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 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, 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. [Tomb of Frogs (Hama)] and mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, and her name was recorded on the musician's class list. 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, which are very ugly. 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. Translate the travel notes of pipa for you.
... 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.
Most of the poems you want to describe music are like the second paragraph
... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings.
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.
These are all famous poems.
2. What are the ancient poems about pipa? 1, Tang Juyi's Pipa Tour.
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.
2. Stone "Pipaxing Confessions of Love"
Xiaolian first put on the pipa string and played across the blue sky.
The hatred hidden in Mingming's embroidered pavilion all spread to Song.
3. Two Liangzhou Poems by Don William Wang (I)
Wine luminous glass, want to drink pipa right away.
4. Wang Song Anguo "Qingpingle Spring Festival Evening"
How can spring not be left blank, so that orioles can keep singing.
The flowers on the ground died again, and the color of the ghosting was originally dyed by his wind and rain in Nanyuan last night.
Miss Lian Xiao had just finished playing the pipa, and at dawn, her thoughts lingered in the sky.
See that refused to enter the rich and powerful family at ease, dancing freely in the spring breeze.
5. Su Songshi's "Picking Mulberry, Runzhou Duojing Building Meets Sun Juyuan"
Stop to listen to the pipa and twist it gently.
Drunk noodles melt into spring scenery. Looking at Jiang Tianyi with a red eye.
(1) However, before she came to us, we shouted for a thousand times and urged her for a thousand times, but she still hid half of her face behind the guitar from us. Bai Juyi
(2) Her pipa playing is not only carefree and sensitive, but also full of emotion, which makes people feel excited after listening.
(3) In the old society, once a woman gave up the pipa, she would be despised.
(4) I heard the pipa sound getting weaker and weaker, and suddenly broke ground and came to an abrupt end.
(5) China national musician Liu Tianhua found another way, reformed musical instruments, created new songs and studied fingering, which made ethnic musical instruments such as erhu and pipa shine brilliantly.
3. The music poem in Pipa, ... She turned the tuning pin, 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, 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.
4. Bai Juyi, an ancient poem describing the sound of pipa: the original poem: I see guests off on Xunyang River, and at night, 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 and bent her fingers, then started her music and talked about endless things in your heart. Take your time, 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, and spring water flows along the beach. By checking its cold touch, the string seems to be broken, which makes us 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.
Put it on the strings thoughtfully, straighten clothes and gather customers. 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 teaches excellent talents, and her beauty is the envy of 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. My brother joined the army and my aunt died. Night after night passed 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.
Go to Jiangkou to watch the boat in the air, and the moon sails around the boat in 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.
I live in a small town near the river, which is low and humid. Huang Lu bitter bamboo is born around the house. 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, which are hard to hear.
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.
5. Poem about Pipa Wei Xiang
The image is famous and the pipa is natural. And Twelve Poems of Jiupipatai in Shengshan written by Wei in Tang Dynasty.
Liu Kezhuang
Chickens make friends far away, but pipa hates them deeply. Miscellaneous topic (original rhyme, according to Feng Wilfred Bungei) is one of the ten topics.
Cai que
The parrot's words are still there, but the pipa is gone. Mourn one's son
Song Wu
Who made the pipa? Don't leave your sadness. pipa
Late yuan dynasty and early Ming dynasty
Zhang Yu
As soon as the pipa arrived in Wan Li, the wind and sand blew away. One of Wang Zhaojun's two songs
Huang shengzeng
Ten miles of brocade boat lotus, pipa blowing on the river. Twenty-five of the thirty Jiangnan songs
Patent
Pipa has been hated for thousands of years, and tears are full of skirts. Pipating pavilion
Qu dajun
Hu's daughter is fascinated by others, but the pipa never leaves her hand. Hujiqu (Dai) I
After the Liao Dynasty, I washed the makeup pool and listened to the pipa. Liaogong ci
When the pipa is played immediately, there is no obvious difference between sorrow and sadness. Zhaojun is one of them.
Mao Cheng
I want to ask Qu Tangjia, whose pipa is it? Playing is second.
Liu mingchuan
Pipa is the best sound, which is difficult to explain. Wen Qu