ANCESTRAL POETISAS of Latin America
Finjamos que soy Feliz...
Let us pretend that I am happy
Translated by Alan S. Trueblood
Finjamos que soy feliz, triste pensamiento, un rato; quizá podréis persuadirme, aunque yo sé lo contrario. Que pues sólo en la aprehensión dicen que estriban los daños, si os imagináis dichoso no seréis tan desdichado. SÃrvame el entendimiento alguna vez de descanso y no siempre esté el ingenio con el provecho encontrado. Todo el mundo es opiniones, de pareceres tan varios, que lo que el uno, que es negro, el otro prueba que es blanco. A uno sirve de atractivo lo que otro concibe enfado, y lo que éste por alivio aquél tiene por trabajo. El que está triste censura al alegre de liviano y el que está alegre se burla de ver al triste penando. Los dos filósofos griegos bien esta verdad probaron; pues lo que en el uno risa, causaba en el otro llanto. Célebre su oposición ha sido por siglos tantos, sin que cuál acertó esté hasta ahora averiguado. Antes, en sus dos banderas el mundo todo alistado, conforme el humor le dicta sigue cada cual el bando. Uno dice que de risa sólo es digno el mundo vario, y otro que sus infortunios son sólo para llorados. Para todo se halla prueba y razón en que fundarlo; y no hay razón para nada, de haber razón para tanto. Todos son iguales jueces, y siendo iguales y varios, no hay quien pueda decidir cuál es lo más acertado. Pues si no hay quien lo sentencie ¿por qué pensáis vos, errado, que os sometió Dios a vos la decisión de los casos? ¿O por qué, contra vos mismo severamente inhumano, entre lo amargo y lo dulce queréis elegir lo amargo? Si es mÃo mi entendimiento ¿por qué siempre he de encontrarlo tan torpe para el alivio, tan agudo para el daño? El discurso es un acero que sirve por ambos cabos: de dar muerte, por la punta; por el pomo, de resguardo. Si vos, sabiendo el peligro, queréis por la punta usarlo, ¿qué culpa tiene el acero del mal uso de la mano? No es saber, saber hacer discursos sutiles vanos; que el saber consiste sólo en elegir lo más sano. Especular las desdichas y examinar los presagios sólo sirve de que el mal crezca con anticiparlo. En los trabajos futuros la atención sutilizando más formidable que el riesgo suele fingir el amago. ¡Qué feliz es la ignorancia del que indoctamente sabio halla, de lo que padece, en lo que ignora, sagrado! No siempre suben seguros vuelos del ingenio osados, que buscan trono en el fuego y hallan sepulcro en el llanto. También es vicio el saber, que si no se va atajando, cuanto menos se conoce es más nocivo el estrago. Y si el vuelo no le abaten, es sutilezas cebado, por cuidar de lo curioso olvida lo necesario. Si culta mano no impide crecer al árbol copado, quitan la sustancia al fruto la locura de los ramos. Si andar a nave ligera no estorba lastre pesado, sirve el vuelo de que sea el precipicio más alto. En amenidad inútil ¿qué importa al florido campo, si no halla fruto el otoño que ostente flores el mayo? ¿De qué le sirve al ingenio el producir muchos partos si a la multitud se sigue el malogro de abortarlos? Ya esta desdicha por fuerza ha de seguirse el fracaso de quedar el que produce, si no muerto, lastimado. El ingenio es como el fuego, que, con la materia ingrato, tanto la consume más cuando él se ostenta más claro. Es de su propio señor tan rebelado vasallo, que convierte en sus ofensas las armas de su resguardo. Este pésimo ejercicio, este duro afán pesado, a los hijos de los hombres dio Dios para ejercitarlos. ¿Qué loca ambición nos lleva, de nosotros olvidados? Si es que vivir tan poco, ¿de qué sirve saber tanto? ¡Oh, si como hay de saber hubiera algún seminario o escuela donde a ignorar se enseñaran los trabajos! ¡Qué felizmente viviera el que flojamente cauto burlara las amenazas del influjo de los astros! Aprendamos a ignorar, pensamiento, pues hallamos que cuanto añado al discurso tanto le usurpo a los años.
