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Showing posts from July, 2007
This is a loose translation I did of a poem by Sor Juana Inez de la Cruz. Feb/2000 "A Estos Penascos Rudos ...." These large, unpolished rocks, voiceless witnesses to the pain I feel, I can trust them, they have no tongue. My regrets, my anguish, cannot touch what does not feel. I want to count my misfortunes, they are the reason that I die, my regrets are many, and relief comes in the counting, one falls with the other, the matador's courage, the dogal to the neck. I don't envy somebody else's good luck, this eternal misfortune, that rages the bullfight within my breast, soothes my pain, something He can envy highly; this miserable state of His that I suffer as though I envy someone else's bad luck. I don't ponder the chance of glories, what I think of is far away, like sweet memories of my past happiness, how ignorant they were of coming disillusionment, Ignorance felt good, and I know that was my weakness. To be with you in your sphere happiness