Modern poems about walking in the morning

1. A poem describing walking 1. A stroll in spring. Tang Dynasty: Yang Shidao.

Original text:

Xiumu took a leisurely trip to Yulin in the morning.

In the pond, the grass is fragrant and the orchids are attacking you.

I am very idle during the holidays and take a walk in the Woods in the north in the morning. The pond is lush with vegetation and orchids grow in quiet places.

2. Weeding in Tang Dynasty: Du Fu

Original text:

Walking in front of the forest in the morning, the river color is still there.

How can I stay in the high autumn when the thorn pierces my eyes?

Walking in the Woods in the morning, the beautiful scenery by the river makes people sad. When the light shines into my eyes, how can I stay in autumn?

3. Kasugayama Zhong Yi Cui Yaoji Zhongfu (a work of Li Sheren) Tang Dynasty: Lu Lun.

Original text:

Bright cloth loves the morning, and the empty mountain is sunny and spring.

The honey room has a master, but the stone room has no neighbors.

I like walking in the early morning, and the spring sunshine shines on the mountain peaks. The honey room has no owner, and the stone room naturally has no neighbors.

4. One of Haizhu Temple in Ming Dynasty: Feng Yuanji.

Original text:

Long song is a treasure land and loves the morning.

Smoke cage pavilion, and a green water grass reflect the sun.

Singing loudly in this treasure land, I like walking in the morning very much. Smoke hung over the blue attic and the sun shone on the green apples.

5, "Zen Forest after the Broken Mountain Temple" Tang Dynasty: Chang Jian

Original text:

On a pure morning, near the ancient temple, the early sunshine points to the treetops.

A secluded place with bamboo paths, branches and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.

Here, birds live in the mountain light, and people's hearts feel quiet in the pond.

All is silent here, but the bell is ringing.

Walking into this ancient temple early in the morning, the rising sun reflected the Woods on the mountain. The path hidden by bamboo forest leads to the depths, and the flowers and trees before and after the meditation room are lush and colorful. Bright mountain scenery makes birds happier, and the clear pool water makes people feel relaxed and happy. At this moment, everything was silent, except the sound of ringing the bell.

2. Modern poems describing the early morning scenery are basically people who don't like reading foreign literature. Because I don't like some styles of China translators. I always feel that the translated text is like a flower behind the glass, and I can't smell the smell of it floating gently in the wind. Unique. Can not be covered by vision.

Such as Kawabata Yasunari. I think his writing should have a Leng Yan. But every time I turn to his works in the bookstore, I am always disappointed. I read his article about the ancient capital a long time ago. What impressed me deeply was that the only night the two sisters spent together, they faced separation in the early morning. A brief description of the scenery. What rises in the morning is a thin snowflake. When I read it, I changed the translated Chinese first. The artistic conception inside, the heart that can understand, has gone beyond simple words.

But I can't refuse Duras. Her two lovers are my favorites. I prefer Ji's translation of The Lover of Northern China. Simple and direct. It has a stiff and strong impact. Vision and imagination. Let people sink.

Rereading Duras, on a rainy night.

It suddenly occurred to me that some things can be circulated for a long time. In some connected souls. Endless.

The sound of the city is close at hand, so close that you can hear the rubbing of shutters. It sounds as if they are crossing the room. I caressed him in my voice, and the voice flowed. The sea gathers into infinity, recedes far away, rolls back, and so on.

I asked him to do it again and again. Come with me again. He did it. Actually, I'm dying.

He told me that he would remember this afternoon all his life, although I would forget his face and name at that time.

Physical kissing makes people cry. Maybe some people say that's comfort. I am getting old. Suddenly found himself old.

My love for him is unreasonable. It's a secret to me, too.

I love him, maybe forever. Nothing new can join this love.

At that time, I forgot about death.

Mekong river. The river winds through the rice fields.

In Duras' works, words are free and wandering. She can change the person and chronological order of the narrative at will. It is also a kind of desperate tension, which is always tightly stretched there. Persistent melancholy and sadness. She has been trapped by alcohol and desire all her life.

