Wei Ranming (Wuhan)
The first time I read "Tang Poetry Sketches", I was in Hubei Education Publishing House in 2005, the standard experimental textbook of the compulsory education curriculum, the ninth grade book "Language" reader (pp. 198-205), a total of ten articles. After Baidu, it was found that it was selected from the 10th issue of Essay Magazine in 1999. I don't know much about the author Zeng Dong, but this new way of interpreting Tang poetry makes me, as a junior high school Chinese teacher, feel that I am not impressed, and I seem to have found a way to connect Tang poetry.
Soon after, I had the privilege of listening to a lecture by Mr. Yu Yingchao, a famous language educator, who quoted some of Zeng Dong's chapters to give a live lecture on the "Tang Poetry Sketching" teaching method, which benefited people a lot. I want to find more "Tang Poetry Sketches" on the Internet, and I learned that Zeng Dong published a copy of "Tang Poetry Walking", but unfortunately bookstores and Dangdang could not find it, so I found a copy on Confucius's old book network, which actually contained "Tang Poetry Sketches". I began to pay attention to this kind of subject, and so far I have purchased four versions of Zeng Dong's "Tang Poetry Sketches", and have been applying the "Tang Poetry Sketch" method in language teaching and composition training, and have achieved remarkable results.
During the winter vacation this year, I happened to see Ma Tinghua's "Sketches of Tang Poems" (published on January 11, 2021) on the public account "World Chinese Prose Poetry Annual Selection", out of my preference for this subject, I read several of them, and found that many sentences and paragraphs were very familiar, so I took off the "Tang Poetry Sketches" on the bookshelf and made a comparison:
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Spring thoughts
Li bai
Swallow grass is like beth, and Qinsang has low green branches.
When the king returns to the day, it is the concubine who breaks the intestine.
Spring breeze does not know each other, what into Luo Shuai.
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of "Spring Thoughts":
On the northern edge of Yan, the weeds that have been sleeping for a winter.
Quietly drilling out of the ground, like a gush of lush lust.
Those tender green grass buds have run all over the motherland and exude the love of spring.
The mulberry trees in Qindi are already leafy spring, spraying out emerald green oil paint, so many colorful images, gradually suppressing the sentence pattern of Huan Rui, and the green shade turns the ground.
Guarding the border city, you began to miss your homeland and homeland, red wisps, like a pair of wings that wanted to fly, crouched behind you.
With the blade in your hand, the vastness of your watchful eye is exactly the motherland of a golden ou.
When you drink alone under the moon, raise the wine glass, but put it down again. Raise a glass to invite Mingyue, full of faint sadness.
When you look forward to returning home and returning to your hometown, it is always accompanied by a strong sense of affection, as if you have seen a wisp of cooking smoke in your hometown.
In her dream, she must have long been sick with love and could not sleep all night. Facing a lone lamp, he was speechless, forgot to write, and was sad.
The spring wind, which is not familiar with the world, inadvertently blew into this fluttering Luo Wei again.
Blown into the study, wordless case on the table, provoke you to think of love.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "Spring Thoughts":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Walk", page 149, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House," page 52, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House, 2010, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Sketches" (Collector's Edition) page 70, 2019 Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House", "Tang Poetry Sketches" (1 million value-added commemorative editions issued) page 74
The frontier of Northern Yan, after a winter of deep sleep, was awakened by a bright bird song. Some tender weeds, from the ground, stretched out their green-like heads, watching the sky after an early rain. When the fingers of the sun glide warmly through March, there are shadowy butterflies that perch like dreams on the branches of the season.
The mulberry trees in Qindi were already leafy, and the spring silkworms were squirming excitedly in the silkworm house. When will it trap itself in a graveyard of love, waiting for the story of the butterfly to unfold as scheduled? Some beautiful flowers, angelically brilliant in the fourth week of the house. The fragrance of loneliness covered a sad afternoon.
The husband of tun shu border city may be standing in the city tower at this time, holding a blade in his hand. He must have remembered his distant wife, of the sweet tenderness he once had. Will those wings that fly through sight bring back his worries and thoughts every night? In front of the book, there is a lonely back, facing a paper of acacia words, soft intestines. Does the face of the years also age at any time?
