His song and his voice is already loved ❤️ overseas and he is loved by many. I am one of his avid fan. Hope he will make more historical dramas with Bai Lu, they have a very strong chemistry
The lyrics come from a poem written by a poet of the Tang Dynasty more than 1000 years ago. It describes the superb Pipa skills of a woman who plays the pipa instrument and her unfortunate life experience
The Song of the Pipa Introduction In the 10th Year of Emperor Yuan Ho, I was banished and demoted to Jiu-jiang district as an assistant official. In the summer of the following year, as I was seeing a friend off, we heard from a neighbouring boat a pipa [four-string lute] played in the style of the Capital. On inquiry, I learnt that the player used to be a sing-song girl from the Capital who was now married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to play for us. She also related to us her story and unhappiness. Since my departure from the Capital I had not felt sad; but since that night, I began to feel the weight of my exile. So, I wrote this poem in 612 words: pipa_liufang By the head water of the Hsin-yang River Where maple leaves and reeds sigh in the autumn wind, I said goodbye to a friend departing in the night. When I got down from my horse, my guest was already in the boat. Silently, we lifted our cups for a final farewell toast But the wine could not soothe our sadness That rose with the rising tide and flooded the moon. Suddenly we heard a pipa across the water. I, the host, forgot my return, the guest the journey on. In the darkness we asked for the player. The music broke off, whoever wishing to reply seemed uncertain. So we re-lit the lamp, reset our table with food and wine, And moved our boat nearer, hoping to see the player. But only after much urging did she appear Still clutching her pipa that half-covered her face. She turned the pegs and tested the strings And as she strummed we could sense her deep feeling For every note was heavy with thought Telling a sorrowful tale of life. With lowered brows and sure hands, she poured into the music The limitless depths of her heart. She plucked the strings, brushed them and swept on… With a song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Six Little Ones. The major chords chanted like falling rain, The minor chords whispered secrets, In a delightful medley Like the clinking of pearls on a jade plate, Like the notes of a nightingale among flowers, Like the singing of a brook as its water rushed the bank. A cold touch suddenly froze the music, And in the silence we heard her innermost sorrow For now the stillness told more than any music could. A silver jar shattered and water gushed out, And armoured horsemen clashed in their fighting gear. Once more she swept all four strings like the tearing of silk. East and west, the boats were hushed by her music, While the autumn moon rose white above the water. Finally she inserted the peg under the strings, Adjusted her clothes, composed herself and told her story: pipa “I was a girl from the Capital, living at the foot of the Hsia-mo Hill. At thirteen, I had already mastered the pipa and critics praised me as the best player ever. I was familiar with the tunes of popular songs and dances And my talent and beauty made many girl envious. The young men of the city competed for my favours. One song could bring me rolls of silk, Jewelled hairpins and silver combs. My clothes too were often crimsoned with wine. Year after year, the feasting and laughter went on, As autumn changed to spring in carefree abandon. “Then my brother left for the Army and my aunt died. Evening and morning passed and my beauty waned. At last, no longer young, I was married to a merchant. But he cares more for his business than his wife. Last month, he left for Fouliang