Events/ thoughts/ randomness

"A Julia de Burgos"      
     Ya las gentes murmuran que yo soy tu enemiga
porque dicen que en verso doy al mundo tu yo.
      
     Mienten,  Julia de Burgos.  Mienten,  Julia de Burgos.
La que se alza en mis versos no es tu voz:  es mi voz;
porque tú eres ropaje y la esencia soy yo;
y el más profundo abismo se tiende entre las dos.
      
     Tú eres fría muñeca de mentira social,
y yo,  viril destello de la humana verdad.
      
     Tú,  miel de cortesanas hipocresías;  yo no;
que en todos mis poemas desnudo el corazón.
      
     Tú eres como tu mundo,  egoístas;  yo no;
que todo me lo juego a ser lo que soy yo.
      
     Tú eres sólo la grave señora señorona;
yo no,  yo soy la vida,  la fuerza,  la mujer.
      
     Tú eres de tu marido,  de tu amo;  yo no;
yo de nadie,  o de todos,  porque a todos,  a todos,
en mi limpio sentir y en mi pensar me doy.
      
     Tú te rizas el pelo y te pintas;  yo no;
a mí me riza el viento;  a mí me pinta el sol.
      
     Tú eres dama casera,  resignada,  sumisa,
atada a los prejuicios de los hombres;  yo no;
que yo soy Rocinante corriendo desbocado
olfateando horizontes de justicia de Dios.
      
     Tú en ti misma no mandas;  a ti todos te mandan;
en ti mandan tu esposo,  tus padres,  tus parientes,
el cura,  la modista,  el teatro,  el casino,
el auto,  las alhajas,  el banquete,  el champán,
el cielo y el infierno,  y el qué dirán social.
      
En mí no,  que en mí manda mi solo corazón,
mi solo pensamiento;  quien manda en mí soy yo.

     Tú,  flor de aristocracia;  y yo la flor del pueblo.
Tú en ti lo tienes todo y a todos se lo debes,
mientras que yo,  mi nada a nadie se la debo.
      
     Tú,  clavada al estático dividendo ancestral,
y yo,  un uno en la cifra del divisor social,
somos el duelo a muerte que se acerca fatal.
      
Cuando las multitudes corran alborotadas
dejando atrás cenizas de injusticias quemadas,
y cuando con la tea de las siete virtudes,
tras los siete pecados,  corran las multitudes,
contra ti,  y contra todo lo injusto y lo inhumano,
yo iré en medio de ellas con la tea en la mano.

Wow. That is one cool poem. Even though there's rhyme and "meter" (line length), it really reminds me of some of Walt Whitman's poems, especially the strong "I," though hers is not "universal" like his is. I also like the way she articulates the division and conflict within herslef, the pressures of society and her internal pressures to conform and her "bad parts" versus her real self that she is not free to be, whether because of others' expectations, her fear, or other reasons.


[2 translations]
To Julia de Burgos (by Julia de Burgos, 1914-1958, Puerto Rico)

They say I am your enemy
because I give your inmost self to the world in verse.
They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos.
The voice that sounds in my poems is not your voice: it is my voice;
because you are the trappings and I am the essence;
and between us stretches the deepest divide.

You are the cold doll of social prevarication,
and I the living spark of human truth.

You are the honey of polite hypocrises; not I,
who lay bare my naked heart in all my poems.

You are like your world, selfish; not I,
who risk everything to be what I am.

You are only the prim ladylike lady;
not I; I am life, strength, woman.

You belong to your husband, to your master, not I;
I belong to no one, or to everyone, because to everyone, everyone,
I give myself in my pure feeling and my thought.

You curl your hair and paint your face; not I;
My hair is curled by the wind, my face is painted by the sun.

You are a housewife, resigned, submissive,
ruled by the prejudices of men; not I;
I am a runaway Rocinante
sniffing at horizons for the justice of God.

You do not command yourself; everyone commands you:
your husband, your parents, your relatives,
the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the casino,
the car, the jewels, the banquet, the champagne,
heaven and hell and social gossip.

Not me; to me only my heart gives commands,
only my thought; the one who commands me is myself.

You, flower of the aristocracy, and I flower of the people.
You have everything and you owe everything to everyone
while I, my nothingness I owe to no one.

