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Latin American and Latino Art and Culture
قصائد مختارة
لم تكن مأساتها في فقدانها رجلاً حبيباً لا غير .. مثل هذه المأساة وحدها غير كافية لأن تجعل منها شاعرة كبيرة .. كانت تؤمن بأن الأمومة هي أسمي دور يمكن أن تؤديه إمرأة في الحياة .. وكانت تري المرأة بلا أطفال كائناً لا معني له .. ولقد حرمها القدر هي نفسها من نعمة الأمومة .. غير أن تعطشها إلي الإحساس بتدفق الحليب الدافئ بين شفتي الطفل .. وموهبتها القوية .. قد فتحا لها أسرار الأمومة النفسية حتي أعماقها .
إن من يقرأ قصائدها وأشعارها المنثورة في الأمومة .. لا يمكنه أن يصدق أنها لم يقدر لها أن تحب إلا أطفال الأخرين .
وتظل ميسترال مهما بعد بها الزمن عن قرائها الأتين .. صيحة شعرية هي أقوي صيحة يمكن أن تطلقها امرأة شاعرة حرمت من الأمومة فكانت أرق أم في شعرها .. وفجعت بحبها مبكراً فتغنت حتي أخر أيامها بأعمق غناءٍ قلبي وأعذبه
إن من يقرأ قصائدها وأشعارها المنثورة في الأمومة .. لا يمكنه أن يصدق أنها لم يقدر لها أن تحب إلا أطفال الأخرين .
وتظل ميسترال مهما بعد بها الزمن عن قرائها الأتين .. صيحة شعرية هي أقوي صيحة يمكن أن تطلقها امرأة شاعرة حرمت من الأمومة فكانت أرق أم في شعرها .. وفجعت بحبها مبكراً فتغنت حتي أخر أيامها بأعمق غناءٍ قلبي وأعذبه
128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1941
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About the author
Gabriela Mistral
281books428followersLucila de María del Perpetuo Socorro Godoy Alcayaga (pseudonym: Gabriela Mistral), a Chilean poet, educator, diplomat, and feminist, was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1945 "for her lyric poetry which, inspired by powerful emotions, has made her name a symbol of the idealistic aspirations of the entire Latin American world." Some central themes in her poems are nature, betrayal, love, a mother's love, sorrow and recovery, travel, and Latin American identity as formed from a mixture of Indian and European influences.
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April 7, 2021
أولئك الذين لا يرقصون
طفلة مُقعدة
قالت: كيف لي أن أرقص؟
قلنا
دعي قلبك يرقص
ثم قال العاجز
"كيف لي أن أغني؟"
قلنا
دع قلبك يغنّي
ثم نطقت الشوكة الفقيرة الميتة
لكن أنا
كيف لي أن أرقص؟
قلنا
دعي قلبك يطير إلى الريح
ثم تكلم الرب من علٍ
"كيف أنزل من السماء الزرقاء؟"
قلنا
تعال ارقص لنا في النور
الوادي بكل ما فيه يرقص
معا تحت الشمس
وقلب من لا ينضم إلينا
يتحوّل إلى غبار.. إلى غبار
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
يا سُحبًا ناعمة كقماش التُل
يا رقصةً خفيفة تدور
ألا فاحملي روحي إلى السماء الزرقاء
بعيدًا عن هذا المنزل
حيث أتألم
بعيدًا عن هذه الحوائط
التي أموت فيما بينها
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
أنا ذلك الإناء المترع حتى حافته
وأتراءى لك نافورة بلا حراك
إن صمتي ليجلل بالحزن عالمًا بأكمله
وهوأكثر رعبًا من مقدم الموت
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
لست وحيدة
الليل..إنه مهجور
من الجبال إلى البحر.
لكنني.. أنا التي تهزّك
لست وحيدة
السماء.. إنها مهجورة
فالقمر يهوي نحو البحر
لكنني أنا التي تحملك
لست وحيدة
الدنيا.. إنها مهجورة
وكل ما تراه جسد لأمر محزن ترى
أنا التي تعانقك..
لست وحيدة
November 21, 2019
A few of my favourite poems from what was a moving and powerful selection focusing mostly on mothers and children.
CRADLE SONG
The sea cradles
Its the millions of stars divine.
Listening to the seas in love,
I cradle the one who is mine.
The errant wind in the night
cradles the wheat.
Listening to the winds in love
I cradle my sweet.