town to buy tea Leaving me to look after an empty boat. With only the moon and cold river for companions. In the deep of the night, I dreamt of my girlhood But the happy memories hastened my tears.” When I heard her playing the pipa, I sighed When I heard her story, I became sadder still. “There are no strangers on the world’s horizon, Meeting and sharing the same fate, What does past acquaintance matter? “A year ago, I left the Capital To become a sick exile in this town. The place is so forsaken there is no good music. For an entire year I heard nothing of string or pipe. My house near the river is low and damp, Surrounded by reeds and rushes. Morning and night, all I hear Are the blood-cuddling cuckoo calls and the cries of apes. “In spring mornings among the flowers And under a moon in autumn nights, I would bring wine, only to drink alone by the river. There are mountain songs and village piping But they cut my ears with their grating sound. Tonight, hearing you play the pipa Is like listening to fairy music from afar. Don’t go just yet, but play us another tune And I will compose the words of a song for you.” Moved by my words she stood for a moment, Then sitting down she began strumming anew. But the forlorn notes were different from before And everyone listening could not hold back their tears. Who among them was most affected? The author, a junior official, with his blue sleeves wet. Translated by Francis Chin, published June 9, 1979 in Business Times newspaper, revised May 24, 2008 for the Web
The Song of the Pipa Introduction In the 10th Year of Emperor Yuan Ho, I was banished and demoted to Jiu-jiang district as an assistant official. In the summer of the following year, as I was seeing a friend off, we heard from a neighbouring boat a pipa [four-string lute] played in the style of the Capital. On inquiry, I learnt that the player used to be a sing-song girl from the Capital who was now married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to play for us. She also related to us her story and unhappiness. Since my departure from the Capital I had not felt sad; but since that night, I began to feel the weight of my exile. So, I wrote this poem in 612 words: pipa_liufang By the head water of the Hsin-yang River Where maple leaves and reeds sigh in the autumn wind, I said goodbye to a friend departing in the night. When I got down from my horse, my guest was already in the boat. Silently, we lifted our cups for a final farewell toast But the wine could not soothe our sadness That rose with the rising tide and flooded the moon. Suddenly we heard a pipa across the water. I, the host, forgot my return, the guest the journey on. In the darkness we asked for the player. The music broke off, whoever wishing to reply seemed uncertain. So we re-lit the lamp, reset our table with food and wine, And moved our boat nearer, hoping to see the player. But only after much urging did she appear Still clutching her pipa that half-covered her face. She turned the pegs and tested the strings And as she strummed we could sense her deep feeling For every note was heavy with thought Telling a sorrowful tale of life. With lowered brows and sure hands, she poured into the music The limitless depths of her heart. She plucked the strings, brushed them and swept on… With a song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Six Little Ones. The major chords chanted like falling rain, The minor chords whispered secrets, In a delightful medley Like the clinking of pearls on a jade plate, Like the notes of a nightingale among flowers, Like the singing of a brook as its water rushed the bank. A cold touch suddenly froze the music, And in the silence we heard her innermost sorrow For now the stillness told more than any music could. A silver jar shattered and