Who was the most prolific poet in Song Dynasty? How many works have been handed down?

Xin Qiji was the most prolific poet in the Song Dynasty. He wrote a lot of words, and only a part of them have been handed down today, with 629 poems. It is the largest number of works by poets in the Song Dynasty. As for the second place is Su Shi, with 362 words. The third place is Liu Chenweng, with 354 words. The fourth is Wu Wenying, 340 words. It can be seen that Xin Qiji's ci is nearly twice that of the second Su Shi, and he is definitely the most prolific poet in the Song Dynasty. What I said above is not counting the lost works copied over the years. The number of works really created by poets must be above these figures. Xin Qiji's artistic styles are diverse, mainly bold, passionate, generous and solemn and stirring, and his pen is rich. He inherited and developed Su Shi's bold and unconstrained ci style. Taking Wen as ci, the theme range of ci style is expanded, and Shen Yu's bold and vigorous main style is formed. The songs are graceful and profound, and the style is fresh and simple. It can be said that he is free to write, a hundred schools of thought contend and colorful, which pushes the creation of ci to a new height. His original "Jiaxuan style" can be described as a leader among people and a dragon in the word. Under his influence, the patriotic ci school with roughly the same creative tendency was gradually formed in contemporary times, and it continued until the late Southern Song Dynasty, with endless repercussions. In the history of Ci poetry in the Southern Song Dynasty, Xin Qiji's works are not only the greatest poets in the Southern Song Dynasty, but also epoch-making writers in the whole history of Ci poetry, and his outstanding achievements in art are highly recognized. The following poems are well-known in Xin Ci, and of course they are all excellent works (appreciation and language translation, etc.). It's easy to find it on the internet, so I won't go into details): He Xinlang and his twelve brothers are listening to blackbirds in the green trees. What's more, the partridge stops and the cuckoo cuts. Cry until the spring, can't find a place, hate wheatgrass and rest. It has not come, and the world is leaving. Immediately, the pipa was closed and the black was sealed, and Nagato and Cui Che resigned from Jin Que. See Yanyan and give it to my concubine. The general has been through many battles and gained a great reputation. To the river beam, back to Wan Li, old friend petticoats. Xiaoxiaosha is rustling, the west wind is cold, and everyone is dressed like snow. It is a strong man, and the elegy is not thorough. The singing bird knows how annoying it is, but it didn't expect it to shed tears and blood. Who * * * me, drunk on the moon. He assigned the servant of this word in the garden pavilion in groom's city. Sitting alone in a day stops the clouds, and the sound of water and mountains competes for entertainment. It seems that the people who want to help solve the case in "A Western Mountain" say a few words, which is a deep yearning for relatives and friends. I'm dying! I've lived a long time, and all my friends are gone. What's left? Hanging three thousands of feet in the air, laughing at everything in the world. What can make the public happy? I see how charming Castle Peak is, and I expect it to be. Emotions and looks are slightly similar. A statue scratched its head in the east window. I want to be far-sighted, stop writing poems, and the flavor is at this time. Jiang Zuo, who seeks fame, doesn't know the secret of muddy mash! Looking back, the clouds are flying. Don't hate the ancients, don't see their people, hate their guts, and don't see their crazy ears. People who know me, two or three sons. The waterspout rolls over Shuangxi Building in Nanjian and looks up at the northwest cloud. It takes a long sword to lean on Wan Li. People talk about this place. See you late at night. Bullfighting is full of flames. I think the mountains are high, the pool is empty and the water is cold, and the moon and stars are pale. Looking at the burning rhinoceros, I leaned against the fence in fear, angry and miserable. The gorge is the Cangjiang River, crossing a dangerous building and wanting to fly. Long Yuan is an old man, so he might as well lie down and curl up. The ups and downs of the ages, the sad laughter of a hundred years, and the browsing in an instant. Who unloaded it, sailed on the beach and tied the sunset rope? Yong Yu Le Jingkou Gu Beiting remembers the past through the ages, and the hero is nowhere to be found. In Sun Zhongmou, there are dance pavilions and singing platforms. Love is always blown away by rain. Grass trees in the sunset, ordinary alleys, and humanitarian slaves once lived. Think that year, Jin Ge iron horse, swallowed Wan Li like a tiger, Yuan Jia was careless, sealed the wolf in Xuchu, and won a panic in the north for 43 years. Looking at it, I can still remember that Yangzhou Road is full of flames, but I can look back. Under the Beaver Temple, there is a crow club drum. Who can ask, Lian Po is too old to eat? epoch times/b5/6/ 1 1/ 14/n 152 188 1