Only hateful, that spring breeze that did not understand the world, had nothing to do with the curtains, broke into the study, and disturbed the bitter and miserable girlfriend. Can it also read a Tang poem by Si Jun?
Title Yuan Eight Creek Residence
Bai Juyi
Xilan desert is full of trees, and the water sill mountain window is the first time.
The late leaves are still red and the autumn leaves are white hibiscus.
The sound came to pillow the thousand-year-old crane, and the shadow fell in the cup of the five old peaks.
More ashamed to stay attentive, fish and rice fine wine is fragrant.
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of "Eight Creek Residences":
The wind blows the mountains and blows the wide skirts of the mountains.
From the crevices of the peaks, blow through the valley filled with tree shadows. The stream indulges in mountain streams, bypassing the bends of the mountain beams and calibrating the spiritual direction of the river.
Not far away, a rattling waterwheel was speaking vague slang.
The green mountains are not old, and the green water is long- I wanted to use a frame of windows to hold a whole azure sky, and a cage of smoke and rain under the sky blue sky. The frosted maple leaves, red cheeks, bowed their heads, like a belated maiden, standing in the autumn mountains, without saying a word, looking forward to affection.
The white hibiscus, the beauty of the face, as bright as the moon, hid next to the bamboo hedge, listening to the heartbeat of the season.
See also dusk, cooking smoke. Birds sing in deep mountains and valleys, and small bridges flow water to people.)
In the lonely wind, with an ethereal long song, the shadow of a thousand-year-old crane flashed and perched on a pine branch. Wulao Peak, standing in the dusk, like a wise old man, or reflected in the reflection of the old man's cup, leaving a Zen dialogue.
Fish dishes are fragrant, and the new rice is cooked. A flickering oil lamp glowed with a warm glow.
I have a jug of wine, enough to soothe the wind and dust.
As far as tonight's poetry and painting are concerned, neither the poet nor the drunkard can drink freely and rest drunk.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "Eight Creeks Residence":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Stroll", page 123, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" page 76 in 2010, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" (Collector's Edition) page 98 in 2014, hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" (1 million value-added commemorative edition) in 2019 page 112
The breeze lifted the wide skirt of the mountain, drilled out of the gap between the peaks, and slowly stepped into the valley of the shadows of the trees. The stream deliberately made several detours in the mountains and then corrected the flow on a flat patch of grass.
At the corner of a pool of water, the wooden sill cut off the flowing water and looked into the distance. A rattling waterwheel, speaking in ominous vernacular. Climbing over a ridge, the windows of the big mountain filled the sky, and a mountain of oily cyan.
The cuckoo, whose love sinuses bloom late, has long missed the spring date, and has to blush, like a late girl, standing at the autumn door, not daring to speak. Mu Lian lifted her tender white face, and next to a bamboo hedge, she generously held out her hand and issued a heartbeat invitation to the season.
Dusk rose again, and the smoke of cooking smoke spread out from the eaves of a secluded earthly house. Deep in the mountains and valleys, small bridges and springs, who can understand the words of poetry? The shadow of a thousand-year-old crane, with an ethereal long song, perched on a pine branch in front of a door. Wu Lao Feng may have stood for too long, and finally could not bear the loneliness, secretly shrunk the shadow into the teacup, listening to a Zen dialogue.
The dishes were ready, the rice was cooked, a flickering oil lamp, and the warm light drove away the drooling darkness. Tonight, a world-weary poet who can't resist the sincere retention of the owner of the creek house will be drunk in a pot of fragrant rice wine?
Fisherman
Liu Zongyuan
The fisherman night is in the west of the rock, and Xiao Ji Qingxiang burns Chu bamboo.
Smoke sales sunrise does not see anyone, but a sound of green water.
Looking back at the middle stream under the sky, there are no heartless clouds on the rocks.
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of "The Fisherman":
The night, like a black fishing net, fell silently, and everything suddenly fell silent.
The country is empty, under the West Rock Mountain, a leaf boat is moored on the shore, motionless, only the flow of time, stained in the ink. The fisherman with his head resting in the moonlight, in the dream, full of a cabin of stars, is returning with pleasure.
