The Poet-Philosopher-Nun of “New Spain”

/ /

The Liquid Pour in which my Heart has Run: Poems by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
Translated by Rhina P. Espaillat
(Wiseblood Books, 2023, 77 pages, $14.00)

In a recent essay for Poetry, Maya C. Popa presents Emily Dickinson as a funny, engaged, and active member of her community, a good friend to many and supportive family member, as well as an astute and opinionated citizen. This vision of Dickinson stands at odds with the reclusive “Belle of Amherst” characterization that she typically receives. But a new collection of Dickinson’s letters, which Popa introduces, provides a less mythic and more realistic understanding of the poet.

Similarly, Rhina Espaillat’s translation of the poetry of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz offers a glimpse of a highly intelligent and gifted writer who saw through the hypocrisy of her social environment, a poet-philosopher-nun who defies categorization and could be mistaken for a contemporary writer, so far ahead of her times does she appear to have been.

Though the collection Popa introduces includes Dickinson’s letters, presenting a more candid and personal Dickinson, Espaillat – through her deft translations – introduces readers to a poet perhaps previously unknown, or at the very least much less well known to American readers than Dickinson. This collection, though, will hopefully remedy Sor Juana’s anonymity, for Espaillat shows us her sharp wit, her humor, her keen understanding of the human heart, and her skill, particularly with the sonnet.

Espaillat’s translation of Sor Juana’s poems begins with an introduction from poet Sally Read and a note from Espaillat herself. It also includes a brief biography of Sor Juana, who was born in 1648 (about two hundred years ahead of Dickinson) in “New Spain” as an “illegitimate Spanish-Creole girl” who went on to become a “great light of the Spanish Golden Age,” as Read points out in her introduction. Entering the convent in 1667 to avoid marriage and to guarantee time for her studies, Sor Juana eventually died of the plague, which she contracted while ministering to a fellow sister who also had the disease.

Although her biography speaks of incredible accomplishments, such as reading Latin by age three and mastering Greek logic by age eight, and despite the fact that education was forbidden for girls during her lifetime, it is Sor Juana’s poetry that truly sparkles – and even burns.

Translators must balance faithfulness to form, precision of word choice and image, and a poet’s intent when bringing another poet’s work into a new language. This is quite a difficult task, but Espaillat is an expert with tremendous experience and a deftness with both languages. Both the Spanish and the English versions of the poems are presented here en face, so readers can see for themselves how Espaillat renders the translation as closely as possible to the original without sacrificing Sor Juana’s form or her wit. Espaillat’s translations impart in English Sor Juana’s biting views on love, her censure for her society (especially its treatment of women), her practical realism, and her portrayal of her art.

In my reading, what makes Sor Juana seem so modern is her take on love. On the other hand, perhaps her account of the complications and fickleness of romantic feelings is actually proof that the human heart has always been the same and will continue to experience the same drama in every century. The poet-nun’s lines could almost pass for Taylor Swift lyrics, in fact. “You Say That I Forget You, But You Lie,” for example, sounds like it could be a track on Swift’s latest album, The Tortured Poets Department. Sor Juana, however, seems to be above the pettiness of heartbreak, so she might not be tortured herself – at least not when it comes to romance.

In Espaillat’s translation of this poem, the first lines are quite harsh: “You say that I forget you, but you lie: / it would require thinking to forget you, / and nowhere in my thinking have I let you—/ even as one forgotten—/ saunter by.” She matches Sor Juana’s form, rhyme scheme, and bite. The poem that follows this one presents the opposite side of the coin: “You claim to have forgotten me, but lie / when you say, ‘I’ve forgotten to forget you,’ / since clearly, thinking so, your mind won’t let you / forget forgotten me, and keeps me by.” In several poems like these, it appears Sor Juana favors logic and reason rather than passion and desire. In the poem “Ingrates Who Flee Me,” the speaker laments the fact that the “ingrate” who rejects her only enhances her interest in him, while the “ingrate” who pursues her makes her flee – expressing the age-old grass-is-greener vision still common today. “Fabio, Who Knows I Love Him” picks up the same theme, claiming, “If Silvio makes me sick with his pursuing, / I know I sicken Fabio with pursuit.” Once again offering a paired poem to match this one, the poem that follows is “Feliciano, Who Adores Me,” which finally exclaims, “[…] both torment me with no place to run.” Maybe, the poet is tortured after all.