water gushed out, And armoured horsemen clashed in their fighting gear. Once more she swept all four strings like the tearing of silk. East and west, the boats were hushed by her music, While the autumn moon rose white above the water. Finally she inserted the peg under the strings, Adjusted her clothes, composed herself and told her story: pipa “I was a girl from the Capital, living at the foot of the Hsia-mo Hill. At thirteen, I had already mastered the pipa and critics praised me as the best player ever. I was familiar with the tunes of popular songs and dances And my talent and beauty made many girl envious. The young men of the city competed for my favours. One song could bring me rolls of silk, Jewelled hairpins and silver combs. My clothes too were often crimsoned with wine. Year after year, the feasting and laughter went on, As autumn changed to spring in carefree abandon. “Then my brother left for the Army and my aunt died. Evening and morning passed and my beauty waned. At last, no longer young, I was married to a merchant. But he cares more for his business than his wife. Last month, he left for Fouliang town to buy tea Leaving me to look after an empty boat. With only the moon and cold river for companions. In the deep of the night, I dreamt of my girlhood But the happy memories hastened my tears.” When I heard her playing the pipa, I sighed When I heard her story, I became sadder still. “There are no strangers on the world’s horizon, Meeting and sharing the same fate, What does past acquaintance matter? “A year ago, I left the Capital To become a sick exile in this town. The place is so forsaken there is no good music. For an entire year I heard nothing of string or pipe. My house near the river is low and damp, Surrounded by reeds and rushes. Morning and night, all I hear Are the blood-cuddling cuckoo calls and the cries of apes. “In spring mornings among the flowers And under a moon in autumn nights, I would bring wine, only to drink alone by the river. There are mountain songs and village piping But they cut my ears with their grating sound. Tonight, hearing you play the pipa Is like listening to fairy music from afar. Don’t go just yet, but play us another tune And I will compose the words of a song for you.” Moved by my words she stood for a moment, Then sitting down she began strumming anew. But the forlorn notes were different from before And everyone listening could not hold back their tears. Who among them was most affected? The author, a junior official, with his blue sleeves wet. Translated by Francis Chin, published June 9, 1979 in Business Times newspaper, revised May 24, 2008 for the Web
![[Playlist] List of The Best Allen Ren 任嘉伦 ’s songs | 5.2020](/img/n.gif)
古诗都能唱得如此传神！嘉伦特别棒，善舞能唱。。
任嘉伦 是演艺圈的一股清流， 是一位多才多艺的演员 超喜欢！
+1🥰🥰🥰
多才多藝啊！寶藏男孩任嘉倫🥰🥰🥰💯💯💯👍👍👍
任嘉伦唱这首歌唱的很好很好听我喜欢❤🫰
超級喜歡任嘉倫的琵琶行！太棒棒！超獨特的聲線！😊😊😊❤❤❤
真好, 年青人习惯的方法学习古诗词, 任嘉伦大功一件! 我们老年人也喜欢!
多才多藝的嘉倫👍🏻👍🏻
任嘉伦是个好艺人
太好聴了！👋👍 太棒了！嘉倫支持你🤗✌
唱的真好聽 最喜歡嘉倫版本的 而且嘉倫也好帥啊
好喜歡嘉倫唱的琵琶行，聽一千遍也不厭倦
+1🥰🥰🥰
嘉倫版本的琵琶行是我聽過最好聽的👍
嘉倫唱得太好了！正！
太棒了！能歌能舞，演技棒！
好喜欢任嘉伦的演绎😃
嘉倫你真的太棒了，看你演出百看不厭一部戲看好幾回讚讚讚。
希望任嘉倫履行推動大中華文化傳承的使命，把一點一滴融合在每套你所接拍的電視劇裏，希望你的戲或劇或歌曲都能傳及中港澳至海外！
His song and his voice is already loved ❤️ overseas and he is loved by many. I am one of his avid fan. Hope he will make more historical dramas with Bai Lu, they have a very strong chemistry
@B A already overseas indeed 🇺🇸 he just needs a hit drama on Netflix then he'll be more popular.
嘉倫，最尾的幾個音非常有韻味，嘉倫希望你更試唱京戲或其他戲曲風格，加油，支持你，支持你！
任嘉倫把這首古詩詞唱的很有感
加上現代元素和舞蹈
真的夠經典, 超超超好聽
超級帥氣
超極棒也
多才多艺的帥哥，加油!越來越喜歡你。
每天都听几遍。。。太好听了
好愛任嘉倫-陸大人的“琵琶行”，高水準的演出，精彩絕倫，讓我想好好回去念詩詞！
这个节目很好啊！ 开了眼界！China！
這位任嘉伦先生唱得出色好聽👍
唱得非常好👍，嘉倫做任何事都非常認真，值得學習！
非常好👍
任嘉倫真的太棒了🌟好聽
+1
好喜歡任嘉倫譚松韻演的錦衣之下的路繹袁今夏太棒了
真好聽
完美的表演
嘉伧好棒呀！想不到唱得那么那么的好！好喜欢你！加油！加油！太爱你唱的琵琶行！👏👏👏💪⛽💪⛽👍
任嘉伦。。。
+1🥰🥰🥰
努力的人最有魅力！
方老师才是国宝
支持任嘉倫！
國超也太帥了吧 好看又好聽!!
