Different music forms usually come from different cultures. If baroque music is a symbol of western classicism and rock music is a product of fast food culture, then I am afraid that only the guqin of Yu Boya and Zhong Ziqi can represent the 5,000-year-old culture of China. Listen carefully to the sound of guqin plucking strings, and a deep but floating feeling will immediately occupy your heart, as if all the noise has gone away and only the soul is being baptized.
It can almost be said that what Guqin has entrusted is the inexhaustible classical culture of Chinese sons and daughters for thousands of years. This cultural accumulation also determines the elegance of guqin. Wandering in the music of guqin, you seem to hear Confucius' voice under the apricot altar, Laozi's argument in Xiguan, Sun Wu's roar on the Yangtze River, and Han Fei's orders in Xianyang. Everything is like a song, but it is inseparable from the accompaniment of guqin. China's ancient culture, accompanied by guqin, has been sung to this day with twists and turns.
But now, I can't hear the accompaniment. The songs of China ancient culture have been buried in other colorful music with the accompaniment of Guqin. Rap, rock and hip-hop occupy people's hearing field, and the faint sound of guqin is drowned in the foreign music that covers the sky.
I choose to stay in my memory and continue to travel with the songs of ancient culture and the accompaniment of guqin. Every now and then, like Fan Zhongyan, I say helplessly, "Weiss, who are we going home with?" Unfortunately, no one cares. When the sound of guqin in headphones is drowned out by the music outside, I will go back to the pure land of ancient culture I built and listen to the ancient culture singing to me in ancient times. When a flood of sarcasm and ridicule came to my face, I had to comfort myself with Nietzsche's "Go your own way, never mind what others say". A local writer said that memories are poisonous, which is probably the case-I, who can only listen to ancient culture singing, is out of step with the times.
The last guqin can no longer sing for the world-it wants to sing, but it is beaten black and blue by reality. Maybe the songs of ancient culture have been blowing in the wind? Or has it been swept out of the mainstream by the waves in River of No Return? Or is it like the sunset that is about to set in the west-in the end, you can only gently sprinkle the beautiful afterglow with blood on the ground, and then fall into deep darkness?
I don't know. But this song will always ring in my heart and will never die, because I, like that arrogant me, will never give in to the big stream.
Finally, Guqin, may you have the opportunity to sow your voice into this world again and let it bloom again.
It rained heavily from the sky and a music festival began. Raindrops wash away the complexity and noise of the world with songs, and a firm figure stands by the river. ...
Less than three months after you left the fallen Yingdu, your sideburns have turned white. In exile in Jiangnan, your thoughts are still condensed on your king and your people. Even if the environment here is quiet, you can sing in poetry. Even if there are flowers and plants you love here, you can praise them with poems, but you still care about your people and your king. Under the oil lamp, there is always a dignified breath in the air-so firm and persistent.
You sing and feel the river wind at the turn of autumn and winter when crossing the Hunan River. You have been to the morning sun and looked up at the towering peaks-if it weren't for midnight in the pavilion, there would be no sunrise and moon. But no matter how beautiful the scenery is, it will still cause you to sigh-sigh that my life is not satisfactory, and you are once again exiled and sad in the melody.
Numerous speeches are piling up, and your songs keep expelling indignation in your poems. Your words tell me that although you are faithful and suspicious, you believe and see that you have been slandered, but you still miss your king and your people, so determined. You wander in poetic songs, bend down, pick a tender grass and leave your sadness in the melody.