Transparent stream, bright and clean like a mother's eyes.
Spring, your eyes are a splash of color;
Summer, your eyes are a rich green;
Autumn, your eyes are a clear blue;
Winter, you are tired - close your eyes and stop singing.
You take in the clouds in the blue sky, the evening sun at dusk, and the stars in the night sky; and you leave behind the figures of my childhood.
Heh! The rustling sugarcane forest by this stream, with its sweet-smelling wind, had blown my childhood dreams! I lay by your side and felt the happiness of leaning on my mother's breast ......
You are an old song in our lives--
You look out and see the procession of bride-welcomers on donkeys coming, and a few oboes playing sad music;
You look to see a few stout men, carrying bulky wooden coffins coming, sending the old man up the hill;
You hear it, too: the unicycle at the foot of the hill, with its squeaking and muffled voice, groaning through the poor land ......
Without you, who left us the colors of nature;
Who gives us record of the sorrows and joys of the mountain people?
Transparent stream, you gave me eyes that could distinguish colors.
When I was by your side and found myself becoming a teenager, I had to travel far.
You sent me out of the mountains like the mother who raised me!
My feelings:
The article begins by treating the stream as a "mother's eye", and then goes on to describe the colors that come out of the eye in spring, summer, fall, and winter, which is a song to the stream as well as a song to the mother, for the stream has "left behind my childhood". I had "left my childhood figure", had let me enjoy the happiness of motherly love: she remembered everything that happened in the ravine, remembered "the sorrows and joys of the mountain people", and sent "me" out of the mountain, who had been brought up. She remembered everything that happened in the ravine, "the sorrows and joys of the mountain people," and sent "me," who had been brought up, out of the mountains. The stream is a song, the mother is a song, and the article itself is a mournful lyrical mountain song. The stream, my "mother". Mother, just like the stream. Mother. You watched me grow up and took care of me. I love the feeling of being with you, the feeling of being with you. I feel a mother's love! Please forgive me for being naughty as a child, please forgive me for not knowing anything when I was young! Let me make up for it now. I love you, my mother!
Autumn storm
I want to get wet, I want to let the rain wash away the memories. Maybe the rain would sober me up. The feeling of the rain on my face can make it hard to tell if it's tears or rain, so I can say, Boys don't cry!
The rain gently and softly sprinkled on the earth, rinsing away all the dirty dust on the earth's ground, giving people a clean and clean feeling, yet the cold rain could not rinse away the gray mood on me! Perhaps, our meeting was like a dream, a dream that made me happy for a moment but made me sad for a long time. I walked out from the center of the noisy street, the world of lights was so far away from me. I went to the center of the boulevard and stood there, with only the sound of rain before and after me, and people hiding somewhere. It was so nice! You can think of you to your heart's content, y calling you ...... holding an umbrella, over and over again in the recitation of your name, the heart has a soft and cozy almost do not dare to breathe the feeling. There was once a scene, a scene, a scene and a lens as if it had long been negotiated, slowly walked from my eyes in the rain, slowly walked ......
Mountains and water flow long love is still the same, the sun and moonlight turn tears are still new! On that day, you left me, my desolate mind was no longer heeded. I did not fantasize that one day you can come back and see my trauma, and surge of melancholy, because I do not want you to have the slightest unhappiness. Standing in the campus on that boulevard, looking at the not so far away vaguely embracing the double shadow, the heart of a burst of soreness.
The rain fell from the sky on the umbrella, from the umbrella wet into my gradually cold body, I just stood, I do not know how long I stood, I do not know if I am tired. I can no longer choose to use such a kind of eyes sadly gazing at you, so I, the feeling of happiness has become a kind of heartache! This rain, can not see is horizontal or oblique, my umbrella, also do not know which direction to cover. An umbrella, a person, walking in the rain and wind feeling is so lonely! Gazing at your distant back, I have been satisfied in your happiness, and then silently turn around and leave that corner where I can appreciate you without being known by you. Though it's a hurried glimpse, it's already enough for me to reminisce for the whole day.