In another love poem titled “Fabio, in Truth, it is the Wish of All,” Sor Juana points out yet another irony of love. This time, it’s the fact that the “wish of all” is to be adored, but if just one man “is seen to fall, / love-struck, before a woman,” she complains it’s too few and considers herself a failure. The final lines pack Sor Juana’s typical, witty and wise punch: “Being loved, like too much salt, spoils what is served, /and, if it’s not enough, spoils what remains.” The balance can seem nearly impossible to achieve, in the poet’s view, and her outlook becomes even more cynical in “Love Has Its Early Stirrings in Unease.” Here, the speaker seems to be resigned, having concluded that love feeds on “quarrels, trials, […] sorrow […] hard-to-please indifference” and jealousy. Having had enough of love, Sor Juana’s poems take on societal critique and supply realism, rather than idealism.

One of only two poems that is not a sonnet, “The Charge” does what it says it will do and lays its charge against men, mainly for the double standard with which they judge women. Again, it can seem as though Sor Juana is describing society in 2024, but instead her incisiveness is proof that human nature hardly changes. The speaker quips that men hound women “until they drink more and wear less” and asks, “why be shocked when they grow careless, /not modest, the way you found them?” The poem continues the calling-out by reflecting, “Hard to tell which you prefer: / rejected, you moan and whine; / but if she falls for your line, / it’s a joke, and it’s on her.” Granted, much of this behavior is seen in women as well – going after the Fabios and Felicianos who are more attractive when they love someone else and scoffing at the Silvios who seek affection. Yet, there are certain hypocritical standards where women are always coming up short. Espaillat’s translation puts it this way: “The loser’s always her part: / if she’s careful of her honor / she’s heartless: a curse upon her. / If she’ll have you, she’s a tart.” In the next stanza, this is elaborated on: “You sneak around, mean and sleazy, / all unjustly laying blame: / one gets ‘teaser’ for a name, /and the other’s known as ‘easy.’” Sor Juana would be sad to know that these labels still exist, despite language and centuries.

Another universality that Sor Juana critiques is the criticism one receives after experiencing some success. The sonnet “So Great, O Fortune!” grieves over being encouraged to pursue development of one’s gifts, only to be “maligned” for it later. The crowds who once applauded now have only “ill will” for the successful woman who moans, “rich in those gifts you gave my mind, / I earn nobody’s pity for my sorrow.” Taylor Swift and Sor Juana really would have a lot to talk about, it appears.

The disillusionment of romantic love, of supposed fortune, as well as the state of society for women during the 1600s must have been the reasons that Sor Juana takes a sharp, realistic vision of life and death. She seems not to trifle with fantasy and optimism, instead choosing realism and practicality. A poem early in the collection, “To Hope” sets this tone, calling hope a “Green spell that so beguiles humanity.” In a somewhat un-Christian view of the world, the speaker trusts only what can be seen. Perhaps these are actually criticisms of the views that were popular at the time and not Sor Juana’s own, for another poem, “Celia Has Found a Proud Rose,” describes a young woman who would rather die young and beautiful than succumb to old age. The poem after this one, “If One Explored the Risks at Sea,” advocates for taking risks even if, again, it means early death, rather than living a long and timid life. Towards the end of the collection, “Rose, Like a Goddess” reminds readers that those who think their beauty will last – even the beauty of a rose – will eventually die, too, and their deaths will be a “silent signal to the crowd” and an instruction.

In the middle of the collection is a poem titled “Today, My Treasure,” which brings together Sor Juana’s experiences of love and living in her time. Directed to a jealous lover, I read it as an ars poetica. The collection’s title comes from this poem, a phrase that captures Sor Juana’s writing style – liquid pouring in which her heart now runs into the lover’s (or reader’s) hand. The poem begins by explaining that the speaker knows the jealous lover has not believed her words, but that she “longed to let you see my naked heart.” The poem’s extended metaphor describes her heart as something that dissolves the more that she expresses her grief and becomes this liquid, pouring out into the lover’s hand. With her pen, aided by Espaillat’s translation, that’s exactly what Sor Juana has done – the more she has written, the more is poured into the reader’s hand.

Reading Sor Juana’s poetry – a woman who lived in a very different time and place, who spoke a language other than my own, who lived as a nun – is like reading about the human heart itself. Her takes on love make me examine my own experiences; her criticisms cause me to question my own society, and her practical view of death’s inevitability reminds me I’m no exception to this. Espaillat has given us a gift, bringing Sor Juana’s poetry into English so that more people can experience the wit, craft, and wisdom of this poet-philosopher-nun. The best artists penetrate human nature so that what is familiar seems new, seen from a different angle. Both Sor Juana and Rhina Espaillat possess this particular gift. This collection pours out from both women – Sor Juana’s original poems and Espaillat’s translations – so that the reader receives a double dose of heart.