772–846
Bai Juyi
白居易
Read Bai Juyi through an invitation, a grass-covered farewell, and spring rediscovered at a mountain temple, with original translations and close readings.
Bai Juyi is a Tang poet whose apparently easy language rewards close attention. An invitation can fit into twenty characters; a field of grass can become a farewell without changing scenery. Neither effect comes from simply recording whatever happened. The order of the details makes the poem.
His name also appears as Bo Juyi or, in older English books, Po Chü-i. Letian, 樂天, is his courtesy name. He lived later than Li Bai and Du Fu, and his career included government service as well as a large body of verse. The poems collected here introduce his handling of everyday language. They do not represent the full range of his long narrative poems, social criticism, or exchanges with other writers.
Start with the question
A Question for Liu Nineteen arranges new wine, a red-clay stove, and impending snow before it asks whether a friend can drink a cup. The scene is attractive because it is available to someone: the last line reveals what the first three have been preparing.
The phrase “green ants” is a useful test of translation. A character-by-character gloss preserves the words, but an English reader needs to know that they describe the surface of freshly brewed wine. The note should explain the image; the translation then has to decide how much of it to keep. Plain diction still carries historical distance.
Compare the offered cup with Wang Wei’s farewell to Yuan Er. One poet hopes a visitor will come; the other delays a friend’s departure. That small reversal is more informative than calling both poems celebrations of friendship.
Read all of the grass poem
Grass on the Ancient Plain is often encountered as a four-line poem about vegetation surviving a fire. The full work has eight lines. Its title includes 送別, “seeing someone off.”
In the second half, the grass reaches along an old road toward an abandoned town. Only then does a departing friend appear. The opening abundance returns in the last line, now filled with parting. Stopping at the famous image loses the action that gives the landscape its occasion.
The form is lüshi, with balanced middle couplets. Read it after Spring View to compare what growing plants do beside human structures. Bai Juyi’s farewell and Du Fu’s war-stricken capital are different situations even where the vocabulary of spring overlaps.
Find spring somewhere else
Peach Blossoms at Dalin Temple begins with a contrast: flowers have finished in the world below while the mountain temple’s peach blossoms are just opening. Its second pair changes the speaker’s understanding. Spring has not vanished; it has taken another route.
Compare this discovery with the grass poem. One finds renewal in a later year, the other finds a different stage of the season in a different place. The plain verbs do the thinking: ending and beginning, departing and coming.
A writer who thought about his readers
In his letter to Yuan Zhen, “Letter to Yuan Nine”, Bai Juyi discusses poetry’s purposes and distinguishes kinds of work within his own collection. It is a useful primary source for his literary thinking. It also prevents a misleading shortcut: an approachable poem does not mean its author had no theory of what poems should do.
These short readings on PoemWell are starting points. Follow their nature, wine, and farewell links to compare the poems themselves, then return to the Chinese and ask where the tone changes. For source editions, each poem page names the received text it uses.
Notice the evidence before naming the event
Snow at Night gathers cold, brightness, and a breaking bamboo sound into the perception of snowfall. On the Pool: II gives a child away through a trail in the duckweed. In each poem, a small material sign lets the reader infer more than is directly announced.
Song of the River at Dusk asks for a different attention: follow color across the water, then a change toward dew and moonlight. Flower, Not Flower is more elusive, testing descriptions of something that arrives and disappears without finally naming it. Clarity of language can coexist with uncertainty about the subject.
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