The rain slowly stopped, and the sluggish autumn wind blew through, blowing away the roses all over the ground, dotting them into tears, drifting away to a faraway place, turning into a cloud. The heart lost, with the sluggish autumn wind to chase but nowhere to be found! The ground, into dust. Who, once thought that prayers can make the sky starry, sincere can get eternal love; and who, once held a rose praying for the dawn of happiness, but in the sunset raised his hand to let the petals drift with the wind! Until when, looking up at the genius visible rainbow, look back at the wind and not see the sand and dust; until when, a piece of sincerity can be exchanged for four seasons of flowers? Maybe the water is long to the east, things are different; maybe the edge of this shoulder, looking back has passed! Maybe I am too fantasize and forget that I am not a god; maybe I am too obsessed and forget that everything is in heaven. I'm not a god, but I wish to move the gods, but I believe that heaven knows. I would like to find a piece of pure land to plant a rose and draw a blueprint instead of the sky. I wish the seasons would follow my heart and the flowers would bloom; I wish the autumn wind would be like a song and true love would last forever!
With obsession
Guo Rui
Madame Curie, with obsession, finally discovered a wonderful radioactive element - radium; Edison, with obsession, finally invented the electric light after thousands of tests, to send a piece of light to the people in the night; Beethoven, with obsession, although deaf, but still created the destiny of the world. Deaf, but still create a symphony of destiny; Sima Qian and obsession with the peer, dedication to people a wonderful historians sing ......
With the obsession with the peer, can let us firm pace, can let us never give up, can let us arrive at the other side of the shore of the success of the... ...
On the rugged mountain road, a blind monk with a hurried gait asked an old man for directions, "Where is the temple of the Lohsa Treasure?" The old man replied, "Just over two mountains." Seeing the blind monk walking resolutely, the old man couldn't help but ask worriedly, "Elder is blind, how can you cross the mountains?" The blind monk did not look back, calmly threw down four words: "The heart has the way ......"
I believe that the blind monk will be able to reach the heart's desire of the temple of Luosha treasure. His simple words, "The way is in my heart," speak of a spirit, a belief in walking with perseverance.
Calligrapher Wang Xizhi's words can be said to be unprecedented. And this exquisite word, from his walk with the obsession, perseverance, so that the daily wash brush pool has become the ink pool. And his son, Wang Xianzhi, when he was a teenager, practiced a few days word has been good, but took his father approved the posters for his mother to see, his mother said in one sentence only that "a little" like his father's words, in fact, that "a little" is exactly what his father wrote. Since then, Duanzhi followed his father's instructions and used up several large tanks of water at home to study calligraphy, and finally became a generation of famous calligraphers. It can be seen that Wang's father and son and obsession with the same, and finally the calligraphy of the world.
......
With persistence, it is destined to travel through thick and thin, but persistence tells us: "The sun always shines after the storm." Walking with obsession, also destined to face loneliness or sorrow. But persistence tells us: "In order to get the fragrant rose at the end of the thorns, even if it is full of thorns and pain, so what is the harm?" Persistence is always with a firm gaze at us: "Walk with me, you will harvest a basket of surprises."
Madame Curie, who walks with obsession, told us, "I am happy to be obsessed with the exploration of unknown elements, which brings me infinite fun and surprise." With the obsessive walk Edison said: "I determined things, I must go to realize, even if the failure of thousands of times, who can say that a thousand and one times will not see the success of the figure?" Beethoven, who walked with persistence, said, "Music is my life, and I am as persistent in the creation of music as I am in my own life." Sima Qian, who traveled with obsession, told us, "Because I saw the obsessive eyes that my father sent to me when he was dying, I can't stop my pen from recording history. ......"
Obsession is the relentlessness of a water drop piercing through a stone, and the persistence of a quartet chasing after the sun is the incessant footsteps, persistence is the Jingwei fill the sea that firm belief ......
Life on the road, if we let us choose a peer, then choose persistence, with persistence, such as in the desert with the camel as a companion, will be able to find a beautiful oasis at the end of the vast sea of sand.
[Recommender]
Clean, sharp work. It can be seen that the author has deep writing skills, from the author's pen flowed out of this exquisite article. Perhaps the more you experience suffering, the more you can feel the sweetness. In this bitter and sweet need that persistence to connect, in order to hope and persistent struggle, in order to hope and feel the ordeal. Waiting for us may be failure, may be hardship, but we have youth, we can make a comeback, the flame of life, our sky lit up red. Zhu Xiang (1903-1933), known as Yuyuan, a native of Taihu, Anhui Province, was a poet of the Crescent Moon School, called "China's Keats" by Lu Xun, and an able-bodied member of the New Poetry Movement. He is the author of the poems Summer, Cao Mang Jie, Shimen Jie, Zhu Xiang Poetry Jie, the long poems Cat Hao and Wang Jiao, and an anthology of poems and essays, Zhu Xiang.
