English Translation of a poem by Julia de Burgos
"To Julia de Burgos"
But not me, I am ruled by my heart alone,
my sole thought; it is "I" who rules myself.
People now murmur that I am your enemy
for they claim that in verses
I reveal your essence to the world.
You, aristocratic blossom; and I, the people's
blossom.
You are well provided for, but are indebted to
everyone,
while I, my nothingness to no one owe.
They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie Julia de
Burgos.
The voice uplifted in my verses is not your own:
it is mine,
for you are garment and I essence;
and the greatest abyss lies between the two.
You are the cold- blooded puppet of social
deceit,
and I, the driving splendour of human truth.
You, of courtesan hypocrisies...the honey; not I;
whose heart is revealed in my poems...all.
You are like your world, selfish; not I;
who dares all to be what I truly am.
You are merely the implacable, elegant lady;
not I; I am life, I am strength, I am woman.
You belong to your husband, to your master; not
I;
I belong to no one, or to everyone, because to all,
everyone,
in wholesome feeling and thought, I give myself.
You curl your locks and paint yourself, not I;
I am curled by thewind; brightened by the sun.
You are homebound, resigned, submissive,
confined to the whims of men; not I;
I am Rocinante* galloping recklessly
wandering through the boundaries of God's
justice.
You are not in command of self; everyone rules
you:
you are ruled by your husband, your parents,
relatives,
the priest, the seamstress, theatre, club,
the car, jewels, the banquet, champagne,
heaven and hell and... social hearsay.
You, nailed to the stagnant ancestral dividend;
and I, but one in the cipher of social divisor.
We are the encroaching, inevitable duel tothe
death.
When the multitude uncontrolled runs,
the ashes of injustices, burnt, left behind,
and when with the torch of the seven virtues,
the throng to the seven sins gives chase,
I wilbe against you and against all
that is unjust and inhuman.
Upholding the torch... I shall be among the
throng.
This poem was originally written in Spanish.
English translation by Rafael Ramos Albelo.
I was the most quiet
I was the most quiet,
among those who voyaged to your harbor
No obscene social events announced me,
nor the hushed bells of ancestral reflexes;
my route was the wild music of birds
which flung into the air my kindness...fluttering.
Neither did vessels laden with opulence bear me,
nor oriental rugs support my body;
over the vessels my face appeared
whistling in the wind's aimless simplicity.
I did not measure the harmony of trivial
ambitions
offered by your full-of-promises hand.
I perceived, only, in the depths of my frail spirit,
the tragic abandon hidden in your gesture.
Your constant duality was marked by my avid
thirst.
You were like the sea, resonant and discreet.
Over you I spent my wasted hours.
You hovered above, as the sun on petals.
And I strolled in the breeze of your fallen
anguish
in the naive sadness of knowing the truth:
your life was a deep struggle of restless springs
an awesome white river rushing to the desert.
One day, by the yellow banks of hysteria,
many ambitious, hidden faces trailed you;
through your surge of tears ripped from the
cosmos
other voices encroached without discovering
your
mystery...
I was the most quiet.
My voice, hardly an echo.
Conscience difused in a sound of anguish,
dissipated and sweet, throughout all silences.
I was the most quiet.
One who sprang from the earth with no other
weapon
but a verse.
I stand before you... stars,
disarmed and gentle... his love in my breast!
By Julia de Burgos
This poem was originally written in Spanish.
English translation by Rafael Ramos Albelo.