English (United Kingdom)

https://curated-unify.zendy.io/wp-json/zendy-region/v1/featured_content/oa?rat=en

https://curated-unify.zendy.io/wp-json/zendy-region/v1/highlighted_journal/

Zendy Open

Presents the pdf analysis as premium feature

PDF Analysis

Insights

Presents the summarisation as premium feature

Summarisation

Presents the keyphrase highlighting as premium feature

Keyphrase Highlighting

Presents the zaia usage as premium feature

ZAIA

Zendy Tools

Zendy Plus

Presents the access of premium content as premium feature

Premium Content

Ba Nho holds the dan day lute close to his face. . . . With dignity, he plays the opening phrase. . . . Never before had Co To heard the sound of the dan day full of such misery and grief. The sound was so sullen and suppressed, as if it could not be set free into the atmosphere. . . . The sound was a deep feeling that could not be expressed. . . . The sound was a gust of wind unable to blow through the cracks of a thin bamboo screen. . . . The sound was a quivering leaf falling off a branch. . . . The rhythms of Co To’s bamboo clappers (phach) were fast like a bird calling out for help in the midst of a storm. . . . Not a single strike of the beaters was dull. The sound was sharp like the stroke of a knife. Beating the phach in that way gave glory to the bamboo and gave it a soul. . . . The lute and voice intertwined and soared (Nguyen Tuan 1946, 61–2).

Singing the Past: Vietnamese Ca Tru, Memory, and Mode