第一次聽到的時候，真的驚艷到，沒想到一首白居易的詩詞，可以唱的這麼傳神好聽，還加上現代的舞蹈，感覺更新穎，不會感覺就只是在唱一首歌，非常有畫面，似乎看到白居易與琵琶女一起聊他們的境遇往事
方老师也太利害了啦！！👏👏👍
讚讚讚
唱的太好听了了，声音好听，唱跳俱佳，气息很稳，人又帅，爱了粉上
非常好听
好棒. 百聽不厭.
👏🎵🎶✨💖🎹🎸👍
好聽！
Fabulous you can sing so well. 加油加油
如果古文或古詩都能有rap.那麼年青人或兒童非更非常喜愛去學習和背誦啦！期待嘉倫的古詩文的rap
❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
太棒了
好👍🏽👍🏽
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Jialun
意外的好听！Rap也很顺！
好！👍👍👍👍
總之帥呆了
嘉倫❤❤
很喜欢对诗词的分析
Good job, Allen Ren
享受舞台 自信大方 主要是帅帅帅
精致
真喜欢嘉伦和形菲搭配很好看
太棒了👏👏
方老師的魅力更無法擋
Allen Ren un cântăreț și actor excepțional!Romania, Europa!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤
I love you 👏👏👏👏👏🌻🌻❤️💐❤️💐❤️💐❤️🌻🌻
I really love you Allen
加侖厲害
He Amazing
棒 !
Makin ❤️❤️❤️ dengan Ren Jialun
😊🎉❤👍👍👍👍👍👍🥰🥰🥰🥰
Успешных вам проектов.🍒
琵琶行 由任嘉倫唱 老實說未到位 他還是做他的演藝吧 人不能樣樣萬全！😅方先生的琵琶真的一絕🌷👏👏👏👏👏🎈🎈🎈
I love Allen Ren ❤
I want subtitles in english. I like so much the music and Ren Allen is so great
Me too!!!!
好听，气质不像一个落魄的人。挺好的尝试。
陸毅 大人 來 傳唱經典曲 了 !!!! 💕💕💕💕💕
👍👍👍👍
😍😍😍😍😍
太好了！太中國文化博大精深！
好像阿！👍
👏👏👏👏👏
嘉倫該曲表演唱跳俱嘉
👍👍👍👍👍💕💕💐💐💐🇻🇳allen ren🌟🌟🌟🌹🌹🌹🌹
🤩🤩🤩
I wish I could understand what the song told about
The lyrics come from a poem written by a poet of the Tang Dynasty more than 1000 years ago. It describes the superb Pipa skills of a woman who plays the pipa instrument and her unfortunate life experience
The Song of the Pipa
Introduction
In the 10th Year of Emperor Yuan Ho, I was banished and demoted to Jiu-jiang district as an assistant official. In the summer of the following year, as I was seeing a friend off, we heard from a neighbouring boat a pipa [four-string lute] played in the style of the Capital.
On inquiry, I learnt that the player used to be a sing-song girl from the Capital who was now married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to play for us. She also related to us her story and unhappiness. Since my departure from the Capital I had not felt sad; but since that night, I began to feel the weight of my exile. So, I wrote this poem in 612 words:
pipa_liufang
By the head water of the Hsin-yang River
Where maple leaves and reeds sigh in the autumn wind,
I said goodbye to a friend departing in the night.
When I got down from my horse, my guest was already in the boat.
Silently, we lifted our cups for a final farewell toast
But the wine could not soothe our sadness
That rose with the rising tide and flooded the moon.
Suddenly we heard a pipa across the water.
I, the host, forgot my return, the guest the journey on.
In the darkness we asked for the player.
The music broke off, whoever wishing to reply seemed uncertain.
So we re-lit the lamp, reset our table with food and wine,
And moved our boat nearer, hoping to see the player.
But only after much urging did she appear
Still clutching her pipa that half-covered her face.
She turned the pegs and tested the strings
And as she strummed we could sense her deep feeling
For every note was heavy with thought
Telling a sorrowful tale of life.
With lowered brows and sure hands, she poured into the music
The limitless depths of her heart.
She plucked the strings, brushed them and swept on…
With a song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Six Little Ones.
