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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, something I felt
but long ago, no…