Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz She was born on a day like today in San Miguel Nepantla, a town in Mexico, in 1651, although 1648 appears in other sources. She is considered one of the Mexican writers most recognized of the seventeenth century. And her condition as a nun, far from being the product of devotion or divine call, was related to her desire to continue to cultivate your hobbies and intellectual abilities. This is a I remember his figure and work from which I stand out 4 of his sonnets.
Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz
They say that at three years old I already knew read and write. This led her to have a lot of relationship with the highest positions of the court of the Viceroyalty of Spain. But to the 16 years entered the Discalced carmelites of Mexico and later in the Order of Saint Jerome, where it always remained. Had the support and patronage of various viceroys to whom he dedicated many of his poems.
In his literary work he cultivated the lyric, which covers most of it, the auto sacramental, the theater and the prose. His style recalls and connects with names like that of Góngora, Lope de Vega or Quevedo. After all, they all belong to the Golden age. But sor Juana stood out for wanting to elevate the role of women of his time beyond being relegated to home and family.
Construction
- Dramatic: The second Celestina, The efforts of a house, Love is more maze
- Sacramental cars: The divine Narcissus, Joseph's scepter The martyr of the sacramento
- Prose: Allegorical Neptune, Athenagoric letter, Reply to Sr. Filotea de la Cruz, Protest of faith, loas and vcarols
4 outstanding sonnets
Try to deny the compliments
This one you see, colorful deception,
that, of art showing the beauty,
with false syllogisms of colors
it is cautious deceit of the sense;
this one in whom flattery has pretended
excuse the horrors of the years
and overcoming the rigors of time
triumph from old age and oblivion:
it is a vain artifice of care;
it is a flower in the delicate wind;
it is a useless shelter for fate;
it is foolish erroneous diligence;
It is an outdated desire, and, all things considered,
it is corpse, it is dust, it is shadow, it is nothing.
***
Of a rope reflection
With the pain of the mortal wound,
of a grievance of love I lamented,
and to see if death would come
I tried to make it bigger.
All in evil the funny soul,
grief for grief his pain added,
and in each circumstance pondered
that there were a thousand deaths to one life.
And when, to the blow of one and another shot
surrendered the heart, gave painful
signs of taking the last breath,
I do not know with what prodigious destiny
I went back to my agreement and said: what do I admire?
Who has been more blissful at love?
***
That consoles a jealous
Love begins with restlessness,
solicitude, ardors and sleepless nights;
it grows with risks, challenges and misgivings;
hold on to crying and begging.
Teach him lukewarmness and detachment,
preserve being between deceptive veils,
until with grievances or with jealousy
puts out his fire with his tears.
Its beginning, middle and end is this:
So why, Alcino, do you feel the detour
of Celia, what other time did you love well?
What reason is there that pain costs you?
Well, my love, Alcino did not deceive you,
but the precise term arrived.
***
Of love put before in an unworthy subject
When I see my mistake and your vileness,
I contemplate, Silvio, of my mistaken love,
how grave is the malice of sin,
how violent the force of a desire.
To my own memory I hardly believe
that could fit in my care
the last line of the despised,
the final term of a bad job.
I would like, when I get to see you,
seeing my infamous love being able to deny it;
but then just reason warns me
that only remedies me in publishing it;
because of the great crime of loving you
It is only sad enough to confess.