The boat floats gently,
the willows sway in the wind;
the lotus leaves are covered in green,
the lotus flowers are enchanting.
Sunset,
Microwave,
Golden threads flash across the stream.
Left,
Right,
The lotus boat sings.
The Nymphaea is half-open,
Bees and butterflies are not allowed to come,
Green water is the companion,
Silence is not polluted.
Pick up the lotus in the stream, and the water droplets will slide over the lotus money.
Patting tightly,
Patting softly, the sound of the paddles answered the song.
The heart of the lotus root is long,
Shympathetic, it is hidden under the water:
No cocoon is seen,
Silk is plentiful, it is wrapped in the center of the chrysalis?
The lotus root is picked at the head of the stream,
and the girl wants to pick it, but she is hesitant.
The waves are sinking,
the waves are rising,
the waves are singing.
The lotus seeds are plentiful:
The durian trees on both sides of the river,
The magpies are noisy,
The durian blossoms have fallen on Shilla.
Pick up a canopy in the stream,
with a reddish tint on your ears and temples.
The winds are calm,
the winds are alive,
and the winds are singing.
The moon has risen,
and the weaving maiden has taken the bull by the hand;
The mist has whisked the water,
and the cool wind has drifted the lotus boat.
Floral fragrance
Clothing fragrance
dissolves into a vast expanse;
Sometimes it is quiet,
Sometimes it is heard,
Songs curl up in the emptiness.
Appreciation: The first time I listened to Zhu Xiang's "Picking Lotus Song" was more than ten years ago, when TV programs were not as abundant as they are today, so listening to the radio became my hobby, such as the Central People's Broadcasting Station's "Reading and Appreciation" is the program I prefer, which made me meet "Picking Lotus Song" by accident.
It's a good thing I'm not a fan of the program.
I remember that it was an afternoon in July, it was the season of "Lotus Leaves", when I opened the radio on time to listen to the "Reading and Appreciation" program, a burst of refreshing music came to my face, accompanied by the female announcer's rounded and beautiful voice, I was the first time to enjoy the "Picking Lotus". For the first time, I realized the beauty and splendor of the "Lotus Picking Song"......
"The boat floats gently, the willows sway in the wind; the lotus leaves are covered with green leaves, and the lotus blossoms are enchanting. ......" At the moment, I was attracted by this beautiful melody and fresh phrases: how realistic description, how rich imagination, people often like to compare people to the lotus, but the poet compared the lotus to people, whether it is more colorful than the lotus, or more beautiful than the lotus ...... I stared and held my breath, savor up.
"Nymphaea is half-open, the bees and butterflies are not allowed to come lightly, the green water is accompanied by the quiet and uncontaminated ......," is not this exactly the lotus of the evocative and picturesque brushstrokes depicted? Throughout history, writers and artists have praised the lotus countless, but in my opinion, in addition to Zhou Dunyi's "Love Lotus Sayings", there is more beautiful than Zhu Xiang's "Lotus Picking Song" more image? If "Love Lotus" is the lotus "out of the silt and not stained, Maundy Lotus and not demon" of the noble quality of the positive portrayal, then the "Lotus Song" is on the lotus Chu Chu touching, holy and selfless side of the background.
"Lotus root heart ah silk long, shy ah underwater deep hidden: do not see ah cocoon, silk more ah chrysalis wrapped in the center of the ......" Listen, the poet with subtle and delicate strokes, the lotus picking female budding love to show out, especially that wave of three surges of the "Ya" is like the hand that stirs the heartstrings, so that people can not help but to the heart of the lover to reveal their hearts, but the words to the mouth and feel unable to speak out, only silently buried it in the heart.
Twilight will come, when the lotus picker will leave, the poet wrote: "rose ah hook of the moon, Ming ah weaver cattle; mist ah brush the water, the cool wind ah drift to the lotus boat ......" boat drifted away, the lake has returned to the previous day's tranquility, leaving only a few wisps of Hidden and sometimes the sound of singing, more people have not yet finished, the memory of the past.