Let us pretend that I'm happy, Sad thought, for a while; You may actually persuade me but I know otherwise Feign we that I am happy Sad thought, a little while, For, though ‘twere but dissembling, Would thou couldst me beguile. In feeling apprehension They say the trouble lies: If you’ll only feel you’re happy, You needn’t be otherwise. Yet since but in our terrors They say our miseries grow, If joy we can imagine, The less will seem our woe. Let my intelligence serve, For once, as a source of comfort. Must wit forever be The enemy of profit? Must our intelligences Some time of quiet find Not always may our genius With profit rule the mind. The world is full of opinions Of what is or is not true; Whatever is black for one Will be white in another’s view. The world’s full of opinions, And these so different quite, That what to one black seemeth Another proves is white. What one man finds attractive Will make another recoil. What is relief for one. Another rejects as toil. To some appears attractive What many deem a bore: And that which thee delighted Thy fellow labors o’er The man who is sad condemns The cheerful man as inane. While the cheerful are greatly amused When they hear the sad complain. He who is sad condemneth They gay one’s gleeful tones; He who is merry jests Whenever the sad one groans The two Greek philosophers (Democritus and Heraclitus) Were always of opposite cheer: What split the one with laughter Reduced the other to tears. By two old Greek wiseacres This truth well proved appears Since what in one caused laughter, The other moved to tears. Renowned has been this contest For ages, without fruit, And what one age asserted Till now is in dispute. Into two lists divided The world’s opinions stand, And as his humor leads him Follows each one his band. One says the world is worthy Only of merriment; Another, its distresses Call for our loud lament. For all opinions various Some proof or reason’s brought, And for so much there’s reason That reason is for naught. All, all are equal judges, And all of different view, And none can make decision Of what is best or true. Then since can none determine, Think you, whose reason strays, To you God has committed The judgment of the case? O why to yourself cruel, Do you your peace reject? Between the sweet and bitter, The bitter you elect? If its mine my understanding, Why always must it be So dull and slow to pleasure, So keen for injury? A sharp blade is our learning Which serves us at both ends: Death by the point it gives By the handle, it defends. And if, aware of peril, Its point you will demand, How do you blame the weapon For the folly of your hand? Not is true wisdom knowing Most subtle speech and vain; Best knowledge is in choosing That which is safe and sane. To speculate disaster, To seek for presages, Serves to increase affliction, Anticipate distress. In the troubles of the future The anxious mind is lost, And more than any danger Does danger’s menace cost Of him the unschooled wise man How happy is the chance! He finds from suffering refuge In simple ignorance Not always safe aspire The wings that genius bears; Which seek a throne in fire, And find a grave in tears. And vicious is the knowledge That seeking swift its end Is all the more unwary Of the woe that does impend. And if its flight it stops not In pampered, strange deceits, Then for the curious searching The needful it defeats. If culture’s hand doesn’t prune The leaves of the tree Takes from the fruit’s sustainment The rank, wild greenery. If all its ballast heavy Yon light ship not prevents, Will it help the flight of pionions From nature’s battlements? In verdant beauty useless, What profits the fair field If the blooming growths of springtime No autumn fruitage yields? And of what use is gen;ius With all its work of might, If are its toils rewarded By failure and despite? And perforce to this misfortune Must that despair succeed, Which, if its arrows kills not, Must make the bosom bleed. Like to a fire does genius In thankless matter grow; The more that it consumes It boasts the brighter glow. It is of it own master So rebellious a slave, That to offence it turns The weapons that should save Such exercise distressful, Such hard anxiety To all the sad world’s children God gave their souls to try What mad ambition takes us From self-forgetful state, If it’s to live so little We make our knowledge great? Oh! If we must have knowledge, I would there were some school Where to teach not knowing Life’s woes, should be the rule. Happy shall be his living Whose life no rashness mars; He shall laugh at all the threatenings Of the magic of the stars! Learn we the wise unknowing, Since it so well appears That what to learning’s added Is taken from our years.
Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
(1646-1695)
You Foolish Men, Who Accuse.....
Hombres necios que acusáis…
You foolish men, who accuse
Women without good reason,
You are the cause of what you blame,
Yours the guilt you deny:
If you seek the love of women to win
With ardor beyond compare
Why require them to be good,
When tis you who urge their sin?
