In which she satisfies suspicion with weeping

Original Poem: “En que satisface un recelo con la retorica del llanto”

Translation of “En que satisface un recelo con la retorica del llanto” by Victoria Nahley

This evening, my love, when I spoke to you,

I saw in your face and your actions

that with my words I could never persuade you,

I wished you could see into my heart;



and Love, who’s attempts were assisting me,

defeated what seemed impossible:

for through my tears my pain spilled out,

my undone, distilled heart.



Enough, of hardness, my love, enough;

let tyrant jealously torment you no more,

nor let vile fears clash your mind’s stillness



with silly shadows, with hollow signs,

for in a liquid form you’ve seen and you’ve touched

my undone heart which dissolved between your hands.

Sonnet

Original Poem: “Soneto”

Translation of “Soneto” by Victoria Nahley

Feliciano worships me and I detest him;

Lisardo detests me and I adore him;

for him who does not long for me, I’m weeping,

and he who weeps for me, I don’t crave.



To him who’s tarnish me most, my soul I offer;

to him who’d sacrifice for me, I tarnish;

I scorn him who’d enrich my reputation,

and he who’d scorn it, I enrich.



If I complain that one of them reprimands me,

the other reprimands me for some offense;

and I suffer either way,



because both torture my feelings:

the latter with asking for what I don’t have;

and the former by not having what I ask.

Which contains a happy fantasy with decent love

Original Poem, “Que contiene una fantasia contenta con amor decente”

Translation of “Que contiene una fantasia contenta con amor decente” by Victoria Nahley

Stop, shadow of my elusive joy,

image of the charms I most desire,

beautiful illusion for whom I happily die,

sweet fiction for whom I painfully live.



If to the magnet of your graces appeal,

my heart serves like obedient steel,

why do you love flattering me

if later you will mock me, fugitive?



But don’t think you can boast, self-satisfied,

that your tyranny triumphs over me:

that though you’ve left and the narrow noose have mocked



that once encircled your fantastic form,

it matters little that you mocked my arms and breast

if you are locked in my fantasy prison.

In which she warns a rose, and through the rose, people

Original Poem, “En que moral censura a una rosa, y en ella a sus semejantes”

Translation of “En que moral censura a una rosa, y en ella a sus semejantes” by Alix Ingber

Divine rose cultivated with such grace

you are, with all your fragrant subtlety,

a scarlet master class in loveliness,

a snowy course that beauty demonstrates;



of human architecture duplicate,

example of all vain gentility,

in whose existence nature aptly joined

the happy crib to sad sepulcher’s gates:

how haughtily you scorn the risks of death,

and later faint, with shriveled petals tucked,


of your declining state give withered signs,

whereby, by your wise death and foolish life,

alive you fool, and dying you instruct.

She prefers to die rather than to expose herself to the affront of old age

Original Poem “Escoge antes el morir que exponerse a los ultrajes de la veejs”

Translation of “Escoge antes el morir que exponerse a los ultrajes de la veejs” by Alix Ingber

Celia saw a rose which in the field

its self-indulgent pomp gaily displayed

and with its scarlet lipstick, crimson rogue

its delicate visage joyfully bathed;



and she said, “Go enjoy, not fearing Fate,

the brief course that your graceful youth obeys,

for death that comes tomorrow never can

take from you what you have enjoyed today;



and even though death nears so rapidly

and your sweet-scented life is on the wane,

don’t rue your death, so fair and young foretold:



for your experience advises you

that it’s good luck to die while beautiful

and see not the affront of being old.”

Sonnet

Original Poem by Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz

Translation of “Soneto” by Alix Ingber

Philip worships me and I abhor him;

Leonard hates me; and for him I yearn;

for him who would desire me not, I’m weeping,

and him who weeps for me I always spurn.

To him who’d shame me most, my soul I offer;

him who’d sacrifice for me, I shame;

I scorn him who’d exalt my reputation,

of him who’d scorn it, I exalt the name.

If I complain that one of them offends me,

the other censures me for some offense;

in either case I suffer in my task,

for each of them wreaks torture on my feelings:

the latter for asking for what I don’t have;

the former by not having what I ask.

Which contains an amorous fantasy, content with platonic love

Original Poem, “Que contiene una fantasia contenta con amor decente”

Translation of “Que contiene una fantasía contenta con amor decente” by Alix Ingber

Halt, you shadow of my fleeting joy,

image of the charms I most desire,

lovely dream for whom I laughing die,

sweet untruth for whom I grieving live.



If to the magnet of your graces’ pull,

my heart responds like an obedient steel,

to what end do you court me, flattering

if later you will mock me, fugitive?



But don’t think you can boast, self-satisfied,

that your tyranny triumphs over me:

for though you’ve fled and the tight noose have mocked



that once encircled your fantastic form,

I care not that you mock my arms and breast

for in my mind’s own prison you are locked.

Poema: Escoge antes el morir que exponerse a los ultrajes de la vejez

Translation by Alix Ingber

Miró Celia una rosa que en el prado

ostentaba feliz la pompa vana

y con afeites de carmín y grana

bañaba alegre el rostro delicado;



y dijo: “Goza sin temor del Hado,

el curso breve de tu edad lozana,

pues no podrá la muerte de mañana

quitarte lo que hubieres hoy gozado;



y aunque llega la muerte presurosa

y tu fragante visa se te aleja,

no sientas el morir tan bella y moza:



mira que la experiencia te aconseja

que es fortuna morirte siendo hermosa

y no ver el ultraje de ser vieja.”

Poema: Que contiene una fantasía contenta con amor decente

Translation by Victoria Nahley

Translation by Alix Ingber

Detente, sombra de mi bien esquivo,

imagen del hechizo que más quiero,

bella ilusión por quien alegre muero,

dulce ficción por quien penosa vivo.



Si al imán de tus gracias, atractivo,

sirve mi pecho de obediente acero,

¿para qué me enarmoras lisonjero

si has de burlarme luego fugitivo?



Mas blasonar no puedes, satisfecho,

de que triunfa de mí tu tiranía;

que aunque dejas burlado el lazo estrecho



que tu forma fantástica ceñía,

poco importa burlar brazos y pecho

si te labra prisión mi fantasia.

Poema: En que da moral censura a una rosa y en ella a sus semejantes

Translation by Alix Ingber

Rosa divina que en gentil cultura

eres, con tu fragante sutileza,

magisterio purpúreo en la belleza,

enseñanza nevada a la hermosura;

amago de la humana arquitectura,

ejempio de la vana gentiliza,

en cuyo sér unió naturaleza

la cuna alegre y triste sepultura:

icuán altiva en tu pompa, presumida,

soberbia, el riesgo de morir desdeñas,

y luego desmayada y encogida

de tu caduco sér das mustias señas,

con que con docta muerte y necia visa,

viviendo engañas y muriendo enseñas.