God Our Fathers cradles
His thousands of worlds without sound.
Feeling his hand in the darkness,
I cradle the babe I have found.
MY SONG
The song that I have sung
for sad children,
out of pity
sing to me.
The song that I have crooned
suffering children,
now that I am hurt,
sing to me.
The cruel light stabs my eyes
and any sound upsets me.
The song to which I rocked him,
sing to me.
When I was knitting them
soft as the softness of ermine,
I did not know that my poor soul
was like a child.
The song that I have sung
for sad children,
out of pity
sing to me.
TELL ME, MOTHER
Mother, tell me all you have learned from your own
pain. Tell me how he is born and how from within me
all entangled comes a little body.
Tell me if he will seek my breast alone, or if I
should offer it to him, coaxing.
Now teach me the science of love, mother. Show me
new caresses, gentle ones, gentler than those of a
husband.
How, in days to come, shall I wash his little head?
And how shall I swaddle him so as to not hurt him?
Teach me that lullaby, mother, you sang to rock me
to sleep. It will make him sleep better than any
other songs.
DAWN
All night I suffered, all night my body trembled
to deliver its offering. There is the sweat of
death on my temples; but it is not death, it is
life!
And I call you now Infinite Sweetness, God, that
you release it gently.
Let it be born! And let my cry of pain rise in
the dawn, braided into the singing of birds!
CRADLE SONG
The sea cradles
Its the millions of stars divine.
Listening to the seas in love,
I cradle the one who is mine.
The errant wind in the night
cradles the wheat.
Listening to the winds in love
I cradle my sweet.
God Our Fathers cradles
His thousands of worlds without sound.
Feeling his hand in the darkness,
I cradle the babe I have found.
MY SONG
The song that I have sung
for sad children,
out of pity
sing to me.
The song that I have crooned
suffering children,
now that I am hurt,
sing to me.
The cruel light stabs my eyes
and any sound upsets me.
The song to which I rocked him,
sing to me.
When I was knitting them
soft as the softness of ermine,
I did not know that my poor soul
was like a child.
The song that I have sung
for sad children,
out of pity
sing to me.
TELL ME, MOTHER
Mother, tell me all you have learned from your own
pain. Tell me how he is born and how from within me
all entangled comes a little body.
Tell me if he will seek my breast alone, or if I
should offer it to him, coaxing.
Now teach me the science of love, mother. Show me
new caresses, gentle ones, gentler than those of a
husband.
How, in days to come, shall I wash his little head?
And how shall I swaddle him so as to not hurt him?
Teach me that lullaby, mother, you sang to rock me
to sleep. It will make him sleep better than any
other songs.
DAWN
All night I suffered, all night my body trembled
to deliver its offering. There is the sweat of
death on my temples; but it is not death, it is
life!
And I call you now Infinite Sweetness, God, that
you release it gently.
Let it be born! And let my cry of pain rise in
the dawn, braided into the singing of birds!
January 6, 2022
A woman is singing in the valley. The shadows falling blot her
out, but her song spreads over the fields.
Her heart is broken, like the jar she dropped this afternoon
among the pebbles in the brook. As she sings, the hidden wound
sharpens on the thread of her song, and becomes thin and hard.
Her voice in modulation dampens with blood.
In the fields the other voices die with the dying day, and a
moment ago the song of the last slow-poke bird stopped. But her
deathless heart, alive with grief, gathers all the silent voices into
her voice, sharp now, yet very sweet.
Does she sing for a husband who looks at her silently in the
dusk, or for a child whom her song caresses? Or does she sing for
her own heart, more helpless than a babe at nightfall.
Night grows maternal before this song that goes to meet it; the
stars, with a sweetness that is human, are beginning to come out;
the sky full of stars becomes human and understands the sorrows
of this world.
Her song, as pure as water filled with light, cleanses the plain
and rinses the mean air of day in which men hate. From the throat
of the woman who keeps on singing, day rises nobly evaporating
toward the stars.
out, but her song spreads over the fields.
Her heart is broken, like the jar she dropped this afternoon
among the pebbles in the brook. As she sings, the hidden wound
sharpens on the thread of her song, and becomes thin and hard.
Her voice in modulation dampens with blood.
In the fields the other voices die with the dying day, and a
moment ago the song of the last slow-poke bird stopped. But her
deathless heart, alive with grief, gathers all the silent voices into
her voice, sharp now, yet very sweet.