The first rays of sunlight on the edge of the day, gently lapping at the side of the ship. The fisherman who woke up leisurely carried a crock pot in his hand, drew up the quiet Xiang water of a river, set up a bonfire, and lit the Chu bamboo in Jiangnan section by section, cooking smoke. On the surface of the water, there are wisps of rice fragrance.
When the fog clears, it is like a photo washed out at night, the country is picturesque, and the country is so proud. The sun washed away the tiredness of last night, and the sun shone brightly. The fisherman wearing a bamboo hat on his head is gone.
Just listen to the sound of the tree, and in the distance comes a crisp sound. On the vast river, the fisherman shattered the silent time with a thin long pen, and between the green mountains, the mountains and waters reflected each other, and it became an out-of-print classic beauty.
Looking back at the river and mountains, I saw the leaf boat, going down the river, gradually drifting away, floating to the end of the sky.
A free fisherman, wandering among the mountains and rivers, enjoying himself.
Away from the world and the hustle and bustle, it is more like the idle clouds and wild cranes on this mountain, youzai, wandering, heartlessly chasing each other, a lifetime without regrets.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "The Fisherman":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House", "Tang Poetry Stroll", page 83, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" in 2010, page 122, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" (Collector's Edition) page 154 in 2014, and Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" (1 million value-added commemorative edition) in 2019, page 176
A black net was cast silently in the night, and everything fell silent. Under the west rock, a leaf boat is moored on the shore, motionless, and the flow of time seems to have stopped. Under the sky, the fisherman with his head resting on the moonlight caught a small fish with a cabin of stars in his dream.
The first rays of sunlight coming from the sky gently slapped the canopy. The fisherman who woke up leisurely, carrying a crock pot, drew up the quiet Xiangshui of a river; the morning cooking was lit by the Chuzhu in Jiangnan, and the wisps of rice fragrance wafted on the surface of the water.
Xiao Mist finally dissolved into the water, and the sun washed away the exhaustion of the night, and suddenly jumped out of the old high from the end of the river. The fisherman with the bamboo hat on his head is gone, and behind which bend is he, with his white whiskers in his hands, hanging down the bait of the years? Suddenly, there was a sound, and a crisp sound came from the distance. The vast surface of the river was broken by a thin long bridge, and the mountains and water were shattered into an emerald green landscape.
Looking back, the boat was like a lonely fallen leaf, going down the river and floating into the sky. Is the swaying fisherman a white cloud on the West Mountain Ridge that has no intention of competing? Bypass the hustle and bustle of the city in the distance, and calmly deal with the troubles of the world. I only want to be a carefree breeze, to be a drop of carefree raindrops, a lifetime, wandering in the mountains and rivers, enjoying myself.
Que title
Liu Ruixuan
The road ends with white clouds, and spring and clear streams are long.
From time to time, there are falling flowers, far away with the fragrance of running water.
Idle door to the mountain road, deep willow reading hall.
Reflecting every day, the light shines on the clothes.
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of the Que Title:
The mountain road, starting from the depths of the white clouds. Steep and steep, slender and long, it seems to snake down from the sky.
The leaves blown by the wind have all turned into emeralds. Qingxi collected all the oil paints of spring and sang a long folk song to give to the flowing year.
Falling red is a poem composed in spring, and the good sentences are everywhere and no one picks them up. In the quiet mountains, Vulture flowers bloom and fall. The flowing water painfully grasped the petals, full of dark incense, sending the fragrance farther and farther away.
The air is full of fragrant smells.
The chai gate opens its heart to the mountain road, and is gently tapped by the wind, clouds, and chirping birds, and a winding mountain road, like the keys of the mountain, is trampled by the footsteps of the endless footsteps.
The willow shadow was deep, and the boy with the scroll in his hand slept soundly in the reading hall, and a butterfly rose and fell on the stone platform, but still did not awaken his sweet dream.
The sun was quiet.
Cast mottled footprints in the yard.
