SOR JUANA Inès de la CRUZ
I approach and I withdraw
I approach, and I withdraw:
who but I could find
absence in the eyes,
presence in what's far?
From the scorn of Phyllis,
now, alas, I must depart.
One is indeed unhappy
who misses even scorn!
So caring is my love
that my present distress
minds hard-heartedness less
than the thought of its loss.
Leaving, I lose more
than what is merely mine:
in Phyllis, never mine,
I lose what can't be lost.
Oh, pity the poor person
who aroused such kind disdain
that to avoid giving pain,
it would grant no favor!
For, seeing in my future
obligatory exile,
she disdained me the more,
that the loss might be less.
Oh, where did you discover
so neat a tactic, Phyllis:
denying to disdain
the garb of affection?
To live unobserved
by your eyes, I now go
where never pain of mine
need flatter your disdain.
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supplications, ardor and insomnia; It increases with risks, quarrels and rejections; It feeds on tears and pleads
Love remains itself amid cloudy veils, until, with insults or with jealousy,
it quenches its own fire wit hits own tears.
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by your decree, Fabio, and don’t appeal, resist or flee the wrathful judgment, hear me, for there’s no culprit of such guilt should be refused confession.
my breast has caused offence to you, I stand condemned, ferocious one. Does uncertain news, not fact, achieve more in your obdurate breast than experience of so many truths?
why not believe in your own eyes? Why, reversing the sense of Law, deliver to the rope my neck? You’re as liberal with your rigours as meanly strict with favours.
kill me with your wrathful eyes. If I serve another care, let your implacable anger serve me. And if another’s love diverts me, you, who’ve been my life, strike me dead.
never be delight in our mutual looks; if with another I engaged in pleasant speech, let your eternal displeasure point at me. And if another love disturbs my sense,
chase out of me my soul, who’ve been my soul.
my unhappy lot, my only wish is you allow me choose the death I like. Let my death be of my choice, for your mere choice
continues me in life.
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El Sueño
/ The Dream
…..
Nature lifts and lowers
one, and then the other, of her pans,
distributing her several chores—now
restful leisure, now gainful activity—
on the imbalanced balance with which she
rules the world’s complex machinery
…..
Man, in sum, the greatest marvel
posed to human comprehension,
a synthesis composed
of qualities of angel, plant, and beast,
whose elevated baseness
shows traits of each of these.
…..
To Her Portrait
This that you see, the false presentment planned
With finest art and all the colored shows
And reasonings of shade, doth but disclose
The poor deceits by earthly senses fanned!
Here where in constant flattery expand
Excuses for the stains that old age knows,
Pretexts against the years' advancing snows,
The footprints of old seasons to withstand;
'Tis but vain artifice of scheming minds;
'Tis but a flower fading on the winds;
'Tis but a useless protest against Fate;
'Tis but stupidity without a thought,
A lifeless shadow, if we meditate;
'Tis death, tis dust, tis shadow, yea, 'tis nought.
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Prologues to the Enigmas:
…..
A vuestros ojos se ofrece
este libro, por quedar
ilustrado a tanto sol,
digno de tanta deidad.
…..
Tan feliz será leído
que ufano dilatará
los instantes de atenci´on
a siglos de vanidad.
…..
Como deidades os cree;
pero, al ver vuestra beldad,
como halla más que creer,
se excusa del ignorar.
…..
Enigmas
¿Cuál es aquella homicida
que, piadosamente ingrata,
siempre, en cuanto vive, mata
y muere cuando da vida?
…..
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imagen del hechizo que más quiero, bella ilusión por quien alegre muero, dulce ficción por quien penosa vivo.
sirve mi pecho de obediente acero, ¿para qué me enamoras lisonjero, si has de burlarme luego fugitivo?
de que triunfa de mí tu tiranía; que aunque dejas burlado el lazo estrecho
poco importa burlar brazos y pecho si te labra prisión mi fantasía.
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image of the charm that I love the most, for whom I joyfully die, fair illusion, for whom I heavy exist, dulcet fiction .
to the magnet of your graces, attractive, what for are you courting me, flattering, if you will circumvent me then fugitive?
That your tiranny is triumphing over me: even if you’re leaving the tight loop eluded
it doesn’t matter to elude arms and chest if my fantasy is carving to you a prison.
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llegasteis al extremo que pudo en vuestro ser verificar el serlo.
mas no todo, pues creo que aun a costa es de todo barato el escarmiento.
los gustos lisonjeros: que está un escarmentado muy remoto del riesgro.
me sirve de consuelo; que también es alivio el no buscar remedio.
los alivios encuentro: pues si perdi el tesoro, también se perdió el miedo.
me sirve de sosiego; que no teme ladrones, desnudo, el pasajero.
tenerla por bien quiero: que luego será daño si por tal la poseo.
de bienes tan inciertos, sino tener el alma como que no la tengo.
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this is the bitter end, this proves you're rightly called the end of illusion.
yet no, losing all is not paying too dear for being undeceived.
the allurements of love, for one undeceived has no risk left to run.
to be expecting none: there's relief to be found in seeking no cure.
I find assuagement: having lost the treasure, I've nothing to fear.
brings peace of mind: one traveling without funds need not fear thieves.
for me is no boon: if I hold it such, it will soon be my bane.
over boons so uncertain: I will own my very soul as if it were not mine.
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You Foolish Men
You foolish men who lay
the guilt on women,
not seeing you’re the cause
of the very thing you blame;
if you invite their disdain
with measureless desire
why wish they well behave
if you incite to ill.
You fight their stubbornness,
then, weightily,
you say it was their lightness
when it was your guile.
In all your crazy shows
you act just like a child
who plays the bogeyman
of which he’s then afraid.
With foolish arrogance
you hope to find a Thais
in her you court, but a Lucretia
when you’ve possessed her.
What kind of mind is odder
than his who mists
a mirror and then complains
that it’s not clear.
Their favour and disdain
you hold in equal state,
if they mistreat, you complain,
you mock if they treat you well.
No woman wins esteem of you:
the most modest is ungrateful
if she refuses to admit you;
yet if she does, she’s loose.
You always are so foolish
your censure is unfair;
one you blame for cruelty
the other for being easy.
What must be her temper
who offends when she’s
ungrateful and wearies
when compliant?
But with the anger and the grief
that your pleasure tells
good luck to her who doesn’t love you
and you go on and complain.
Your lover’s moans give wings
to women’s liberty:
and having made them bad,
you want to find them good.
Who has embraced
the greater blame in passion?
She who, solicited, falls,
or he who, fallen, pleads?
Who is more to blame,
though either should do wrong?
She who sins for pay
or he who pays to sin?
Why be outraged at the guilt
that is of your own doing?
Have them as you make them
or make them what you will.
Leave off your wooing
and then, with greater cause,
you can blame the passion
of her who comes to court?
Patent is your arrogance
that fights with many weapons
since in promise and insistence
you join world, flesh and devil.