Besides, the whole poem is very elaborate, a group of poems with a rhyme scheme, which increases the rhythm of the poem and creates an effect of ups and downs. At the same time, the poem's line style, sentence style is also very pay attention to the beauty of the form, sentence to sentence, in addition to the retreat of two frames to stand on their own two-word line, each other are not by the same format to expand, but the interlining of the line after the retreat of a frame to start line, so that the whole poem to give a kind of structural beauty, architectural beauty. All these undoubtedly play an important role in constituting the rhythmic characteristics of the poem.
Appreciating Zhu Xiang's "Picking Lotus" is like enjoying a piece of smooth, soothing music, or enjoying a pleasant painting, which is pleasing to the eyes and beautiful to the eyes. It is a pity that I was still young and could not really understand the poet's true feelings (even now I may not be able to understand thoroughly). Later on, I went to school, worked, started a family, and entered into the trajectory of life, so I had no time to pay attention to any new or old poems, and gradually blurred it in my memory. A few days ago, I borrowed a copy of the "Appreciation Dictionary of New Chinese Poetry", and I happened to turn to this poem, which brought back memories of the past, and I always feel that good things should be enjoyed by everyone***, so I will express my own feelings for the benefit of my friends who share the same interests with me.
The clouds are the footprints of the sky (written in cloud. High!)
For the sky, the clouds are its footprints; the sky walks around the village, leaving footprints hanging over the village.
In this marvelous and cozy place, the sun never gets hot because it can't bear to disturb such a peaceful village, but just sneaks behind the clouds and looks curiously. Those clouds, like a fluttering butterfly, quietly ambling over the village, very peaceful, very sweet, very rhyme ...... Perhaps, in their view, this village is a huge flower, which has sucked endless nectar. Sometimes, airplanes come to join in the fun, like eagles gliding over the village, the sky will be one more long hada, gently floating, floating, and then, fell on the butterfly's wings.
What a beautiful image it was, cicada-wing transparent, maidenly pure, so that one could never reach its inner core.
When you get up in the morning, the dew dampens the sun, and such an hour is suitable for doing everything: mowing a dewy blade of grass, hoeing a watermelon patch, picking a tank of well water ...... to do whatever you want to do. For this is the hour when the smoke of the cooks is silent, and the watchdogs are silent. Such a hour is impossible not to relax the mood, let yourself not think of anything, like a baby lying in the arms of the mother, let time in a kind of warmth quietly, quietly flow. Don't ever yell during such an hour, or you'll ruin the tranquility of the place. Also, don't look up at the sky at such an hour, because the sky is as beautiful as a cocktail at this time of the year, and will intoxicate you on the ridge or in the crop field.
At noon, the village people are not in the habit of taking a nap, and every sunny day can be turned into heavy grain in their eyes. Beans should be picked, garlic also shoots, or cattle and sheep are hungry, firewood is insufficient, the sunny ditch behind the house should be cleaned ...... these are waiting for people to do. Anyway, the sun is very soft, do do rest, not too tired; is really tired, a bowl of cold well water pour down the belly, the whole body are cool silk children, tiredness suddenly disappear.
When night falls, the smoke of cooking like cow's milk fills the village, and the air is filled with the fragrance of burning wood. At this time the countryside must have boiled up, the children from school either on the grassy bank or on the pile of grain playing, or with a small dog running wild all over the mountain, or to help their fathers to lead the cows and sheep, all of them to maximize the joyful laughter; older mothers-in-law or young daughters-in-law the smoke rose up, and then hurriedly ran out of the house, or fluttering on the body of the dust or with both hands to support the trumpet, open throat loud Greeting the children to go home; at this time, the cattle, sheep, dogs also follow the fun, or loudly barking, or enjoy the fun. All kinds of sounds are intertwined together, this is the most essential sound of the countryside, is the music of life.
The village is small, as small as a handful of rice, a vegetable, a ray of sunshine. A kind of down-to-earth days, by the village people firmly clutched in the palm of the hand, overflowing from the fingers, is still some visible happiness. The village is big again, so big that my pen tip is at a loss, the sum of countless sentences, but also not enough to take up the weight of a break in the soil; because, I am a bud that grows out of the soil.
