A River, a Poet, Two Thousand Years: Why Duanwu Is the Chinese People's Deepest Nostalgia — HSK 5-6 Chinese Listening Practice (4:39) | Fluentide

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A River, a Poet, Two Thousand Years: Why Duanwu Is the Chinese People's Deepest Nostalgia — HSK 5-6 Chinese Listening Practice (4:39) | Fluentide

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原文

Read the complete story in Chinese. Reveal pinyin and English only when you need them.

今天，

我们聊一个，

几乎每个中国人，

从小过到大，

却未必真正读懂的节日——端午节。

每年农历五月初五，

粽叶飘香，

龙舟竞渡。

对今天的我们来说，

端午，

或许只是一个三天的假期，

一顿应景的粽子。

但如果你愿意，

往这个节日的深处，

再走几步，

你会发现，

它的尽头，

站着一个人，

和一条，

流淌了两千多年的江。

这个人，

叫屈原。

要讲清楚他，

我们得先回到，

两千三百多年前。

那时的中国，

还没有统一，

诸侯林立，

战火连年。

屈原，

是南方"楚国"的一位贵族和大臣，

更是中国历史上，

第一位，

留下了名字的，

伟大诗人。

他写下的《离骚》，

直到今天，

依然被无数人，

反复诵读。

然而，

比他的才华更动人的，

是他的风骨。

屈原一生，

只忠于一件事——

他的祖国，楚国。

他渴望楚国强大，

渴望它能够，

抵御住北方，

那个虎视眈眈的秦国。

他屡屡进谏，

却屡屡，

被身边的小人排挤、陷害，

最终，

被一次次地，

流放到偏远之地。

他只能远远地，

眼睁睁看着，

自己深爱的国家，

一步步走向衰落。

公元前278年，

他最不愿看到的一幕，

还是发生了：

楚国的都城，

被秦国攻陷。

国破，

家亡。

对屈原而言，

他生命中，

最后的那点光，

也熄灭了。

在那个五月初五，

他来到汨罗江边，

怀抱一块巨石，

纵身一跃，

把自己，

永远地，

交给了那条江。

传说，

沿江的百姓，

听闻噩耗，

悲痛万分。

他们争相划船，

出江打捞，

这，

便是赛龙舟的雏形。

他们把米团，

投入江中，

只为让鱼虾，

不要伤害，

诗人的身体，

这，

便是粽子的由来。

当然，

作为一个历史悠久的节日，

端午的内涵，

远不止一个人的故事。

在屈原之前，

古人就视农历五月，

为"恶月"、"毒月"。

此时暑气渐盛，

蛇虫滋生，

瘟疫易发。

于是，

门前悬挂的艾草与菖蒲，

身上佩戴的香囊，

孩童腕上系着的五彩绳，

都寄托着，

古人驱邪避疫、

祈求安康的，

朴素心愿。

就这样，

对一位爱国诗人的深情纪念，

和一个民族，

趋吉避凶的古老智慧，

在漫长的岁月里，

交融、沉淀，

最终凝结成了，

我们今天的端午。

说到这里，

我想和你，

聊聊更深的一层。

你有没有觉得，

这是一件很不可思议的事？

一个人，

已经离开了，

两千三百多年。

可是，

直到今天，

每逢五月初五，

从城市到乡村，

从国内到海外，

亿万华人，

仍然会因为他，

而吃下同一种食物，

划起同一种船。

我们纪念的，

真的只是屈原，

这个具体的人吗？

或许，

我们真正放不下的，

是他身上，

那种"虽九死其犹未悔"的执着，

那份，

把个人，

和家国，

紧紧系在一起的，

深情。

那是一种，

刻在我们文化最深处的，

精神底色。

节目的最后，

我想把两个问题，

留给你。

第一，

今年的端午，

你是怎么过的？

在吃粽子、看龙舟的时候，

你有没有，

哪怕一瞬间，

想起过屈原？

第二，

两千多年，

我们用一个节日，

记住了一个人。

那么，

你希望，

未来的人们，

会用什么样的方式，

记住我们，

和我们，

所珍视的东西？

这两个问题，

没有标准答案。

但是它们，

值得你，

慢慢地想。

English transcript reference

Today,

we'll talk about

a festival almost every Chinese person

has celebrated since childhood,

yet may never truly have understood — the Dragon Boat Festival.