The moonlight pushed open the window, and the faint light shone on the clothes, beautiful, comfortable and warm.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "Que Title":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Walk", page 45, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Sketch" in 2010, page 157, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House", "Tang Poetry Sketch" (Collection Edition) page 194 in 2014, and Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House "Tang Poetry Sketch" (1 million value-added commemorative edition) in 2019, page 220
The mountain road was a rope tied to a white cloud, thin, long, and slowly dangling, winding down from the sky and holding it in the hands of the poet. A bird flew tired, perched on the clouds, rolling over tired feathers. The wind was green and blew through all the leaves; the water was green and collected all the spring. Qingxi sang a long little song, came from the mountain, turned a corner in front of a stone, and flowed down the mountain again.
The falling flower is the loneliest verse of spring, and in the quiet mountains, no one listens to the sound of it falling. The beautiful face, quietly open by the clear stream, quietly thanked in the night. Only the flowing water painfully caught one petal, and another... The creek is full of sad happiness. Some shallow dark incense, wafting from afar, sprinkled all around, and passed darkly with the water. Far and near, the air is full of fragrant smells.
The firewood gate, far from the city, was knocked by the clouds, by the wind, by the chirping of birds, and occasionally by the winding mountain road. The door opened, and the trail stopped at the door. Liu Ying was deep, and the boy with the scroll in his hand slept soundly in the reading hall, and a butterfly flew up and down on the yantai, but still did not wake him up to his sweet dream.
The sunlight quietly peeked through the long fluttering willow branches, casting dappled footprints in the yard. Does it also want to look for a fallen flower abandoned by the seasons? A faint glow shines on the clothes, beautiful, comfortable, and warm.
The poet looked at the sleeping boy, folded a wicker, and knocked very lightly on the window...
Peach Blossom Creek
Zhang Xu
Hidden flying bridge across the wild smoke, ishiji west bank asked fishing boats.
The peach blossoms flow with the water all day, where is the cave in Qingxi?
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of "Peach Blossom Creek":
A shower of late spring sacked all the flowers.
Smoke lingered in the valley. The distant mountain shook open a thin white curtain, revealing only a small blurred back. Not far away, a stone bridge suddenly appeared on a mountain stream, and I vaguely saw dark green vines crawling all over the bridge.
Some seemingly innocent mist drifted over, and the stone bridge had a feeling of being separated from the world, mysterious and ethereal.
A small boat moored on the craggy west bank of Shiji, the wind blowing, the rain, quietly turned into the passing time.
The poet under the oil-paper umbrella, passing through here, was deeply impressed by the fisherman who fished for it - this indisputable and leisurely life.
The peach blossoms on both sides of the strait bloomed alone, and were plucked by the hands of the seasons one by one.
The flowers fell silently, and the valley was crowded with the aroma of loneliness. The delicate petals, from morning to night, drift endlessly with the stream. This may be Tao Yuanming's peach blossom source, right?
And where will the mouth of the peach blossom source be hidden in Qingxi?
The wind continues to blow, the flowers continue to fall, the water continues to flow... The fisherman smiled meaningfully, but did not speak.
The answer lies in this landscape.
Peach Blossom Garden, an eternal dream in the hearts of everyone who is in mortal dust.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "Peach Blossom Creek":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Stroll", page 51, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House," 2010, "Tang Poetry Sketches", 2014, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Sketches" (Collector's Edition), page 228, 2019, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House," Tang Poetry Sketches (1 million value-added commemorative editions).
Smoke lingered in the deep mountains and valleys. The distant mountain shook open a thin white curtain, revealing only a small blurred back. Not far away, a stone bridge suddenly appeared on a mountain stream, and you could faintly see dark green vines crawling all over the bridge. Is this the pier that leads to the Heavenly Court? The bridge was silent, and there was no trace of the immortals. Some seemingly innocent mist drifted over, and the stone bridge had a feeling of being separated from the world, mysterious and ethereal.
On the west bank, a small boat moored at the edge of the rugged rock, forgetting the wind that blew, forgetting the rain, forgetting the quiet passage of time. It floats silently, any fishing rod slowly growing old with age. The poet under the oil-paper umbrella, deeply moved by this indisputable scenery, could not help but gently greet the fisherman wearing a bucket hat. Is he the legendary Fisherman of Wuling?
