+7 poems written by women

Because on many occasions they have been silenced; because for reasons that persist even today and we do not understand, they are still ignored compared to the male sex; because they have as much quality as those written by men; because it is also literature and here, in this literary blog, we are dedicated to talking about good literature ... For all these reasons and more that I could continue to give you, today I bring you an article with 5 poems written by women.

Judge for yourself ... Or better yet, don't judge, just enjoy ...

The world's first female poet

Despite the fact that women have been relegated to second place in all the arts, the truth is that it was they who stood out in certain cases. And something that is not known is that, the first poet, was a woman, and not a man. We talk about Enheduanna, daughter of King Sargon I of Acad.

Enheduanna was the priestess of Nannar, the Sumerian moon-god. In her time, both political and religious power were one, and that is why she used to participate in the government of Ur. She was also, as we have told you, the world's first poet.

Enheduanna's poetry is characterized by being of religious nature. He wrote it on clay tablets and in cuneiform writing. Almost all the poems were addressed to the god Nannar, the temple, or even the goddess Inanna, who protected the Akkad dynasty (to which she belonged).

In fact, one of the poems that are preserved is the following:

The exaltation of Enheduanna to Inanna

INNANA AND THE DIVINE ESSENCES

Lady of all essences, full light, good woman

dressed in splendor

whom heaven and earth love you,

friend of the temple of An

you wear great ornaments,

you wish the tiara of the high priestess

whose hands hold the seven essences,

you have chosen them and hung from your hand.

You have gathered the sacred essences and put them

tight on your breasts

INNANA AND AN

Like a dragon you have covered the ground with poison

like thunder when you roar over the earth

trees and plants fall in your path.

You are a flood descending from

a mountain,

Oh primary,

Lunar Goddess of Heaven and Earth!

your fire blows around and falls on

our nation.

Lady riding on a beast,

It still gives you qualities, holy orders

and you decide

you are in all our great rites

Who can understand you?

INNANA AND ENLIL

The storms lend you wings

destroyer of our lands.

Loved by Enlil, you fly over our nation

you serve the decrees of An.

Oh my lady, hearing your sound

hills and plains revere.

When we stand before you

terrified, trembling in your clear light

stormy,

we receive justice

we sing, we mourn them and

we cry before you

and we walk towards you through a path

from the house of huge sighs

INNANA AND ISHKUR

You take it all down in battle.

Oh my lady on your wings

you carry the harvested land and you attack

masked

in an attacking storm,

You roar like a raging storm

You thunder and you keep thundering and puffing

with evil winds.

Your feet are full of restlessness.

On your harp of sighs

I hear your dirge

INNANA AND THE ANUNNA

Oh my lady, the Anunna, the great ones

Gods,

Flapping like bats in front of you,

they are flown towards the cliffs.

They don't have the courage to walk

in front of your terrible gaze.

Who can tame your raging heart?

No lesser God.

Your malevolent heart is beyond

temperance.

Lady, you silk the kingdoms of the beast,

you make us happy.

Your fury is beyond trembling

O eldest daughter of Suen!

Who has ever denied you

reverence,

Madam, supreme on earth?

INANNA AND EBIH

In the mountains where you are not

venerated

the vegetation is cursed.

You have turned their

big tickets.

For you the rivers are inflated with blood

and people have nothing to drink.

The mountain army is coming towards you

captive

spontaneously.

Healthy young men parade

before you

spontaneously.

The dancing city is full of

storm,

driving young men

towards you, captives.

Other poems by women you should know

Women have always been part of the world, and therefore, they have also been creators. They have invented objects, they have carried out multiple arts (literature, music, painting, sculpture ...).

Focusing on literature, the woman has left a mark in her step. In poetry, there are many female names that stand out, such as: Gloria Fuertes, Rosalía de Castro, Gabriela Mistral ...

But the truth is that they are not the only ones. Therefore, here we leave you others poems written by women for you to discover.

«I get up» (Maya Angelou)

You can describe me in history

with twisted lies,

You can drag me into the trash itself

Still, like dust, I wake up.

Does my insolence baffle you?

Because I walk like I have oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like the moons and the suns,

With the certainty of the tides,

Like the hopes that fly high

Despite everything, I get up.

Would you want to see me destroyed?

With your head down and your eyes lowered?

And the shoulders slumped like tears.

Weakened by my soulful screams.

Does my arrogance offend you?

"The Ring" (Emily Dickinson)

On my finger I had a ring.

The breeze between the trees was erratic.

The day was blue, warm and beautiful.

And I slept on the fine grass.

When I woke up I looked startled

My pure hand in the clear afternoon.