Every year, on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month,

the scent of zongzi leaves drifts in the air,

and dragon boats race across the water.

For us today,

Duanwu

is perhaps just a three-day holiday,

a seasonal meal of zongzi.

But if you are willing

to walk a few steps deeper

into this festival,

you will find

that at its very end

stands a man,

and a river

that has flowed for over two thousand years.

This man

is called Qu Yuan.

To explain him clearly,

we must first go back

more than two thousand three hundred years.

China then

was not yet unified,

dotted with rival lords,

war raging year after year.

Qu Yuan

was a noble and minister of the southern state of Chu,

and, in Chinese history,

the first

great poet

to leave behind his name.

His poem 'Li Sao',

to this day,

is still, by countless people,

recited again and again.

And yet,

more moving than his talent

was his integrity.

All his life, Qu Yuan

was loyal to one thing only —

his homeland, Chu.

He longed for Chu to be strong,

longed for it to be able

to withstand the northern power

that watched it like a hungry tiger — the state of Qin.

Again and again he offered counsel,

and again and again

was squeezed out and framed by the petty men around him,

until, at last,

he was, time after time,

exiled to remote places.

He could only, from afar,

watch helplessly

as the country he loved so deeply

slid, step by step, into decline.

In 278 BC,

the scene he least wished to see

came to pass after all:

Chu's capital

fell to Qin.

His country broken,

his home destroyed.

For Qu Yuan,

the last light

in his life

went out.

On that fifth of the fifth month,

he came to the bank of the Miluo River,

embraced a great stone,

and leapt,

giving himself,

forever,

to that river.

Legend says

the people along the river,

hearing the dreadful news,

were overcome with grief.

They vied to row out,

onto the river to search for him —

and this

is the origin of dragon-boat racing.

They cast rice balls

into the river,

only so the fish and shrimp

would not harm

the poet's body —

and this

is the origin of zongzi.

Of course,

as a festival of long history,

Duanwu's meaning

is far more than one man's story.

Before Qu Yuan,

the ancients already saw the fifth lunar month

as an 'evil month', a 'poison month'.

At this time the summer heat rises,

snakes and insects breed,

and plagues easily spread.

And so,

the mugwort and calamus hung at the door,

the scented sachets worn on the body,

the five-color threads tied on children's wrists —

all carry

the ancients' simple wish

to ward off evil and illness and pray for peace and health —

a humble wish.

And so,

the heartfelt remembrance of a patriotic poet,

and a people's

ancient wisdom of seeking fortune and avoiding harm,

over long ages,

merged and settled,

and finally crystallized into

the Duanwu we know today.

Speaking of this,

I want, with you,

to talk about a deeper layer.

Don't you find

this an almost unbelievable thing?

A man

has been gone

for over two thousand three hundred years.

And yet,

to this day,

every fifth of the fifth month,

from cities to villages,

from home to overseas,

hundreds of millions of Chinese

will still, because of him,

eat the same food,

and row the same kind of boat.

What we commemorate —

is it really only Qu Yuan,

this one particular man?

Perhaps

what we truly cannot let go of

is, in him,

that 'though I die nine times, I would not regret it' resolve,

that

devotion that binds

the self and the homeland

tightly together —

that deep feeling.

It is a kind

of spiritual ground-color carved

into the deepest part of our culture.

At the end of the show,

I want to leave you

with two questions.

First,

this year's Duanwu —

how did you spend it?

While eating zongzi and watching the dragon boats,

did you,

even for a single moment,

think of Qu Yuan?

Second,

for over two thousand years,

we have used a festival

to remember one man.

So,

how do you hope

the people of the future

will,

remember us,

and the things

we hold dear?

These two questions

have no standard answer.

But they

are worth your

thinking about slowly.

Listen again

Try it without the transcript and notice what sounds clearer.