Spring Essence
Author: by Cynis Hoxuan
Description: Cynis Hoxuan was an unExalted woman of who lived between RY450 and RY509. She is known to have been a popular concubine, first a lover of the magistrate Truyen Kieu (another famed poet) then of the governor of Pangu prefecture Cynis Phuc'd, who married her in RY475. Phuc’d was executed in RY500 for accepting bribes, and Hoxuan’s fate in the following years is unclear, but her coy (often bawdy) poems proved equally popular among both the common folk and the Dynasts of the House Cynis palaces, living on into the present.
The Snail
My parents have brought forth a snail,
Night and day among the smelly grass.
If you love me, peel off my shell,
Don't wiggle my little hole, please.
The Jackfruit
My body is like a Jackfruit on a branch,
With a rugged skin and a thick stem,
But if it pleases you, drive the stake.
Don't just fondle, or the sap
Will stain your fingers.
A gorge, a gorge, and yet, the same old gorge.
Praise to whoever has gouged out this scene:
A lurid cave with a stubby arch,
And rich green boulders covered with algae.
Now the stiff wind blows, shaking pine branches.
Dew-drops dripping from willow leaves.
You who are virtuous, or saintly, who hasn't tried,
Even with weak knees, exhausted feet, to mount it?
Ode to the Paper Fan
One ring deep enough for any rod,
You’ve been alluring from way back when.
Stretch you to three points, there's not enough skin,
But close you from both sides, there's too much flesh.
Your job is to cool down sweating heroes,
And cover the gentleman's head in case it rains.
Behind the bed-curtain, tenderly, let’s ask him,
Panting, panting in this heat, are you satisfied?
An Unplanned Pregnancy
My giving in yielded this mess.
Don't you realize my anguish?
Although destiny never raised its head,
There's a stroke across the willow tree.
It's a century-long bond, remember?
This loveload I'll be lugging.
Whatever the world's opinions,
To have child, without husband,
Is a very nice feat.
Sharing a Husband
One under the quilt, one freezes.
To hell, father, with this husband-sharing.
Once in a while, twice a month, maybe,
I might as well not have it.
Trade punches for rice, but rice is moldy.
And work's work, but I'm working for free.
Had I known things would turn out this way,
I would have settled for being alone.
[OOC:'Take punches for rice' is a peasant proverb meaning that starvation is a worse fate than abuse, often quoted to wives (occasionally husbands) who are beaten by their marriage partner and wish to flee.]
A Hermaphrodite
Which squabble among twelve midwives
Caused them to throw your love-thing away?
To hell with that squeaking mouse.
To hell with that droning wasp.
Who knows if it's smooth or bumpy?
Who can tell if it's stem or bud?
Whatever it is, it must do.
You’ll never be called a slut.
A Roadside Teahouse
Aslant, staring at a trembling landscape:
A twining road, a tottering teahouse,
A hut with a thatch roof, ragged, pathetic,
A slitted, scrawny bamboo beam,
Three tree clumps, bending, coquettish,
An emerald green stream, scanty grass.
Pleasured, I forget my old worries.
Look: someone's kite's spiraling.
