Ducks and Cicadas
Author: by Cynis Hibare and Ledaal Shinjo
Description: A poem performed during the spring recitals at the Academy for Cultivation of Youthful Talents in RY757, it is in truth two poems performed in tandem, with each of its authors taking turns at a stanza. It tells the two perspectives of a brief romance between a woman at court and a man entering the Imperial service, called away to the Threshold never to meet his love again.
A thin moon pierces the window lattice
and firefly lights appear in the jade sky.
Where the far sky begins is all silky distance.
The low trees emerge as a dark blur of green.
Cicada songs swirl through the courtyard bamboo
as ducks sing under parasol trees by the pond.
Thin fog descends like silk gauze.
In slight wind the sound of jade rings is heard.
The Royal Mother of the World trails a scarlet train.
Her maids carry cloud-shaped jade in their hands.
Deep in the night, people all are quiet.
Our meeting is like dawn, though rain is drizzling.
Pearl light shines from his decorated shoes,
flowers peek from his embroidered clothes,
his jeweled hairpin is a colored berry,
and his silk ribbons are a blue rainbow.
He says he’s from green vine gardens
and is on pilgrimage to the Empress’s palace.
Because she took a tour to the City
she happened to come here, east of Pasiap's road.
When I flirt with her she resists at first.
but soft feelings already secretly connect us.
When she bows her hair it seems the shadows of cicadas move.
As she walks about her silk stockings are gilded with dust.
When he turns it’s like snowflakes swirling.
On the bed we embrace through silk
and like Mandarin ducks dance with our necks twined.
Like two colors of jade, we go well together,
though his light eyebrows knit frequently in shyness.
His lips feel like they are melting.
I taste her breath like a fragrant orchid,
her creamy skin, her full jade flesh.
I am hesitant, unable to move even a wrist,
though she’s so sensitive that her body tenses.
The light of her sweat is like pearls.
Her tangled hair is loose and bright.
Happiness like this comes once in ten thousand years.
But now we hear the fifth beat of the night drum.
We want to stay, but time is scarce,
We are so close that it is hard to stop.
His face is sorrow
and his words promise faithfulness.
She gives me a ring to remember this time,
ties a knot, to say our hearts are twined.
Her tears drop on the mirror
and around the guttering lamp insects swirl.
The dawn light comes slowly
and the rising sun starts to show.
He flies away on the back of a crane
and plays a vertical flute for the Mountain.
My clothes are fragrant as if dyed with musk.
There are red stains still on the pillow.
Standing in front of the grass in the pond,
my thoughts are floating far away.
My flute cries and complains like a crane.
I gaze at the clear River of Stars in hope of my crane's return.
But the ocean is too broad to cross
and the sky is too high to soar above,
so like a floating cloud with nowhere to go
I walk back inside the tower.