You nailed to the static ancestral dividend,
and I, a one in the cipher of the social divider,
we are in a duel to the death approaching the inevitable.

While the multitudes race about frantically,
leaving behind ashes from burnt-out injustices,
and while with the torch of the seven virtues
the multitudes pursue the seven sins,
against you, and against everything unjust and inhuman,
I shall go into their midst with the torch in my hand.


#1 To Julia de Burgos

Already the people murmur that I am your enemy
because they say that in verse I give the world your me.

They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos.
Who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voice
because you are the dressing and the essence is me;
and the most profound abyss is spread between us.

You are the cold doll of social lies,
and me, the virile starburst of the human truth.

You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me;
in all my poems I undress my heart.

You are like your world, selfish; not me
who gambles everything betting on what I am.

You are only the ponderous lady very lady;
not me; I am life, strength, woman.

You belong to your husband, your master; not me;
I belong to nobody, or all, because to all, to all
I give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought.

You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me;
the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me.

You are a housewife, resigned, submissive,
tied to the prejudices of men; not me;
unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante
snorting horizons of God's justice.

You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you;
your husband, your parents, your family,
the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall,
the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne,
heaven and hell, and the social, "what will they say."

Not in me, in me only my heart governs,
only my thought; who governs in me is me.
You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people.
You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone,
while me, my nothing I owe to nobody.

You nailed to the static ancestral dividend,
and me, a one in the numerical social divider,
we are the duel to death who fatally approaches.

When the multitudes run rioting
leaving behind ashes of burned injustices,
and with the torch of the seven virtues,
the multitudes run after the seven sins,
against you and against everything unjust and inhuman,
I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.

I need to write a poem like that for homework. Let me see, I'll try now.

Yo.
Quien soy yo? A veces yo no se. La vida trae sus expectaciones y es necesario cumplir con la forma expectada, es necesario continuar. No importa como te sientes.
Quien soy yo? Yo se que algunos ven a la chica brillante, La Que Sabe La Quimica, la inteligente. Algunos ven a una chica bien ordinaria, una que no es bellisima ni fea pero no pasa horas y horas tratando de pintarse.
Periodista, quimica, chica inteligente, chica quien se parece tanto a su madre y a su tia, la hija de mi mama que teja y cosa como ella y lee como su tia. Todo eso yo soy.
Pero yo soy tanto mas. Yo pienso, yo me siento, no me puedo describir. Yo voy a irme tan pronto, y todavia me siento como una nina. Y cuando me tratan como nina no me siento asi.
Mi yo. Libre, inteligente, pensativo, fiel. Que tengo [faltas] yo se. Que no soy perfecta, mis amigas me lo dicen, sonriendo. Pero soy profundo. Sentimientos y ideas van por mi mente casi jugando, o peleando, yo no se cual. Me gusta tanto pensar, pero me entero de que pensar no da todos las respuestas. El alma y el corazon no son logicos, no dejan huellas. Eliptico.
Me escondo a veces. El mundo no me conoce, y creo qu no quiero que todos me conocen bien. Hay un razon que llevamos ropa. Hay que protegerse de los otros. Y quienes son los otros? Todos. Aun yo, a veces. A veces me parece que yo me esconde de mi, pero no se. No ne. El enojo, la envidia, la tristeza, todos se esconden. Y son un parte de mi tambien.
No voy a cambiarme para que estes feliz. No soy tonta. Aunque no pueda describirme, yo se quien soy y si me cambio es porque yo lo quiero. Me pinto para mi. Hay cierto [amount] de protegerme por parecer bonita. Pero no lo hago para agradacerte.
A veces pienso en ser "normal." Seria mas facil, yo pienso. Seria mas comoda. Pero recuerdo. Yo soy yo. Yo no estoy comoda cuando fingo. Eso no es yo.

Ay. Long quickwritish thing. Good work, I hope. I'll build on it, it's due Thursday. Spanish essay on El Burlador de Sevilla on Tuesday. This was my second-last day of lab. And I heard good things about next semester's teacher for chem. Good. I do wish I wasn't so slow in lab. English tomorrow. Hope it's ok.
We're done with new material in chem. Yay. Now it's review for the final, which (I hope) won't be that bad. Ok, yay. I do have a take-home test due Thursday, which I must get nearly done in third. I have church-meeting-thingy at 7 tomorrow, good. I need to do some thinking.