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SOR JUANA INÉS DE LA CRUZLoading...
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FACTS
She was born in Nepantla.
Sor Juana wanted to disguise herself as a boy so as to be able to attend university, but her family forbade it.
Her mother was Creole, and her father was Spanish.
Sor Juana wrote her first poem when she was eight years old, and she was teaching Latin to other children by the time she was 13.
She died in Mexico, City.
FAMOUS POEMS
1.- Amor empieza por desasosiego.
2.- Con el dolor de la mortal herida.
3.- En perseguirme, Mundo, ¿qué interesas?
4.- Este que ves, engaño colorido.
5.- Esta tarde, mi bien, cuando te hablaba.
6.- Poesía en Zenda.
2.- Con el dolor de la mortal herida.
3.- En perseguirme, Mundo, ¿qué interesas?
4.- Este que ves, engaño colorido.
5.- Esta tarde, mi bien, cuando te hablaba.
6.- Poesía en Zenda.
She was born in Nepantla.
She died in Mexico, City.
BIOGRAPHY
Juana Inés de Asbaje Ramírez de Santillana, better known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. She was a Hieronymite nun and writer from New Spain, exponent of the Golden Age of literature in Spanish. Considered by many as the tenth muse, she cultivated the lyric, the auto sacramental and the theater, as well as prose
ACHIEVEMENTS
Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz won the literature prize.
Sor Juana’s most important and most difficult poem, known as the Primero sueño, is both personal and universal.
POEM:
Suspend, singer swan, the sweet strain:
see how the lord that Delphi sees exchanges
for you the gentle lyre for pipe and to Admetus
makes a pastoral sound.
As gentle song, though strong, moved stones
and tamed the wrath of hell, so it retreats,
abashed, when you are heard:
your instrument blames the church itself.
For though the works of ancient builders cannot
match its columns, nothing's greater than your song
When your clear voice strikes its stones,
and your sweet tones surpass it, dwarf it,
while making it grow the more.
Suspend, singer swan, the sweet strain:
see how the lord that Delphi sees exchanges
for you the gentle lyre for pipe and to Admetus
makes a pastoral sound.
As gentle song, though strong, moved stones
and tamed the wrath of hell, so it retreats,
abashed, when you are heard:
your instrument blames the church itself.
For though the works of ancient builders cannot
match its columns, nothing's greater than your song
When your clear voice strikes its stones,
and your sweet tones surpass it, dwarf it,
while making it grow the more.