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We are both unhappy -- to the sky's end, we meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?. Where did it come from? What is the whole poem like?
1, "we are both unhappy -- to the sky's end, we meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?." From the Tang Dynasty poet Bai Juyi's Pipa Trip. It means—

People who are also reduced to the world, since they meet, no matter whether they have known each other before, they will be in the same boat and respond in unison. Then why care if you have ever known each other?

2. Attached to the original text:

Song of the Lute Player

order

In the tenth year of Yuanhe, Yu moved to Jiujiang.

County Sima. Next autumn, I will send a guest to Pukou, and I will hear those who play the pipa in the middle of the night. Listening to its sound, there is the sound of Kyoto. Ask him, Ben Chang' an advocates women, and tastes the pipa in Mu and Cao Ershan; Old age is fading, and I am committed to being a wife. Then he ordered wine, so that he could play several songs quickly, and the songs would be merciful. Self-talk about happy things when I was young, but now I drift away and migrate between rivers and lakes. I have been an official for two years, and I feel at ease, and I feel that I have moved to the future. Because of long sentences, songs are given to them. Every 616 words, life yue "pipa".

I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River, where maple-leaves and full-grown rushes rustled in the autumn.

I, the host, had dismounted, my guest had boarded his boat, and we raised our cups and wished to drink-but, alas, there was no music.

For all we had drunk we felt no joy and were parting from each other, when the river widened mysteriously toward the full moon.

We had heard a sudden sound, a guitar across the water, host forgot to turn back home, and guest to go his way.

We followed where the melody led and asked the player's name The sound broke off...then reluctantly she answered.

We moved our boat near hers, invited her to join us, summoned more wine and lanterns to recommence our banquet.

Yet we called and urged a thousand times before she started toward us, still hiding half her face from us behind her guitar.

...She turned the tuning-pegs and tested several strings, we could feel what she was feeling, even before she played.

Each string a meditation, each note a deep thought, as if she were telling us the ache of her whole life.

She knit her brows, flexed her fingers, then began her music, little by little letting her heart share everything with ours.

She brushed the strings, twisted them slow, swept them, plucked them, first the air of The Rainbow Skirt, then The Six Little Ones.

The large strings hummed like rain, the small strings whispered like a secret.

Hummed, whispered-and then were intermingled, like a pouring of 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.

Into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament, told even more in silence than they had told in sound.

A silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water, and out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote.

And, before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke, and all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk.

East boat and west boat are silent, and we saw the white autumnal moon enter the river's heart.

Thoughtfully put in the strings, she rose and smoothed her clothing and, formal, courteous.

Told us how she had spent her girlhood at the capital, living in her parents' house under the Mount of Toads.

And had mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen, with her name recorded first in the class-roll of musicians.

Song often teaches the good to subdue, her beauty the envy of all the leading dancers.

How noble youths of Wuling had lavishly competed, and numberless red rolls of silk been given for one song.

And skirts the colour of blood been spoiled with stains of wine, China.

Season after season, joy had followed joy, autumn moons and spring winds had passed without her heeding.

Till first her brother left for the war, and then her aunt died, and evenings went and evenings came, and her beauty faded.

With ever fewer chariots and horses at her door, so that finally she gave herself as wife to a merchant.

Who, prizing money first, careless how he left her, had gone, a month before, to Fuliang to buy tea.

And she had been tending an empty boat at the river's mouth, no company but the bright moon and the cold water.

And sometimes in the deep of night she would dream of her triumphs, and be wakened from her dreams by the scalding of her tears.

Her very first guitar-note had started me sighing, now, having heard her story, I was sadder still.

We are both unhappy -- to the sky's end, we meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?.

I came, a year ago, away from the capital, and am now a sick exile here in Jiujiang.

And so remote is Jiujiang that I have heard no music, neither string nor bamboo, for a whole year.

My quarters, near the River Town, are low and damp, with bitter reeds and yellowed rushes all about the house.

And what is to be heard here, morning and evening?? The bleeding cry of cuckoos, the whimpering of apes.

On flowery spring mornings and moonlit autumn nights, I have often taken wine up and drunk it all alone.

Of course there are the mountain songs and the village pipes, but they are crude and-strident, and grate on my ears.

And tonight, when I heard you playing your guitar, I felt as if my hearing were bright with fairymusic.

Do not leave us. Come, sit down. Play for us again., and I will write a long song concerning a guitar..

...Moved by what I said, she stood there for a moment, then sat again to her strings-and they sounded even sadder.

Although the tunes were different from those she had played before, the feasters, all listening, covered their faces.

But who of them all was crying the most?? This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeve was wet.

Writing background

Bai Juyi was demoted to Jiangzhou Sima, and met the pipa girl who had fallen to the end of the world by chance. At first sight, they felt as if they had never met each other.

Pipa Trip was written in the autumn of the 11th year of Yuanhe in Tang Xianzong (AD 8 16), when Bai Juyi was forty-five years old and was appointed as Sima in Jiangzhou. Bai Juyi was first left to pick up the remains ten years ago, and then left to be a doctor. In June of the 10th year of Yuanhe, the forces of the Tang Dynasty sent assassins to stab the Prime Minister Wu Yuanheng at the head of Chang 'an Street, and stabbed Pei Du, the imperial adviser, causing great controversy in the ruling and opposition. The spokesman of the buffer region forces in the DPRK further demanded the removal of Pei Du, in order to secure the buffer region's "anti-side" heart. At this time, Bai Juyi stepped forward and insisted on soliciting thieves, thinking that otherwise the country would not be a country. Bai Juyi's idea was right, but because he always wrote allegorical poems and offended many powerful people in the imperial court, some people said that he was a humble official and overstepped his duties. Plus someone accused him of Luo Zhi, so he was dismissed as Jiangzhou Sima. Jiangzhou is governed by Jiujiang City, Jiangxi Province. Sima is the assistant of the secretariat, which sounds good, but in fact, in the middle Tang Dynasty, this position was specially placed for "criminal" officials, and was sent to a certain place in disguise for supervision and supervision. This incident had a great influence on Bai Juyi, which was the turning point of his ideological change. Since then, his early fighting spirit has gradually worn away and his negative emotions have become more and more.

3. Introduction to the author:

Bai Juyi (772-846), a poet in the Tang Dynasty, was named Lotte, a layman in Xiangshan. His ancestral home was Taiyuan, Shanxi. In his later years, he was an official until he was a young prince. When he arrived at his great-grandfather, he moved to Xiaguan (now Weinan North, Shaanxi Province). Bai Juyi died in Luoyang in 846 AD and was buried in Xiangshan. Also known as "Li Du Bai" with Li Bai and Du Fu. Realistic poet. His poems have a wide range of themes, various forms and simple and popular language, and are known as "Poet Magic" and "Poet King". Official to Hanlin bachelor, Zuo Zanshan doctor. There is a collection of Bai's Changqing handed down from generation to generation, and the representative poems are Song of Eternal Sorrow, Charcoal Man, Pipa Trip and so on.

Bai Juyi and Yuan Zhen * * * advocated the new Yuefu movement, which was called "Yuan Bai" in the world and "Liu Bai" with Liu Yuxi.