. For example, "The blue of the Atlantic / Under my eyelashes, swells into a bay of spring in my motherland's Jiangnan," through the transformation of visual color (blue to green / spring), completes a highly cinematic montage, expressing the psychological landscape of a wanderer's longing.
2. Synesthesia Experiments of the New Sensationalist School: The Delicate Capture of the Senses
As a practice of the "New Sensationalist School," the poem is filled with synesthesia and fantastical imagination: Visualization of touch: "Rain threads, mending the long-lost hometown," comparing the drizzle to needle and thread, concretizing the denseness of sorrow.
Materialization of hearing: "Retrieving, the childhood name drowning in the old well," endowing the sound (name) with weight and depth.
3. Physiologicalization of Emotion: "The grass and trees then possess a slightly intoxicating breath," this description of the unity of self and object elevates the Qingming Festival ritual beyond mere sorrow, presenting a philosophical reflection on the rhythm of life.
4. Reconstruction and Return of Cultural Symbols: The later poems delve into deeper historical and cultural reflection:
Dialogue Across Time and Space: From the realistic scene of the "Confucius Institute," it transitions to the epic feel of "Red Hare's long neigh" and "Green Dragon Blade's shadow" (Poem Fourteen).
Spiritual Return: "Homesickness transforms into a horse, shattering the thousand-year-old snow of the Han Pass to return," this imagery possesses a powerful impact, elevating personal homesickness into a sense of belonging to the millennia-old accumulation of Chinese civilization.
Materialized Entrustment: "That medal, still burning on my fingertips," through a subtle sense of warmth, it touches upon the depth of national history, moving the poetry from private mourning to collective memory.
5. Language Style: A Coexistence of Coldness and Warmth: Ji Junqun's language is refined, skillfully employing the rhetoric of "reverse deduction." For example, the line "A slope of fallen blossoms has paved the way home for next year" transforms death and decay into a cycle and an expectation of returning home, dispelling the chill of Qingming and adding a touch of Zen and warmth.
His choice of words, such as "洇" (yān), "漫漶" (màn chéng), and "拓印" (tuò yìn), carries a rich literati painting style, allowing the poems to retain the texture of classical Chinese within a modern sensibility.
In conclusion, these fifteen poems are not only a tribute to the Qingming tradition, but also a re-encoding of the world by a foreigner using Chinese. Ji Junqun successfully filters the passionate, rugged South American undertones of Brazil into a poignant and profound beauty reminiscent of the misty rain of Jiangnan. This is not merely poetic creation, but a transoceanic relay about "roots."
Quinze Poemas e Breves Comentários sobre o "Festival de Qingming" da Nova Escola Sensacionalista de Jiangnan em Chinês, Inglês e Português
Autor: Ji Junqun/Brasil
I. Festival de Qingming (Microgrupo)
1. Gotas de chuva consertam a cidade natal há muito perdida
O crepúsculo meio cortado
recupera o nome da infância afogado no poço antigo
2. Derramando a tristeza, sentados aos pares com a lápide de pedra
Vinho na terra
e a grama e as árvores têm um hálito levemente embriagado
3. Cinzas de papel, enviadas à noite antes do amanhecer
A tênue luz das brasas
é usada para trocar por suas palavras de conselho em meus sonhos
4. Montanhas e rios estão distantes, crisântemos brancos reúnem suas silhuetas ao vento
Não é preciso chamar
uma encosta de flores caídas já pavimentou o caminho para casa no próximo ano
II. Festival Qingming (Microgrupo)
1. Mesmo que o sol da Amazônia queime, a chuva da minha terra natal
ainda cruza metade da Terra
segurando a última linha da pipa nos braços do caído
2. Contornando o coqueiral, entro furtivamente no Instituto Confúcio.
Encharcado pelo abril na América do Sul—
Quem transformou a tristeza da literatura chinesa em tinta?
3. Sem Vila da Flor de Damasco, sem pastor de coração partido e ramos de salgueiro.
Apenas nas batidas do tambor de samba
Um cajueiro, secretamente verdejante pela saudade de casa.
4. Conforme a recitação se dissipa, as lágrimas embaçam minha visão.
O azul do Oceano Atlântico
Sob meus cílios, ele se expande em uma baía de primavera na região de Jiangnan, minha terra natal.