The major chords chanted like falling rain,
The minor chords whispered secrets,
In a delightful medley
Like the clinking of pearls on a jade plate,
Like the notes of a nightingale among flowers,
Like the singing of a brook as its water rushed the bank.
A cold touch suddenly froze the music,
And in the silence we heard her innermost sorrow
For now the stillness told more than any music could.
A silver jar shattered and water gushed out,
And armoured horsemen clashed in their fighting gear.
Once more she swept all four strings like the tearing of silk.
East and west, the boats were hushed by her music,
While the autumn moon rose white above the water.
Finally she inserted the peg under the strings,
Adjusted her clothes, composed herself and told her story:
pipa
“I was a girl from the Capital,
living at the foot of the Hsia-mo Hill.
At thirteen, I had already mastered the pipa
and critics praised me as the best player ever.
I was familiar with the tunes of popular songs and dances
And my talent and beauty made many girl envious.
The young men of the city competed for my favours.
One song could bring me rolls of silk,
Jewelled hairpins and silver combs.
My clothes too were often crimsoned with wine.
Year after year, the feasting and laughter went on,
As autumn changed to spring in carefree abandon.
“Then my brother left for the Army and my aunt died.
Evening and morning passed and my beauty waned.
At last, no longer young, I was married to a merchant.
But he cares more for his business than his wife.
Last month, he left for Fouliang town to buy tea
Leaving me to look after an empty boat.
With only the moon and cold river for companions.
In the deep of the night, I dreamt of my girlhood
But the happy memories hastened my tears.”
When I heard her playing the pipa, I sighed
When I heard her story, I became sadder still.
“There are no strangers on the world’s horizon,
Meeting and sharing the same fate,
What does past acquaintance matter?
“A year ago, I left the Capital
To become a sick exile in this town.
The place is so forsaken there is no good music.
For an entire year I heard nothing of string or pipe.
My house near the river is low and damp,
Surrounded by reeds and rushes.
Morning and night, all I hear
Are the blood-cuddling cuckoo calls and the cries of apes.
“In spring mornings among the flowers
And under a moon in autumn nights,
I would bring wine, only to drink alone by the river.
There are mountain songs and village piping
But they cut my ears with their grating sound.
Tonight, hearing you play the pipa
Is like listening to fairy music from afar.
Don’t go just yet, but play us another tune
And I will compose the words of a song for you.”
Moved by my words she stood for a moment,
Then sitting down she began strumming anew.
But the forlorn notes were different from before
And everyone listening could not hold back their tears.
Who among them was most affected?
The author, a junior official, with his blue sleeves wet.
Translated by Francis Chin,
published June 9, 1979 in Business Times newspaper, revised May 24, 2008 for the Web
靠超強ㄧ聽就背了
Quisiera alguien decir que le están diciendo los jueces.
⭐👍💞
[经典咏流传]失传千年五弦琵琶再发声 任嘉伦跳唱演绎《琵琶行》 | CCTV
663.863 visualizações 31 de mar. de 2018 《经典咏流传》是中央电视台综合频道和央视创造传媒联合制作推出的中国首档大型原创诗词文化类音乐节目，由撒贝宁担当主持人。
《经典咏流传》官方高清播放列表：
goo.gl/iVSAov Tamara Drasin Enternal Endless Singing
👍👍👍🪷❤️❤️❤️🪷😍😍😍🪷
這有完整版嗎，求在哪第幾季第幾期
古诗词的rap化比白话文好听太多了！
京剧唱法才是最经典
這個以前有學過
Please eng sub ???
The Song of the Pipa
Introduction
In the 10th Year of Emperor Yuan Ho, I was banished and demoted to Jiu-jiang district as an assistant official. In the summer of the following year, as I was seeing a friend off, we heard from a neighbouring boat a pipa [four-string lute] played in the style of the Capital.
