我并没有读过林徽因的《人间四月天》,但我知道人间的四月是怎样一幅绮丽华美的画卷。在这样令人落泪的四月,我,一个孤独执笔的诉说者,一个格格不入的狂想者,应该想到谁?应该写下怎样的文字?又应该为怎样的恋春情结感动得痛哭流涕?春天与诗是永恒的话题,我应该想到雪莱。他对春天的渴望就像猎猎西风里的云雀,如此细腻,又如此强烈。他沾满了墨水的羽毛笔终于被巨大的诗意感化,将稍纵即逝的灵感镌刻在白纸上,一篇《西风颂》,就是一篇对春日的告白信。 I did not read Lin Huiyin’s “April Apollo” but I know how the world of April is a beautiful and beautiful picture. In such a weeping April, I, a solitary prose writer, an alien speculator, should think of who? What kind of writing should be written? And what kind of love complex should be moved with tears? Spring and poetry are eternal topics, and I should think Shelley. His desire for spring is like hunting a lark in the westerly wind, so delicate and so strong. His ink-filled feather pen was finally poetically influenced by the fleeting inspiration engraved on white paper, an “Ode to the West Wind” is a confession letter to the spring.