Tú eres de tu marido, de tu amo; yo no; yo de nadie, o de todos, porque a todos, a todos en mi limpio sentir y en mi pensar me doy. Daisy Newman is the soprano. You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people. The second chapter explores the process of leaving the Island and the transition to a new context through the study of the last collection of poems published in the island, the poems written in the diaspora and published posthumously and a selection of the personal letters written to her sister. The issue featured articles and literary criticism by many prominent Hispanic writers, who honored de Burgos for her poetry, and political figures, who honored her for her social activism. You are merely the implacable, elegant lady; Not I; I am life, I am strength, I am woman.
Tú eres solo la grave señora señorona; yo no; yo soy la vida, la fuerza, la mujer. Tú, flor de aristocracia; y yo, la flor del pueblo. Tú eres sólo la grave señora señorona; yo no, yo soy la vida, la fuerza, la mujer. The breakup of her relationship greatly depressed de Burgos and she neglected her writing in an attempt to find work. Es la llamada tibia de mi alma que se ha ido a cantar entre sus rimas. Ayala and Rafael Bernabe, Puerto Rico in the American Century, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007, 147-148.
Later, after a moment of peace, as a result of her marriage to Armando Marín, she irretrievably falls into feelings of emptiness and abandonment. En el poema, Julia de Burgos tiene dos lados diferentes y lucha contra si mismo. Finding herself in poetry served as a kind of curtain call, but not as effective therapy. El tema del amor imposible se presenta con diferencias respecto al ideal romántico. En mí no, que en mí manda mi solo corazón, mi solo pensamiento; quien manda en mí soy yo. 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.
Tú, clavada al estático dividendo ancestral, y yo, un uno en la cifra del divisor social somos el duelo a muerte que se acerca fatal. Me sorprendió la vida prendida en lo más ancho de tu viajar eterno; y fui tuya mil veces, y en un bello romance me despertaste el alma y me besaste el cuerpo. All the color of awakened aurora the sea and you swim to my encounter, and in the madness of loving me until the shipwreck you both go breaking the ports and the oars. Tú eres dama casera, resignada, sumisa, atada a los prejuicios de los hombres; yo no; que yo soy Rocinante corriendo desbocado olfateando horizontes de justicia de Dios. Tú eres dama casera, resignada, sumisa, atada a los prejuicios de los hombres; yo no; que yo soy Rocinante corriendo desbocado olfateando horizontes de justicia de Dios. Translated from Spanish to English by Grecia E. This book is thus part of the ongoing debate about the poet and also part of a broader discussion about Puerto Rican and Nuyorican literature and cultural practices developed by critics such as Juan Gelpí, Lawrence La Fountain-Stokes, Manolo Guzmán, Yolanda Martínez-San Miguel, Juan Flores, Jorge Duany, Arcadio Díaz Quiñones, Rafael Bernabe and César Ayala, among others.
La que se alza en mis versos no es tu voz: es mi voz porque tú eres ropaje y la esencia soy yo; y el más profundo abismo se tiende entre las dos. 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. It is my voice because you are the dressing and the essence is me; and the most profound abyss is spread between us. You are a housewife, resigned, submissive, tied to the prejudices of men; not me; unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante snorting horizons of God's justice. Something slow and dark strikes me, though just behind this agony, I have held the stars in my hand. No es él el que me lleva… Es su vida que corre por la mía.
If it had been the master, would be my shame; than in men, as in nations, if being servant is not having rights, being master is having no conscience. Rather like Britten in the Nocturne and the Serenade, he combines musical ingenuity with illuminatingly poetic response to each poem. For the next two years she lived in Cuba, writing and enrolling as a graduate student in literature and philosophy at the University of Havana. Only when I sing to you, I awake. Ever since I first read this poem years ago, it has been one of my all-time favorites. With myself on horseback I galloped through the shadow of time and became a landscape far from my vision.
And I was all in me as was life in me. To Julia de Burgos People now murmur that I am your enemy For they claim that in verses I reveal your essence to the world. You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone, while me, my nothing I owe to nobody. In the book she raised her voice against the exploitation of workers and in affirmation of her Afro-Antillean heritage. Literatura y paternalismo en Puerto Rico. That could mean racial, worker or political… racial freedom was called mixed race.
Translation c 2005, Jack Agüeros. Tú eres como tu mundo, egoísta; yo no; que en todo me lo juego a ser lo que soy yo. I go on being a message from the world. My cry that is no more mine, but hers and his forever, the comrades of my silence, the phantoms of my grave. You curl your locks and paint yourself, not I; I am curled by the wind; brightened by the sun. Who knows on what remote Mediterranean shore some faun shall be possessing me! You are like your world, selfish; not me who gambles everything betting on what I am.
No quiero que sepa el mar, que por mi pecho van penas. In this other context, figures like Frida Kahlo and Eva Duarte Perón became commercial and cultural icons. . Pérez shows how writers and artists are persistently invoking, remembering or reinventing Julia. ¿Cómo habré de llamarme cuando sólo me quede recordarme, en la roca de una isla desierta? This press was a kind of territory of convergence and organization that dealt with the sense of marginalization, loneliness and isolation that often characterizes the experience of migration. El más grande de todos nuestros llantos isleños, si no fuera más grande el que de mi se sale por los ojos del alma para mi esclavo pueblo. I lingered on the route of that errant path that opened in my interior and I arrived at myself, intimate.