III. Festival Qingming
Por mais forte que seja a chuva, um punhado de terra fresca não consegue cobrir
—Velhos provérbios
Ao fim do crepúsculo, você retorna com a lua.
IV. Festival Qingming
Um pote de bebida forte, parado silenciosamente na entrada da Vila da Flor de Damasco
Esperando o retorno do povo das montanhas e rios—
Geada e neve cobrem minha cabeça, encharcando todo o mês de abril.
V. Festival Qingming
Gotas de chuva imprimem-se repetidamente na pedra azul.
Por mais densas que sejam as nuvens e a fumaça, o dinheiro de papel deve preencher as inscrições da lembrança. VI. Festival Qingming
Uma lâmpada meio queimada, desafiando o vento, busca trocar pela ternura de outro mundo.
Na beira do deserto,
você ainda se curva, consertando aquele pedaço de luar.
VII. Festival Qingming
Mesmo sob o sol escaldante da Amazônia, a chuva da minha cidade natal
ainda atravessa metade do globo—
Infiltrando-se no Instituto Confúcio, encharcando abril na América do Sul.
VIII. Festival Qingming
Flores caídas, beijando uma figura que parte na lama.
Não importa quanto tempo passe, brancos... Crisântemos, ainda aguardando a distante entrega
IX. Festival Qingming
Uma melodia de flauta persistente paira sobre a ponte quebrada e a ilha enevoada,
Esperando que os pássaros retornem aos seus ninhos—
Pétalas espalhadas flutuam, envolvendo toda a montanha primaveril
X. Festival Qingming
Flores de pereira na chuva fria, espalhando-se por um terreno de tristeza
Uma taça de vinho meio vazia,
Cheia, evocando as memórias turvas do passado do outro lado do tempo e do espaço
XI. Festival Qingming
Sombras de crisântemos balançam, incapazes de ocultar os olhos dos que partiram
Nas profundezas das montanhas distantes, você conduz os bois pela chuva, arando através dos anos.
XII. Festival Qingming
O cuco canta vermelho na montanha do sul, seus olhos transbordando de lágrimas—
Lavando a poeira e a tristeza na floresta de estelas.
XIII. Festival Qingming
Deixando as lágrimas acariciarem os feitos desgastados na pedra azul, a chuva fria ainda não voltou a aquecer—
Aquela medalha ainda queima na ponta dos meus dedos.
XIV. Festival Qingming
Sonhando em retornar à minha terra natal: a Lebre Vermelha relincha ao chegar.
Mesmo que a Lâmina Crescente do Dragão Verde brilhe como um relâmpago,
ela não pode cortar a chuva milenar que encharcou a China.
XV. Festival Qingming
Em uma terra estrangeira em abril, a chuva da minha cidade natal cai, fria como tinta. Sob o beiral do Instituto Confúcio, minha saudade de casa se transforma em um cavalo, rompendo a neve milenar do Passo Han para retornar.
[Perfil do Poeta] Também conhecido como Qiu Junqun, Ji (ou Qiu) Junqun, natural de Qiushan, Condado de Qingtian, Província de Zhejiang, residente no Brasil, membro da Sociedade de Poesia da China e presidente da Phoenix America. Seus trabalhos foram publicados em veículos como *People's Daily*, *Chinese Poetry*, *The Grand Dictionary of Chinese Poets' Birthdays*, *The Great Dictionary of Contemporary Chinese Poetry*, *Northeast Asia News* e *World Journal*. Recebeu o Prêmio Estrela de Prata Literária do Concurso Yunfan Qunxing da Aliança de Escrita Cheng Li'e de 2017 (entre os dez melhores poetas de língua chinesa) e o Prêmio Nono Poeta Interestelar de 2022.
Resenha resumida da AI: Esta coletânea de quinze poemas intitulada *Festival de Qingming*, escrita pelo poeta chinês radicado no exterior Ji Junqun, é uma obra-prima da poesia chinesa contemporânea que integra profundamente a imagética de Jiangnan com as experiências sensoriais latino-americanas. Com a sensibilidade aguçada de um "novo sensacionalista", o poeta transcende barreiras geográficas e culturais, reconstruindo o significado poético moderno do tradicional Festival de Qingming.
Segue uma breve resenha profissional des