On inquiry, I learnt that the player used to be a sing-song girl from the Capital who was now married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to play for us. She also related to us her story and unhappiness. Since my departure from the Capital I had not felt sad; but since that night, I began to feel the weight of my exile. So, I wrote this poem in 612 words:
pipa_liufang
By the head water of the Hsin-yang River
Where maple leaves and reeds sigh in the autumn wind,
I said goodbye to a friend departing in the night.
When I got down from my horse, my guest was already in the boat.
Silently, we lifted our cups for a final farewell toast
But the wine could not soothe our sadness
That rose with the rising tide and flooded the moon.
Suddenly we heard a pipa across the water.
I, the host, forgot my return, the guest the journey on.
In the darkness we asked for the player.
The music broke off, whoever wishing to reply seemed uncertain.
So we re-lit the lamp, reset our table with food and wine,
And moved our boat nearer, hoping to see the player.
But only after much urging did she appear
Still clutching her pipa that half-covered her face.
She turned the pegs and tested the strings
And as she strummed we could sense her deep feeling
For every note was heavy with thought
Telling a sorrowful tale of life.
With lowered brows and sure hands, she poured into the music
The limitless depths of her heart.
She plucked the strings, brushed them and swept on…
With a song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Six Little Ones.
The major chords chanted like falling rain,
The minor chords whispered secrets,
In a delightful medley
Like the clinking of pearls on a jade plate,
Like the notes of a nightingale among flowers,
Like the singing of a brook as its water rushed the bank.
A cold touch suddenly froze the music,
And in the silence we heard her innermost sorrow
For now the stillness told more than any music could.
A silver jar shattered and water gushed out,
And armoured horsemen clashed in their fighting gear.
Once more she swept all four strings like the tearing of silk.
East and west, the boats were hushed by her music,
While the autumn moon rose white above the water.
Finally she inserted the peg under the strings,
Adjusted her clothes, composed herself and told her story:
pipa
“I was a girl from the Capital,
living at the foot of the Hsia-mo Hill.
At thirteen, I had already mastered the pipa
and critics praised me as the best player ever.
I was familiar with the tunes of popular songs and dances
And my talent and beauty made many girl envious.
The young men of the city competed for my favours.
One song could bring me rolls of silk,
Jewelled hairpins and silver combs.
My clothes too were often crimsoned with wine.
Year after year, the feasting and laughter went on,
As autumn changed to spring in carefree abandon.
“Then my brother left for the Army and my aunt died.
Evening and morning passed and my beauty waned.
At last, no longer young, I was married to a merchant.
But he cares more for his business than his wife.
Last month, he left for Fouliang town to buy tea
Leaving me to look after an empty boat.
With only the moon and cold river for companions.
In the deep of the night, I dreamt of my girlhood
But the happy memories hastened my tears.”
When I heard her playing the pipa, I sighed
When I heard her story, I became sadder still.
“There are no strangers on the world’s horizon,
Meeting and sharing the same fate,
What does past acquaintance matter?
“A year ago, I left the Capital
To become a sick exile in this town.
The place is so forsaken there is no good music.
For an entire year I heard nothing of string or pipe.
My house near the river is low and damp,
Surrounded by reeds and rushes.
Morning and night, all I hear
Are the blood-cuddling cuckoo calls and the cries of apes.
“In spring mornings among the flowers
And under a moon in autumn nights,
I would bring wine, only to drink alone by the river.
There are mountain songs and village piping
But they cut my ears with their grating sound.
Tonight, hearing you play the pipa
Is like listening to fairy music from afar.
Don’t go just yet, but play us another tune
And I will compose the words of a song for you.”
Moved by my words she stood for a moment,
Then sitting down she began strumming anew.
But the forlorn notes were different from before
And everyone listening could not hold back their tears.
Who among them was most affected?
The author, a junior official, with his blue sleeves wet.
Translated by Francis Chin,
published June 9, 1979 in Business Times newspaper, revised May 24, 2008 for the Web
03:32