But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished the existence of the individual; the relationship between one human being and another has also been cramped by it, as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new,unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope.
But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively from his own existence. For if we think of this existence of the individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in Poe's stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode.
We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us. We are set down in life as in the element to which we best correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors, they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us; are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.
Day in Autumn BY RAINER MARIA RILKE TRANSLATED BY MARY KINZIE After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials and in the pastures let the rough winds fly. As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness. Direct on them two days of warmer light to hale them golden toward their term, and harry the last few drops of sweetness through the wine. Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter; who lives alone will live indefinitely so, waking up to read a little, draft long letters, and, along the city's avenues, fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen. 我喜欢前两段
随意在网上翻听音乐，听到梅葆玖先生的这一段，突然，就被莫名地打动了。
缭绕的余音，催着自己，再去找来其它的版本。选听了几个，还是觉得梅先生的唱腔最打动人。选两个YouTube贴上来：
这段唱腔，很魔性的，可以在脑子里不停地自动播放。现在这种自动播放，已经快三天了。不太清楚，是自己的情绪，使得音乐更吸魂；还是唱腔的完美，唱词的柔情，使听者不能自拔。
戴着口罩去的坐在前排，就演了两天，北京就因非典封城了。。。那是国家京剧院第一出京剧交响歌舞剧，美轮美奂。那段日子舞台很多美好，之前是登琨艳，然后就是这出，但是非常非常惋惜。。。
当时这部名字叫大唐盛世，后来才改名的。应该不会记错。
巴黎不会那么快开学了，，，
不能三饱一倒， 每天都有不少工作干， 还得做饭， 害得我想看个电影都没时间。不过不用每天起早去上班， 够美的啦， 再来两个月我不反对：）
但是潜水已久，读你的贴收益良多。非常喜欢。
现在这种状况总是暂时的，会有拨开云日见晴天的时候。 不要悲观啊。
年少时曾不爱京剧，随着年龄的增长才逐渐品出些味道…
中间有很多break
我家在北京，爸妈都是京剧迷。但我十几岁时最迷的却是越剧，还只迷尹派的
顺，着你的回帖，找到了诗人的其它作品。一眼就看到这首：
Fear of the Inexplicable
But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverishedthe existence of the individual; the relationship between
one human being and another has also been cramped by it,
as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of
endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the
bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone
that is responsible for human relationships repeating
themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and
unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new,unforeseeable
experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope.
But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes
nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation
to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively
from his own existence. For if we think of this existence of
the individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident
that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a
place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and
down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous
insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in
Poe's stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons
and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode.
We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about
us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
We are set down in life as in the element to which we best
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be
distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors,
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us;
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we
arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us
that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now
still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust
and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those
ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into
princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps
everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless
that wants help from us.
Politicians f..ck up us,
Scientists disappoint us.
Now, poets express us
And maybe, they can save us
At least, spiritually.
东北人解释一下：酸菜馅，其实做包子一点都不酸
Day in Autumn BY RAINER MARIA RILKE TRANSLATED BY MARY KINZIE After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials and in the pastures let the rough winds fly. As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness. Direct on them two days of warmer light to hale them golden toward their term, and harry the last few drops of sweetness through the wine. Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter; who lives alone will live indefinitely so, waking up to read a little, draft long letters, and, along the city's avenues, fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen. 我喜欢前两段
你怎么也喜欢这个戏曲？我现在不敢说不喜欢听了，怕显得没文化，但是要说喜欢我就更是不敢说了
那天随机地看了这段，真很感慨啊。不仅是听出了唱腔好，动作优美，眼神特别到位（当然这个需要想象一下，要滤过眼前所见迟暮的男人面孔，换上他年轻时装扮的娇媚的女子），更是特别感动于他能把人物演绎到这个地步，那是多少年华刻苦用功的孜孜不倦。对比当代艺人的表面功夫，这种对艺术的追究，对艺术的执着，不能不让人动容。
后者把大家闺秀唱出名妓的派头了，眼睛里有小勾子，声音跟我想象里的歌姬一样。这还是大家闺秀吗？梅兰芳的举手抬足，就是官家闺秀。
当代版本：
一听到尖细的嗓音，我就直接被turned off，虽然我也知道要捏成那样不容易。。。。
同喜欢前两段。
我自己还有一个体会 -- 有时候当时都不懂的诗文，其实还是在心里种了种子，以后的阅历就会给它浇水，慢慢有一天就发芽了。然后自己就懂了。
我怎么觉得这梨花颂和红梅赞很象啊
太真外传还是京剧的的样子。。。
臣妾做不到啊。。。
这一部就是国家京剧院当时的改革创新大戏