You break down their resistance,Then declare quite seriously,
That their lightness has achieved
What you won by your persistence.
You seek with stupid presumption,
To find her whom you pursue,
To be Thais when you woo her,
And Lucretia in your possession.
Since even the most discreet,
Is ungrateful if she keeps you out,
And loose if she lets you in. So where is the woman born,
Who would gain your love,
If an ungrateful woman displeases,
And a complaisant one you scorn. Your amorous labors give
Wings to their indiscretions,
When you have made women wicked
You wish them virtuously to live. In a passion that is guilty
Who bears the greater blame:
She who fails on being entreaty Or he who fails to make entreaty? Or when each is guilty of sin
Which is the most to blame:
She who sins for payment,
Or he who pays for the sin? Why are you so surprised
At the fault that is your own?
Either prize women as you make them,
Or make them to be prized. To them no longer urge your suit,
And then with much more reason,
Can you blame their affection
When they are in pursuit. To assert this I have every right
Your pride has many weapons,
Your persistence and your promises
Devil, world, and flesh unite.
a la mujer sin razón,
sin ver que sois la ocasión
de lo mismo que culpáis: si con ansia sin igual solicitáis su desdén,
¿por qué quereis que obren bien
si las incitáis al mal? CombatÃs su resistencia y luego, con gravedad,
decÃs que fue liviandad
lo que hizo la diligencia. Parecer quiere el denuedo de vuestro parecer loco,
al niño que pone el coco
y luego le tiene miedo. Queréis, con presunción necia, hallar a la que buscáis,
para pretendida, Thais,
y en la posesión, Lucrecia¿ Qué humor puede ser más raro que el que, falto de consejo,
el mismo empaña el espejo
y siente que no esté claro? Con el favor y el desdén tenéis condición igual,
quejándoos, si os tratan mal,
burlándoos, si os quieren bien. Opinión, ninguna gana: pues la que más se recata,
si no os admite, es ingrata,
y si os admite, es liviana Siempre tan necios andáis que, con desigual nivel,
a una culpáis por crüel
y a otra por fácil culpáis.¿ Pues cómo ha de estar templada la que vuestro amor pretende,
si la que es ingrata, ofende,
y la que es fácil, enfada? Mas, entre el enfado y pena
que vuestro gusto refiere,
bien haya la que no os quiere
y quejaos en hora buena. Dan vuestras amantes penas
a sus libertades alas,
y después de hacerlas malas
las queréis hallar muy buenas. ¿Cuál mayor culpa ha tenido
en una pasión errada:
la que cae de rogada
o el que ruega de caÃdo? O cuál es más de culpar,
aunque cualquiera mal haga:
la que peca por la paga
o el que paga por pecar? Pues ¿para quée os espantáis
de la culpa que tenéis?
Queredlas cual las hacéis
o hacedlas cual las buscáis. Dejad de solicitar,y después, con más razón,acusaréis la afición de la que os fuere a rogar.
Bien con muchas armas fundo
que lidia vuestra arrogancia,
pues en promesa e instancia
juntáis diablo, carne y mundo.
Translated by Alan S. Trueblood
Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz is a unique figure in Colonial Mexico: a strong and educated woman in a period dominated by representatives of the Spanish crown and by a very strong presence of the Catholic church. She learned to read and do math when very young and had a strong desire for higher learning, but as a girl was not allowed to go to university. Her maternal grandfather had a very large library, and she learned Latin and Nahuatl, and later would be a supporter of the importance of learning other languages. As a teenager, she went to the court of the Vicereine in Mexico City. There Sor Juana wrote poetry, and poets, theologians, philosophers and other academics were invited to the palace to question her. She became known as the "Tenth Muse". Most of her life was spent in the Convent of Santa Paula of the Hieronymites in Mexico City. She chose a cloistered life to dedicate herself to studying and to teaching young nuns. Her library had over 4000 books and musical instruments. She was targeted by church fathers who felt women shouldn’t be educated. She responded to the attacks in her Reply to Sister Philotea, defending women's rights and advocating for the education of women. The church censored her for her criticism of the misogyny and hypocrisy of men. She died in a plague ministering to other nuns. Sor Juana was a proponent of education for women, as a supporter of indigenous languages, and by Octavio Paz, as a link with many of the social and literary movements of the day.