𝐒𝐎𝐑 𝐉𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐙.

10 1 0
                                    

┏━━━ ━━━┓

◘ 𝓢𝓞𝓡 𝓙𝓤𝓐𝓝𝓐 

𝓘𝓝𝓔𝓢 

𝓓𝓔 𝓛𝓐 𝓒𝓡𝓤𝓩.

 •°. *࿐

┗━━━ ━━━┛

born: november 12th 1648

died: april 17th, 1695

sor juana ines de la cruz was a poet, philosopher, composer, writer, and hieronymite nun. she is most famous for her feminist writings and beliefs, as seen in her poems. people thought she was impure, as what she thought was so different from people in the 1600s. she also had a lesbian relationship with a woman named maria luisa. now, she is known all over the world and especially in mexico as a woman who's beliefs paved the way for today's feminism; she's now also on the 200 peso bill.

"To Her Portrait"

This that you see, the false presentment planned
With finest art and all the colored shows
And reasoning 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 again the years' advancing snows,
The footprints of old seasons to withstand;

'Tis but vain artifact 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 dead, 'tis dust, 'tis shadow, yea, 'tis nought

"Caprice"

Who thankless flees me, I with love pursue,
Who loving follows me, I thankless flee;
To him who spurns my love I bend the knee,
His love who seeks me, cold I bid him rue;
I find as diamond him I yearning woo,
Myself a diamond when he yearns for me;
Who slays my love I would victorious see,
While slaying him who wills me blisses true.
To favor this one is to lose desire,
To crave that one, my virgin pride to tame;
On either hand I face a prospect dire,
Whatever path I tread, the goal the same:
To be adored by him of whom I tire,
Or else by him who scorns me brought to shame.

"Suspend, Singer Swan"

Suspend, singer swan, the sweet strain:
see how the lord that Delphi sees
exchanges for you the gentle lyre for pipe
and to Admetus makes a pastoral sound.

As gentle song, though strong, moved
stones and tamed the wrath of hell,
so it retreats, abashed, when you are heard:
your instrument blames the church itself.

For though the works of ancient builders
cannot match its columns,
nothing's greater than your song

when your clear voice strikes its stones,
and your sweet tones surpass it,
dwarf it, while making it grow the more.

"Since I'm Condemned"

Since I'm condemned to death
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.

Because, you say, you've been informed
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?

If you've believed in others', Fabio,
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.

If I have looked at other eyes, Fabio,
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.

sapphic tales - wlw poetry from wlw poets.Where stories live. Discover now