The ring between my finger was gone.

How much I have now in this world

It is a golden color souvenir.

"Millionaires" (Juana de Ibarbourou)

Take my hand. Let's go to the rain

barefoot and scantily clad, without an umbrella,

with the hair in the wind and the body in the caress

oblique, refreshing and petite, of the water.

Let the neighbors laugh! Since we are young

and we both love each other and we like the rain,

we will be happy with simple joy

of a house of sparrows that lulls itself on the road.

Beyond are the fields and the acacia road

and the sumptuous fifth of that poor lord

millionaire and obese, who with all his gold,

I couldn't buy us an ounce of the treasure

ineffable and supreme that God has given us:

be flexible, be young, be full of love.

"The caprice" (Amparo Amorós)

I want to be yet-set and travel

in a luxurious private plane

to take the body to tan

to Marbella and appear at night

at the parties that the magazines take out

between nobles, play-boys, pretty girls and artists;

marry an earl even if he's ugly

and give my paintings to a museum.

I have taken the perrengue to leave

on the cover of Vogue for wearing

sparkling necklaces with diamonds

in the most stunning necklines.

Others who are worse have achieved it

based on signing a good husband:

those who are rich and old agree

if then you can keep them away

to bind you a loving Kurd

thus mounting a scandalous affair.

Mama, mama, yet-set I want to be

and from today I am going to propose it!

"The Manor Garden" (Sylvia Plath)

The parched fountains, the roses end.

Incense of death. Your day is coming.

Pears get fat like minimal Buddhas.

A blue haze, remora from the lake.

And you are crossing the hour of the fish,

the proud centuries of the pig:

finger, forehead, paw

arise from the shadow. History feeds

those defeated grooves,

those acanthus crowns,

and the raven appeases his clothes.

Shaggy heather you inherit, bee elytra,

two suicides, penitent wolves,

black hours. Hard stars

that yellowing they are already going up to heaven.

The spider on its rope

the lake crosses. The worms

they leave their rooms alone.

Little birds converge, converge

with their gifts towards difficult boundaries.

"Sentimental self-euthanasia" (Gloria Fuertes)

I got out of the way
not to get in the way,
for not shouting
more plaintive verses.
I spent many days without writing,
without seeing you,
without eating but crying.

"Complain about luck" (Sor Juana)

In chasing me, world, what are you interested in?
How do I offend you, when I just try
put beauties in my understanding
and not my understanding in the beauties?

I do not value treasures or riches,
and so it always makes me happier
put riches in my understanding
than my understanding in riches.

And I do not estimate beauty that has expired
It is civil spoil of the ages
nor do I like wealth fementida,

taking for the best in my truths
consume vanities of life
than to consume life in vanities.

"The love that is silent" (Gabriela Mistral)

If I hated you, my hate would give you
in words, resounding and sure;
but I love you and my love does not trust
to this talk of men, so dark.

You would like it turned into a scream,
and it comes from so deep that it has undone
its burning stream, fainted,
before the throat, before the chest.

I am the same as a full pond
and I seem to you an inert fountain.
All for my troubled silence
which is more heinous than entering death!

"The lost caress" (Alfonsina Storni)

The caress without a cause goes from my fingers,
it gets out of my fingers ... In the wind, as it passes,
the caress that wanders without destination or object,
the lost caress who will pick it up?

I could love tonight with infinite mercy,
I could love the first one to arrive.
Nobody comes. They are only the flowery paths.
The lost caress will roll… roll…

If in the eyes they kiss you tonight, traveler,
if a sweet sigh shakes the branches,
if a small hand presses your fingers
that takes you and leaves you, that achieves you and leaves.

If you don't see that hand, nor that kissing mouth,
if it is the air that weaves the illusion of kissing,
oh, traveler, whose eyes are like heaven,
In the molten wind, will you recognize me?

"They say that plants do not speak" (Rosalía de Castro)

They say that plants do not speak, nor fountains, nor birds,
Neither he waves with his rumors, nor with his brightness the stars,
They say it, but it is not true, because always when I pass,
Of me they murmur and exclaim:
There goes the crazy dreaming
With the eternal spring of life and fields,
And very soon, very soon, her hair will be gray,
And she sees, trembling, chilled, that frost covers the meadow.

There are gray hairs on my head, there is frost in the meadows,
But I go on dreaming, poor, incurable sleepwalker,
With the eternal spring of life that is fading
And the perennial freshness of fields and souls,
Although some are withered and although others are burned.

Stars and fountains and flowers, do not murmur about my dreams,
Without them, how to admire you or how to live without them?