The Prolific Pen of Bai Juyi: How a Tang Poet Became China’s Most Preserved Literary Voice

The Poet Who Outnumbered Li Bai and Du Fu

During the 342-year span of the Tang and Five Dynasties periods, Chinese poetry reached dazzling heights, with countless verses shining like stars across the literary firmament. Yet among these celestial works, one poet stands apart not for divine inspiration or sage-like wisdom, but for sheer volume: Bai Juyi. With 2,899 poems preserved in the Complete Tang and Five Dynasties Poetry—a staggering 5% of the entire collection—Bai Juyi eclipses even the legendary Li Bai and Du Fu in surviving works. How did this mid-Tang bureaucrat-poet achieve such textual immortality?

A Scholar’s Obsession: Preserving the Collected Works of Bai

Bai Juyi’s literary dominance stems from an almost obsessive dedication to self-archiving. As early as 824 CE, during Emperor Muzong’s reign, he compiled the Bai’s Changqing Collection—his first systematic anthology. Unlike peers who relied on imperial libraries or private collectors, Bai became his own publisher, expanding the collection five times during his Luoyang retirement.

By 835 CE, the 64-year-old poet deposited a 60-volume Collected Works of Bai containing 2,964 pieces at Lushan’s Donglin Temple. A year later, he gifted a 65-volume set (3,255 works) to Luoyang’s Shengshan Temple. His archival frenzy peaked in 842 CE when he finalized a 75-volume “Great Collection” with 3,840 poems, distributed across multiple monasteries. This “scattergun preservation” strategy—born from witnessing Li Bai’s works being 90% lost—proved prescient. Though war destroyed his home library and temple originals, duplicate copies survived, allowing later scholars to reconstruct his oeuvre.

Song of Everlasting Sorrow: Romance Over History

Bai’s 806 CE masterpiece Song of Everlasting Sorrow exemplifies his populist genius. Commissioned during a visit to Xianyou Temple near Mawei Slope—where Emperor Xuanzong’s consort Yang Guifei was executed—the poem transforms a political scandal into timeless romance. Bai tactfully omits uncomfortable truths: Yang’s prior marriage to the emperor’s son, Xuanzong’s direct role in her death, and his post-rebellion purges. Instead, he crafts a tragic fairy tale of love persisting beyond death, complete with celestial reunions.

Contemporary critics like Chen Hong praised its emotional resonance, while Song Dynasty moralists condemned its historical liberties. Yet the public adored it—so much so that General Gao Xiayu reportedly paid premium rates for singers performing it. The poem spawned countless adaptations, influencing Ming-era works like Wu Weiye’s Song of Yuanyuan. Modern scholars suggest Bai channeled personal heartbreak over his early love “Xiangling” into Xuanzong’s longing.

The Cutting Edge of New Yuefu Satire

Beyond romance, Bai pioneered the New Yuefu Movement—satirical poems targeting contemporary ills. His 150 New Music Bureau Poems exposed corruption with surgical precision:

– North of Purple Pavilion Mountain unmasked imperial guards (controlled by eunuchs) looting civilians
– The Seas Vast and Boundless mocked Emperor Xianzong’s obsession with immortality elixirs
– The White-Haired Palace Lady critiqued the harem system’s cruelty

“Literature should mirror the times,” Bai declared in his Letter to Yuan Zhen (815 CE). As a censor, he wielded poetry like a blade—until political backlash dulled its edge.

Pipa Play and the Poet’s Retreat

Bai’s activist phase ended abruptly in 815 CE when rivals weaponized his mother’s suicide (she drowned during mental illness) to exile him to Jiangzhou. There, his Pipa Play immortalized another outcast—a musician-prostitute—with the iconic line: “We who share misfortune need no introductions.” The poem’s melancholy marked Bai’s shift from reformer to resigned observer as the Tang Dynasty declined under eunuch-dominated courts.

Legacy: The People’s Poet

Mocked by elites for his “vulgar” accessibility, Bai triumphed where others faded. His works spread from “children reciting Everlasting Sorrow” to Japanese manuscripts that later helped reconstruct lost texts. By prioritizing preservation and populism over elitist obscurity, Bai Juyi achieved what even Li Bai and Du Fu could not—a voice that echoes undimmed across twelve centuries.