"The Golden Bronze Immortal Says a Chinese Song" by Li He of the Tang Dynasty. Li He's father was an old acquaintance of the poet sage Du Fu. Du Fu admired Li He's father's talents very much. After Li He's father failed to find an official position in the capital for a long time, he had no choice but to leave the capital. Du Fu said goodbye sadly and could only encourage Li He's father. It's just a pity that in the Tang Dynasty, an era when capable people emerged in large numbers, although Li He's father was considered a talent, he was not outstanding, so he did not have an official career.
The story of Li He’s father has ended, but on the other hand, the story has just begun. Because he has a good son, Li He. During the Tang Dynasty, there were already too many people standing at the top of the poetry world, and there was no room for anyone else. ?Gods, demons and monsters? Various names have been given to many people with outstanding poetry, such as the poet Du Fu, the poet Li Bai and so on. If you want to stand out in the poetry forums of this period of the Tang Dynasty, it is tantamount to fighting on a battlefield of thousands of people until the end and emerging victorious. It's too difficult.
But Li He doesn’t take the usual path. ?Poetry? This road is difficult to walk because there are too many people walking on it and it is too crowded, not because the road is too strange or too dangerous. Since there is no room for anyone at the top of the poetry pyramid, let’s overthrow the pyramid. Li He carved out a path of his own. He dug his way through the poetry world and became the person who stood most deeply in the poetry world of the Tang Dynasty, earning the reputation of a "Poetry Ghost".
He has a place in the poetry world, but his career as an official is still difficult. Many envious people spread rumors and stir up trouble, and all kinds of rumors cut off his official path. Helpless, he had no choice but to take the path of a military commander. However, the path of becoming a military general was still difficult. After struggling for a long time, he finally had no choice but to resign and go home due to illness. Finally, on the way home, I wrote a poem: "The Golden Bronze Immortal Farewell to Han Song"
Liu Lang, Maoling, was a guest in the autumn wind. He heard the horses neighing at night but left no trace.
Autumn fragrance hangs from the osmanthus tree on the painting railing, and the earth flowers in the thirty-sixth palace are green.
Wei Guan leads the chariot and points thousands of miles, and the sour wind of Dongguan hits his eyes.
The Han moon comes out of the palace gate in the sky, and my tears are like lead water when I recall you.
Shenglan sees off guests on Xianyang Road. If the sky is affectionate, the sky will also grow old.
I am alone out of the desolate moon with a plate, Weicheng is far away and the sound of waves is small.