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 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.
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.
And she has been taking care of an empty boat in the estuary. Around the cabin, the moon and the river are cold.
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.
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.
Author:
Bai Juyi (772-846) was born in Weinan, Shaanxi. In his early years, he was enthusiastic about helping the world, emphasizing the political function of poetry and doing his best to make it popular. He wrote 60 poems, New Yuefu, Qin Zhongyin, which truly made people sick by singing only, and every sentence must be tuned, just like Du Fu's "Three Officials" and "Three Farewells". The long narrative poems "Song of Eternal Sorrow" and "Pipa Journey" represent his highest artistic achievements. Middle-aged people encounter setbacks in officialdom. "Since then, the career has been long-term, and the world has never been opened." But he still wrote many good poems and did many good things for the people. Hangzhou West Lake and Bai Causeway commemorate him. In his later years, he sent his feelings to the mountains and rivers, and also wrote some small characters. There is a poem for Liu Yuxi: "Don't listen to the old songs, but listen to the new word Yang Liuzhi. It can be seen that he has read some new words. One of the poems, Flowers Are Not Flowers, has a hazy beauty, which was greatly appreciated by later poets such as Ouyang Xiu, Zhang Xian and Yang Shen.
Precautions:
Ganpukou: the place where water flows into the Yangtze River.
Xunyang River: A section of the Yangtze River north of Jiuzhu City. Gathering, twisting, wiping and plucking are all fingering of playing the pipa.
Nishang: short for colorful feather clothes; Sixth, the real name "Lu Yao", that is, musicians recorded the main points of songs into music, all of which were popular tunes in Beijing that year.
Appreciate:
By writing about the misfortunes of Pipa girl's life, combined with the poet's own blow on her official career, she sang the voice of "We are both unhappy-we meet each other forever". We understand. What is the relationship between acquaintances? ”。 Social unrest, the indifference of the world, sympathy for the fate of the unfortunate, and feelings of frustration are all poured into the poem. Its artistic success also lies in the use of beautiful and distinctive language with musical sense, and the use of visual images to express the feelings gained by hearing; The natural scenery and parting of the bleak autumn wind make the work more touching.