But the past is so clear. The man I love. His breath and the touch of his skin remained in her heart.

/kloc-a white girl of 0/5 years old, wearing an old silk dress and Phnom Penh high heels, with Indian braids and lipstick.

Poverty, unbridled eyes. Then I met a man from the north of China on the ferry.

The shadow of fate hangs over life.

Desperate sex. Wordless parting.

Duras wrote The Essence of Love.

It won't happen again.

It's like loving someone at last. I suddenly found myself so lonely.

That night, I went to the library to find a book about yoga. The rain has stopped and there are still wet and cold raindrops in the air. The sky is a strange color. Very empty blue. There are large dark clouds surging. The river flowing through the city finally calmed down.

There are some strangers walking in the street. Somewhere in our lives, there will always be someone. Maybe the skin is blind.

Maybe forget each other again. But at the end of time, the past is left behind. Like a scar.

Or gentle. Or pain. Or a tear he left deep in his body.

Cycle in the continuation of life.

Duras, 15 years old, was on the boat back to France, watching China's car fly away.

At last the car was out of sight. The port disappeared. Then the land disappeared.

She closed her eyes.

She will never see him again.

In the dark world with her eyes closed, she smelled silk, skin, tea and opium again.

Separation. Abandon forever.

How vast this plain is.

How high and straight these peaks are.

The garden is full of the fragrance of grass.

I look for it in prosperity.

Maybe looking for a dream, a ray of sunshine, a stone, a smile.

3. What are the ancient poems about "walking"?

1. Walking in front of the forest in the morning, the river color is still there. -Tang Du Fu's "Jiangcun"

2. Yan Bu loves the morning, and the empty mountain is sunny. -Tang Lulun, "Kasugayama remembers Cui Yao and Ji Zhongfu"

In the pure morning, near the ancient temple, the early sunshine points to the treetops. -Tang Changjian's Zen Forest after Broken Mountain Temple

4. Going to the Temple of Heaven in the morning is gloomy all the way. -Liu Tang Yuxi, "Guests have more words to climb the Temple of Heaven in the rain, because they are blessed."

5. Take a leisurely trip to Yulin in the morning. -Don Yang Shidao's "Spring Walk"

go for a walk

1. Walk around for exercise or entertainment.

2. propose to someone, especially when walking

Wander around

4. Walk slowly, especially to show off

5. Example: Liang of the Southern Dynasties wrote in the "Time Series of June Afternoon": "The heart is heavy on the ravine, and I am pregnant with fishing firewood." Tang Wei Wu Ying's poem "Send Twenty-two People Up the Mountain in Autumn Night": "I am walking in the coolness of autumn night, thinking of you and singing my poem." One of Song Yuwen's "Prosperity in High Autumn": "Help the elderly and support them alive." Wei Wei's "Oriental", Chapter 10, Part V: "Zhou Fu idles."

reference data

Baidu Chinese: /s? wd = % E6 % 95 % A3 % E6 % AD % A5 & ampptype=zici#detailmean

4. Send (Wei) poems in autumn night

When I walk on a cool autumn night, I think of you and sing my poems.

Pine nuts fell on the mountain, and you seem to wake up.

Woxiaozhai (Bai Juyi)

Yan sat there and ate until the end.

Under the long corridor, retreat to the study.

Who will accompany you when you are free?

What cloud is two thousand stones, like a field Weng?

Su Dongting Xiaoxing (Bai Juyi)

Warm earth fire, burning sarong candle.

Holding the piano alone, I went to Dongzhai for the night.

The sound of the window is residual leakage, and the curtain is floating at the beginning.

Look up and comb more, your eyes are dim, and you get enough sleep in spring.

Take a walk in the pond under the eaves.

Southern Yan didn't come back, why did Dongfeng come?

The snow around the wall is white and the grass is green.

Why do you say that you are always alone?