In fact, the village is very old, like an oil painting. The vast majority of the people here have lived their entire lives on the land, mountains and rivers. Perhaps the mountains are too high for them to go out; perhaps the land is too fertile for them to keep their feet. In a year, as long as the food is enough to eat, New Year's Eve, and then slaughter a big fat pig, happiness will shine in their faces. Some of the old people in the village have never been out of the 20-mile radius. A county and township highway has been built across the village, but there are still a dozen or so old people in the village who have never been in a car. They guarded this quiet village until their lives withered away. After their deaths, their souls will only be floating over the village, or they will become a cloud over the village.
One year, my cousin, who was working in Guangzhou, came back to the village to visit my mom. As soon as he saw her, he leaned on her shoulder and burst into tears of happiness. A man of twenty or thirty years of age, in front of his mother, cried like a child wearing a dog's tail hat. Then, he ate a big bowl of white rice, a big mouthful of fat pot meat, as if he wanted to swallow the whole hometown into his belly. As Big Mother watched him eat, the furrows on her face flowed into clear streams.
There were several streams that flowed forever around the village. They hooted and sang as they flowed out of the cave called Dragon's Cave and ran around the village. It is too much love for this place, or else the streams just hover around the village, like the clouds over the village, waking up and the next day it still lingers and dances over the village ......
Cousin stopped as he passed the streams as he walked away, and as he looked up at the clouds in the sky, his lips quirked, wanting to say something. but then choked. After a long time, he bent down and drank his fill of the stream. Then, he took out the military water bottle he carried with him and filled it to the brim. He said he would bring the water back to Guangzhou and drink it slowly. Cousin filled the water with a grave expression, filled it up, poured it out, and filled it up again. Then, tighten the lid of the jug vigorously.
A kettle full of water, all is the hometown! A village, full of the footprints of the sky!
Appreciation:
Pieces of floating clouds, the wanderer's intention
The clouds are the footprints of the sky, the wanderer's attachment to his hometown!
The sky is clear, transparent, with no little dregs of azure! The village is quiet and harmonious, with the warmth and harmony that embraces everything!
The clouds are drifting, but no matter how they drift, they can't drift out of the sky's embrace; the wanderer is wandering, but no matter how he drifts, he can't run out of his hometown's chest.
Yes, the wanderers are the clouds, and our hometown is our sky.
The novelty of the metaphor is a texture of silk, slippery but not greasy, beautiful but not demonic. It not only brings us to a colorful world of imagination, but also twists and turns euphemistically out of the article's main theme: silk lingering soul of the countryside, is the most sincere feelings and cries of every traveler.
From the dew-dampened morning to the sunny noon, to the smoke-filled evening, the village from quiet to noisy, from labor to rest, everywhere in harmony, everywhere filled with the sound of happiness. The beautifully quiet village nurtures hard-working, simple people. "A kind of collapsed day, firmly clutched in the palm of the folks", what a philosophical sentence. Plain, simple and full of life is the true meaning of life.
The hometown of the land of the mountains and beautiful water, is the eternal home of our hearts, is the eternal attachment of the traveler ......
Taking a comprehensive view of the whole text, the word reveals the word "happiness": a happy village, a beautiful picture, the goodness of the townspeople, a peaceful life. The folks, peaceful life, the return of the soul of the village ......
Thinking:
1, the words of this article, wonderful flowers, the author is how these "flowers" strung together? What is the external expression of the clues in the article? Please analyze.
2, how to understand "a kind of down-to-earth days, by the village people firmly clutched in the palm of the hand, overflowing from the fingers, is still some visible happiness." This quote.
Reference Answer
1. The clue of this article is the wanderer's homesickness. The outward expression of the clue is the simile "The clouds are footprints in the sky". Clouds are drifting, the wanderer is wandering; however, no matter how the clouds are drifting, can not drift out of the sky, no matter where the wanderer goes, can not go out of the home. Therefore, the tranquility, serenity, noise and coziness of the hometown are the eternal attachment of the wanderer. All the descriptions of the hometown are for the back of the "cousin" of the hometown attachment service.
2, the folks love their hometown, hardworking and simple, living a full life, they turn every ray of sunshine into a precipitated harvest, into the joy of life. They have actually mastered their lives and become the masters of their lives, so they really feel happy.
Reference: