The Gregorian calendar plucked the strings and cried two or three times.

The pronunciation of "the east boat is quiet and the west boat is quiet" is: qi m-o.

The meaning of "silence" in this sentence: adjective, translated into silence.

Original: From Pipa Travel/Pipa Story by Bai Juyi in Tang Dynasty.

In the tenth year of Yuanhe, Yu moved to Sima and set up Jiujiang County. Next autumn, seeing the guests off in Songpukou and listening to those who play the pipa late at night has a kind of clank and iron character in Kyoto. Ask the man, Ben Chang 'an advocates women, learns pipa from Mu and Cao, who are old and fading in color, and is determined to be a Jia woman. Then I ordered wine and asked me to type some songs quickly. When I was young, I told myself my happiness. Now I am wandering and haggard, and I am moving between rivers and lakes. I have been an official for two years, and I feel at ease. I feel that I have moved towards the future. Because of long sentences, songs are given to them, and every 6 16 words are called pipa lines.

At night on the banks of Xunyang River, maple leaves and mature rushes rustle in autumn. I am saying goodbye to a guest.

I, the host, have dismounted, my guest has boarded his boat, and we raise our glasses in the hope of drinking-but, alas, there is no music.

Although we drank a lot of wine, we didn't feel happy. We were breaking up when the river mysteriously widened towards the full moon.

We heard a sudden sound, a guitar crossed the water, the owner forgot to go home and the guests left.

We walked in 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, gathered 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 the guitar from us.

... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings. Even before she played, we could feel her feelings.

Every string is a meditation, and every note is a profound reflection, 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 little by little.

She brushed the strings, twisted them slowly, swept them and plucked them, and passed the "Nishang" and "Liuyao" first.

The big strings hum like rain, and the 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 it is difficult for you to swallow the spring and flow under the ice.

The ice spring is cold and astringent, and the strings are condensed, and the condensation will never stop.

Caught in deep sadness and hidden lament, there are more silent complaints than vocal ones.

A silver vase suddenly broke with a stream of water, and armored horses and weapons jumped out and collided with each other.

Before she put down the pick, she ended with a flick, and the four strings made a sound, just like spinning.

The boat in the east is quiet, and so is the boat in the west. We see the white autumn moon entering the river.

She tied it thoughtfully on the rope, stood up, smoothed her clothes and was polite.

Tell us how she spent her girlhood in the capital, living in her parents' house at the foot of Toad Mountain.

/kloc-mastered the guitar when she was 0/3 years old, and her name ranked first on the list of musicians.

Her art even attracted the appreciation of experts, and her beauty attracted the envy of all major dancers.

How do the young aristocrats in Wuling compete nobly? There are countless rolls of red silk in one song.

The silver comb inlaid with shells was broken by her rhythm, and the bloody skirt was stained by 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. Night after night passed and her beauty disappeared.

Lengma was at the door, so at last she gave her wife to a businessman.

Who, the first time to pry money, accidentally left her and went to Fuliang to buy tea a month ago.

She has been guarding an empty boat at the estuary, with no one to accompany her except the bright moon and the cold river.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, she will dream of her victory and be awakened from her dream by 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 to come here, and now I am sick and exiled in Jiujiang.

Jiujiang is too remote. I haven't heard music for a whole year. There are neither strings nor bamboo sounds.

My residence near the riverside town is low and damp, and the house is surrounded by bitter reeds and yellow rushes.

What will you hear here in the morning and at night? ? The bleeding cry of cuckoo, the whimper of ape.

I often pick up the wine and drink it alone in the flowery spring morning and the moonlit autumn night.

Of course, there are folk songs and bagpipes in the village, but they are rough and harsh, which makes me feel harsh.

Tonight, when I heard you playing the guitar, I felt my hearing was bright with 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.

In the 10th year of Yuanhe in Tang Xianzong, I was demoted to Sima in Jiujiang County. One day in the autumn of the following year, I was seeing a guest off at Songpukou, and at night I heard someone playing the lute on the boat. Listen to that voice, jingling with the popularity of Kyoto. Ask about this person. It turned out to be a singer in Chang 'an, who studied under the pipa masters Mu and Cao. Later, when she was old, she retired and married a businessman. So I ordered someone to set the wine and asked her to play a few songs happily. She looked a little glum after playing. She talked about the happiness of her childhood, but now she is wandering and haggard, wandering between rivers and lakes. I have been away from Beijing for two years, and I have a very relaxed and happy life. Now I am moved by this man's words, and I felt that I was demoted that night. So I wrote a long poem for her, a total of 6 16 words, entitled "Pipa Travel".

In the autumn night, I went to the head of Xunyang River to bid farewell to a returning guest. The cold wind in autumn rustled the maple leaves and reeds.

My guests and I dismounted and held a farewell dinner on the boat, and raised our glasses to drink useless music.

If you don't drink well, you will be more sad. When you leave, the river reflects the bright moon at night.

Suddenly I heard the crisp sound of the pipa on the river; I forgot to come back and the guests didn't want to leave.

Find the sound source and ask who is playing the pipa? Pipa stopped for a long time, but nothing happened.

We moved the boat closer and invited her out to meet; Tell the servants to add more wine, and then go back to the light to set up the banquet again.

It was a long time before she came out slowly, holding the pipa in her arms and half covering her face.

Tighten the piano shaft, pluck the strings and try to play a few times; Form is very affectionate before it becomes a tune.

The sad sound of the strings suggests meditation; It seems to be telling the frustration of her life;

She kept her head down and played continuously; Tell the infinite past in your heart with the piano.

Approaching gently, twisting slowly, wiping and selecting. Play "Colorful Feather" at the beginning and then "Liuyao".

The big string is long and noisy, like a storm; The small strings are gentle and quiet, as if someone were whispering.

Noise and tangles are played alternately; Like a string of beads falling from a jade plate.

Pipa sounds like a smooth bird song under flowers for a while, and then it sounds like a hard, low and intermittent sound of water under the ice.

It seems that the cold and astringent pipa sound of the spring began to condense, and the sound of poor condensation gradually stopped.

Like another kind of sadness and hatred breeding in the dark; At this time, it is more touching than the sound.

Suddenly, the silver bottle seemed to fall into the water, splashing; It's like armored cavalry fighting with swords and guns.

At the end of the song, she aimed at the center of the string and distributed it; The roar of four strings seems to tear the cloth.

The people on the east and west ships listened quietly; I saw the white moon reflected in the middle of the river.

She thoughtfully put the pick away and inserted the strings; Still showing a serious face when tidying clothes.

She said I was a famous singer in Beijing. My hometown is in Ling Ran, southeast of Chang 'an.

At the age of thirteen, I began to learn to play the pipa; My name was included in the first team of Jiao Fang Philharmonic Orchestra.

Every song makes the art masters gasp in admiration; Every time I make up Chengdu, I am envied by my fellow geisha.

The children of the rich in Kyoto compete for brilliance; I don't know the amount of red yarn collected after playing a song.

The beating time of the silver grate in the hammer head is often broken and crushed; I don't regret the red dress stained with wine.

Spent year after year in laughter and slapstick; Autumn goes and spring comes, and the good times are wasted.

My brother joined the army, and my sister was waiting to die at home, and she had lost everything; As time goes by, I get old and my skin color fades.

Cars and horses in front of the door reduce the number of customers; Youth is gone, so I have to marry a businessman.

When businessmen value profit over emotion, they often leave easily; He went to Fuliang to do tea business last month.

He left, leaving me alone at the mouth of the river; Moon accompanied me around the hut, and the autumn water was cold.

In the middle of the night, I often dream that I had a good time when I was young; I woke up crying in my dream, and my face was stained with tears.

When I heard the sobbing of the pipa, I shook my head and sighed; It makes me sad to hear her talk again.

We are all sad people who have fallen to the end of the world; Why do we meet today? Have we met before?

Since I left the bustling capital Chang 'an last year; He was demoted to Xunyang River and often fell ill.

Xunyang this place is desolate and remote without music; There is no orchestral music all year round.

Living in a low-lying and humid place on the Ganjiang River; Yellow reeds and bitter bamboo surround the first house.

What can you hear here sooner or later? Everywhere is the sad cry of cuckoo apes.

The flowers on the riverside are as beautiful as the moonlit night in Qiu Jiang; I can't help it I often drink alone.

Are there no folk songs and village flutes here? It's just hoarse and harsh.

Tonight, I listen to you play the pipa and tell your heart, as bright as Yue Xian's eyes and ears.

Please don't refuse to sit down and play another song; I want to write a new poem "Pipa" for you.

Moved by my words, she stood for a long time; Turn around and sit down, then tighten the strings and make a hurried sound.

Sadness is no longer like the sound just now; Everyone here is hard of hearing, hiding their faces and crying.

Which of you shed the most tears? My tears of Jiangzhou Sima soaked my blue skirt!