Cat, By Shu Yu

Again at the hour of midnight Like a changeling born of an angel and a demon A long breath followed by a pant, a yowl then a sigh Such a plaintive keening Holding nothing back, a shrill and ragged whine Innocent yet jaded, instinctive yet deliberate Mellow yet urgent, an exhalation followed by a gasp Perhaps a note of simmering resentment Does such a cry come from creature mired in lust Or from a female soul languishing in an empty bed? Is it an angel's aria...or a demon's nightmare? More terribly, it is a human-like voice falling somewhere between It also seems like a ceremony Handed down since ancient times That pair of emerald eyes in darkness has the look Of a priest who makes offerings to the dead Or summons up willpower in living hearts The voice comes from deep in the throat; More than that it is driven By a force outside the body It comes from within the cat's awareness, But even more from outside of its awareness Where uncanny paradoxes are resolved. It is religion in sound A performance...also a divination of things to come By a singer who specializes in spine-tingling melodies. At daybreak it hides away, like the lifting of mist Not to get away from light, but to be with darkness Yet it is only a cat It is hard to connect those night sounds to what we see by day, Maybe this is why the cat is so mellow-tempered by day So languorous and quiet A cat has nine lives, and I believe it But do not look straight into its eyes It does not want to exchange glances with you You are only a shape in outline, passing before its eyes tr. by Denis Mair