The peach blossoms on both sides of the strait bloomed alone, and were plucked one by one by the hands of the season. The flowers fell silently, and the valley was crowded with the aroma of loneliness. The delicate petals, from morning to night, drift endlessly with the stream. Is this Tao Yuanming's Peach Blossom Creek? In that long story, the broken details began to be clear again.
And where will Taohuayuan Cave be hidden in Qingxi? The wind continues to blow, the flowers continue to fall, the water continues to flow... The fisherman smiled meaningfully, but did not speak.
The poet, who could not find an answer, looked confused. Peach Blossom Garden, in the hearts of everyone who is in mortal dust, is always separated by a dream distance.
Pastoral music
Wang wei
The peach red compound contains the rain, and the willow green has more smoke.
The flowers have not been swept away, and the warblers are still sleeping.
The following is Ma Tinghua's sketch of "Pastoral Music":
In a night rain, the peach blossoms opened their deep or light red lips.
Like a group of shy girls, each red lip, with a love pulse, contains a story of wanting to return the word.
Willow tree, a new green dress, washed spotlessly, standing on the edge of the village, particularly handsome. Cooking smoke walked through the morning mist, like a thin silk scarf enveloping the willow tree.
After last night's wind and rain, the flowers fell an unknown amount, and the sadness of the place covered the courtyard.
The child is still in the warm bed, dreaming colorful dreams. He knew nothing about the falling flowers, and the wings of spring had already skimmed over Jiangnan last night.
A few gentle birdsong, crisply dripping in the mountain forest.
Through an open window, the poet holding the scroll of poetry is still sleeping in his dream. In the spring that quietly descended, the flowers blossomed and fell, and I could not bear to disturb the poet's dreams.
The following is Zeng Dong's sketch of "Pastoral Music":
In 2005, Kyushu Publishing House, "Tang Poetry Walk", page 197, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House,2010,"Tang Poetry Sketches," page 26, Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House,2014,"Tang Poetry Sketches" (Collector's Edition) page 38, 2019 Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House's "Tang Poetry Sketches" (1 million value-added commemorative editions) page 40
In a night rain, the peach blossoms opened their small mouths, deep or light; this group of shy maidens, each red lip, contained a story of last night, and then gently opened in the gaze of the warm pulse of the sun.
Willow washed a new green body spotlessly, stood at the edge of the village and listened quietly, did he also want to explore the secret of peach blossoms? Cooking smoke led the morning mist, and with the thin thread of willow branches, a thin silk scarf was woven. Is it wrapped around the head of the willow tree, or is it given to the bride of the heart?
The flowers could not bear the amorous tears, and the woods fell on their own, and the sadness of the place covered the courtyard. The children are still curled up in the warm quilt, dreaming colorful dreams. He did not know that the wings of spring had already skimmed over Jiangnan last night.
A few pleasant warblers flew from the forest behind the house and perched in front of the open window. The sleeping poet, holding the ancient scrolls, the sound of flowers blossoming and falling, did not wake up the silent verses on the bookcase.
Article 52 of the Copyright Law stipulates that where there are any of the following acts of infringement, civil liabilities such as stopping the infringement, eliminating the impact, making a formal apology, and compensating for losses shall be borne according to the circumstances:
(1) publishing works without the permission of the copyright owner;
(2) Publishing a work created in cooperation with others as a work created solely by oneself without the permission of the co-author;
(3) Not participating in the creation, but signing another person's work for the sake of personal fame and profit;
(4) Distorting or tampering with other people's works;
(5) Plagiarizing the works of others.
Sometimes, we have to define plagiarism, imitation and plagiarism, which can also be controversial. Mr. Mao Dun said: "Imitation is the first step in creation. The motivation for imitation is learning, while "plagiarism" refers to the act of appropriating all or part of another person's work, directly or slightly, for oneself. Plagiarism is basically the same as plagiarism, the purpose is to steal the work of others for oneself.
Because the school has just started, I have only selected a few articles to compare, and there are a few others, so I have no time to compare. In the above works, its originality is right and wrong, please let the readers judge it by themselves.