A new word, a glass of wine
You can enjoy music, but you can't listen until late at night.
Kunshan jade broken Fengming, hibiscus crying, Xianglan laughing.
The cold light melts in front of the twelve gates, and the twenty-three silk moves the purple emperor.
-Li He's Quotations from Li Ping
The five strings are full of emotions, and the twists and turns are full of life.
I only admire the satrap of romantic Yuan Ye, and a small golden bell rings in my ears.
Smell the baby at night.
-Du Fu
When I smell the Cangjiang River in its infancy at night, I will listen to my feelings in the declining years.
How sad the neighboring boat is, and how tragic the night beyond the Great Wall is.
It was a night of snow and frost, and the lonely lamp was in a hurry.
You know that heaven and earth are all wars, but you can't see that it is difficult to walk in the rivers and lakes.
Listen to An Wanshan playing cymbals.
-Li Wei
The bamboo in Nanshan is an infant, and its music was first introduced from Persia.
It spread to the Han Dynasty and became a novel, and Aw Hoe in Liangzhou was played by me.
The listeners at the seat are all sighing, and the homesick tourists weep.
People only know how to listen to music but not appreciate it. Music is like walking alone in a storm.
Withered old Bai Han, there are nine little phoenixes, singing to each other.
It's like a dragon singing and a tiger roaring and generate at the same time, and it's like the autumn sound of spring in autumn.
Suddenly turned into a small, solemn and stirring, which turned the sky from flying to dark clouds.
The next change is as lively and cheerful as Yang Liuzhi, as if I saw the flowers in the garden among the flowers.
It is the high-rise candle that we lit on this cold night, and each glass of wine is accompanied by another round of music.
Pipa player's song
"Pipa? Bai Juyi
Yuan Yuanhe ten years, moved to Sima and Jiujiang counties. Next autumn, I will send a guest to Pukou, and I will hear those pipa players in the middle of the night. Listen to its voice, there is the voice of Kyoto. Ask the man, Ben Chang 'an advocates women and learns to bathe grass. Old age is fading, and I am committed to being a wife. He ordered the winemaker to play a few tunes quickly. I feel sorry for you, but I tell myself the happiness of my childhood. Now I am wandering and haggard, and I have been an official in the Jianghu for two years. I feel comfortable, I feel comfortable. I didn't feel moved until the evening. Because Long song is for them, there are 6 12 words. Life is called pipa xing.
In the evening, I bid farewell to a guest on Xunyang River. Maple leaves and mature rushes rustle in autumn.
I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our cups, hoping to drink-but, alas, there is no music.
Although we drank a lot of wine, we were not happy. When we were leaving each other, the river mysteriously widened in the direction of the full moon.
We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the host forgot to go home and the guests left.
We followed the melody, asked the player's name, and the voice was interrupted ... and then she reluctantly answered.
We moved the boat closer to hers, invited her to join us, and summoned more wine and lanterns to start our party again.
However, before she came to us, we called a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind her guitar from us.
... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings.
Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.
She frowned, bent her fingers, and then started her music, letting her heart share everything with us bit by bit.
She brushes the strings, twists them slowly, sweeps them and plucks them, first "Nishang" and then "Six Yao".
Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets.
Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, under the ice, it is difficult to swallow and flow.
The ice spring is cold and astringent, as if it can't pass; And notes, fade away.
The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice.
A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.
Pay attention to your stroke, all four strings make a sound, just like tearing silk.
The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.
She tied it thoughtfully on the rope, stood up and smoothed her clothes, serious and polite.
Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital and lived in her parents' house in Toad Hill.
She mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name ranked first in the list of musicians.
Her art even attracted the appreciation of experts, and her beauty attracted the envy of all major dancers.
How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song.
The silver comb inlaid with shells was broken by her rhythm, and the bloody skirt was stained with wine.
Season after season, joy followed, and neither the autumn moon nor the spring breeze attracted her attention.
Until her brother went to war, and then her aunt died, and the night passed, and the night came, and her beauty disappeared.
Lengma was at the door, so at last she gave her wife to a businessman.
Who, first of all, stole money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.
She has been taking care of an empty boat in the estuary, with no companions except the bright moon and cold water.
Sometimes in the middle of the night, she dreams of her victory and is awakened from her dream by her hot tears.
Her first guitar note made me sigh. Now, after listening to her story, I feel even sadder.
We were all unhappy until the end of the day, when we met. We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? .
A year ago, I left the capital and came here. Now I am a sick Jiujiang exile.
Jiujiang is so far away that I haven't heard music, neither strings nor bamboo sounds for a whole year.
My residence is near the town by the river, low and humid, and the house is surrounded by bitter reeds and yellow rushes.
What can you hear here in the morning and evening? The cuckoo's bleeding cry, the ape's sobbing.
I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the spring morning with flowers and the autumn night with moonlight shining.
Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, but they are rough and harsh, and they are harsh in my ears.
Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt that my hearing was illuminated by wonderful music.
Don't leave us. Come, sit down. Play it for us again. I will write a Long song about guitar. ..
... she was moved by my words, stood there for a while, and then sat down to play her strings-they sounded even sadder.
Although the tune was different from what she had played before, all the listeners covered their faces.
But which of them cried the most? , this Jiujiang officer. My blue sleeves are wet.