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.



Sonnet 184


Amor empieza por desasosiego,
solicitud, ardores y desvelos;
crece con riesgos, lances y recelos;
susténtase de llantos y de ruego.

Doctrínanle tibiezas y despego,
conserva el ser entre engañosos velos,
hasta que con agravios o con celos
apaga con sus lágrimas su fuego.
…..


Sonnet 184


Love begins with unease,

supplications, ardor and insomnia;

It increases with risks, quarrels and rejections;

It feeds on tears and pleads


Indifference and coolness instruct it;

Love remains itself amid cloudy veils,

until, with insults or with jealousy,

it quenches its own fire wit hits own tears.
…..





Pues estoy condenada


Pues estoy condenada,
Fabio, a la muerte, por decreto tuyo,
y la sentencia airada
ni la apelo, resisto ni la huyo,
óyeme, que no hay reo tan culpado
a quien el confesar le sea negado.

Porque te han informado,
dices, de que mi pecho te ha ofendido,
me has, fiero, condenado.
¿Y pueden, en tu pecho endurecido
más la noticia incierta, que no es ciencia,
que de tantas verdades la experiencia?

Si a otros crédito has dado,
Fabio, ¿por qué a tus ojos se lo niegas,
y el sentido trocado
de la ley, al cordel mi cuello entregas,
pues liberal me amplías los rigores
y avaro me restringes los favores?

Si a otros ojos he visto,
mátenme, Fabio, tus airados ojos;
si a otro cariño asisto,
asístanme implacables tus enojos;
y si otro amor del tuyo me divierte,
tú, que has sido mi vida, me des muerte.

Si a otro, alegre, he mirado,
nunca alegre me mires ni te vea;
si le hablé con agrado,
eterno desagrado en ti posea;
y si otro amor inquieta mi sentido,
sáquesme el alma tú, que mi alma has sido.

Mas, supuesto que muero,
sin resistir a mi infelice suerte,
que me des sólo quiero
licencia de que escoja yo mi muerte;
deja la muerte a mi elección medida,
pues en la tuya pongo yo la vida.


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.


If I have viewed another with delight,

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.

But as I die without resisting

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.




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.


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.