Fall into deep sorrow and hidden lament, and tell more in silence than in voice. "
Pipa player's song
order
In the tenth year of Yuanhe, Yu moved to Sima, Jiujiang County. 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 him, Ben Chang 'an advocates women and tastes pipa in Mu and Cao Ershan; Old age is fading, and I am committed to being a wife. Then he ordered wine and asked him to play a few songs quickly, and the music was merciful. I said that I was happy when I was young, but now I am drifting away and wandering between rivers and lakes. After two years as an official, I feel at ease and feel that I have moved towards the future. Because of the long sentences, the songs are given to them. Every 6 16 word 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 direction of the melody and 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 brushed the strings, slowly twisted, swept and plucked, first the air in the rainbow skirt, then the six small ones.
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, so you can't swallow the spring scenery and flow under the ice.
The ice spring is cold and astringent, and the strings condense, and the condensation will never stop.
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.
Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk.
The east ship and the west ship were silent, and we saw the white autumn moon entering the river.
She tied the rope thoughtfully, stood up, smoothed her clothes, and was 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.
Song often impressed people, and her beauty envied all the leading dancers.
How did the aristocratic youths in Wuling compete generously? Countless red silks were given to a song.
And the blood color of the skirt was stained by wine, China.
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.
There were fewer and fewer cars and horses in front of the door, and finally she married herself 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 and the autumn night in the moonlight.
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 official. My blue sleeves are wet.