In the evening, I bid farewell to a guest on Xunyang River. Maple leaves and mature rushes rustle in autumn. From Bai Juyi's Pipa Preface/Pipa Preface in the Tang Dynasty, this sentence is written that I went to Jiangtou, Xunyang at night, and the maple reeds were rustled by the autumn wind.
Pipa Xing was written in the autumn of Yuanhe 11th year (AD 8 16). At this point, Bai Juyi has been demoted to Jiangzhou Sima for two years. He saw a guest off in Jiangtou, Xunyang, and met a young singer who was abandoned because of his artistic skills. She was depressed. Combining her own experience, she wrote this famous pipa star in the style of singing.
This poem is titled "I am seeing guests off on Xunyang River, and maple leaves and mature rushes rustle in autumn. I, the master, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our glasses in the hope of drinking-but, alas, there is no music. " These four sentences explain the time, place and characters described in the poem. On a cold autumn night, the poet sat in a boat by the Xunyang River and said goodbye to the guests. At the same time, the phrase "and we raise a glass to propose a toast-unfortunately, there is no music" also paved the way for the appearance of the pipa girl behind. The last two sentences are "although we drank wine, we were not happy. We were parting when the river mysteriously widened towards the full moon." It is bleak to describe the shadow of the bright moon reflected by the river, which lays the foundation for the full text.
Through this poem, the poet expressed the misfortune of his official career, and through the scenery of "Huang Wei Bitter Bamboo", he wrote about the harsh environment and expressed his inner anguish. I used the allusion of cuckoo crying blood to write my own extreme grief, so that my blue was soaked later.
Pipa original
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, 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.