Does she sing for a husband who looks at her silently in the
dusk, or for a child whom her song caresses? Or does she sing for
her own heart, more helpless than a babe at nightfall.
Night grows maternal before this song that goes to meet it; the
stars, with a sweetness that is human, are beginning to come out;
the sky full of stars becomes human and understands the sorrows
of this world.
Her song, as pure as water filled with light, cleanses the plain
and rinses the mean air of day in which men hate. From the throat
of the woman who keeps on singing, day rises nobly evaporating
toward the stars.
April 26, 2021
I have dedicated the year 2021 to reading various literary classics which I have neglected until now for various reasons. The last one I finished reading is this anthology of the Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral's work, her being notable as the first Latin American author to win the Nobel Prize in Literature back in 1945. The impetus for me to finally read Mistral being her countryman Alejandro Jodorowsky naming her as an inspiration in his "Psychomagic".
I ended up quite liking this, despite not getting all the references to obscure corners of Christian mysticism and Spanish-language authors that are rather obscure in the Germanic cultural sphere which I inhabit. Fortunately, the edition I read had a bunch of footnotes explaining all the surrounding cultural context that might be lost on readers outside the Hispanosphere. The symbolism which Gabriela Mistral uses throughout her poetic career is very varied but remains consistent in revolving around the same recurrent themes: Journeys through deserts, forests and mountains as metaphors for spiritual development; plants as metaphors for individual human souls; frequent allusions to classical Greco-Roman mythology; multiple female protagonists that are obvious representations for different sides of the author's own personality. Many of the poems have a surrealistic dream-like feel with delirious melancholic atmosphere and abstract metaphysical philosophising holding everything together. Later on, the poems become more ambitious with clearly defined narratives and multiple viewpoint characters while using more symbolism related to the sea and the cosmos. It's an interesting and satisfying experience to see an author's writing style change so much through their career yet remain the output of the same creative personality.
All in all, I have to say that Ms. Mistral very much deserved her Nobel Prize if this compilation is a good representation of her poetic work. It is a long time ago a historically important poet I had slept on for too long has impressed me this much with only Georg Trakl coming close.
I ended up quite liking this, despite not getting all the references to obscure corners of Christian mysticism and Spanish-language authors that are rather obscure in the Germanic cultural sphere which I inhabit. Fortunately, the edition I read had a bunch of footnotes explaining all the surrounding cultural context that might be lost on readers outside the Hispanosphere. The symbolism which Gabriela Mistral uses throughout her poetic career is very varied but remains consistent in revolving around the same recurrent themes: Journeys through deserts, forests and mountains as metaphors for spiritual development; plants as metaphors for individual human souls; frequent allusions to classical Greco-Roman mythology; multiple female protagonists that are obvious representations for different sides of the author's own personality. Many of the poems have a surrealistic dream-like feel with delirious melancholic atmosphere and abstract metaphysical philosophising holding everything together. Later on, the poems become more ambitious with clearly defined narratives and multiple viewpoint characters while using more symbolism related to the sea and the cosmos. It's an interesting and satisfying experience to see an author's writing style change so much through their career yet remain the output of the same creative personality.
All in all, I have to say that Ms. Mistral very much deserved her Nobel Prize if this compilation is a good representation of her poetic work. It is a long time ago a historically important poet I had slept on for too long has impressed me this much with only Georg Trakl coming close.
May 12, 2021
I'm conflicted about this poetry collection (and honestly quite disappointed because I love Gabriela Mistral, she is a gay icon and the fact that she was the first Latin American woman to obtain a Nobel prize is amazing)
I thought most of the poems were simple and plain, they lacked expertise or a magical writing style. Most followed a similar tune (melancholy or celebration) but that did not bother me much.
This is one of the poems:
"I crossed valley, plain and river, and the singing made me sad."
And then there's some that look like this (it sounds way better in Spanish):
"Although he goes at your side,
like a twin cherry of burnished red,
when sin puts its mark on you,
he abandons your body and gathers up your soul."
I'm going to give this 3 stars just because I didn't enjoy the content matter much and I don't think it was something that I loved, but I also don't think it was bad, it was just somewhere in the middle.
I thought most of the poems were simple and plain, they lacked expertise or a magical writing style. Most followed a similar tune (melancholy or celebration) but that did not bother me much.
This is one of the poems:
"I crossed valley, plain and river, and the singing made me sad."
And then there's some that look like this (it sounds way better in Spanish):
"Although he goes at your side,
like a twin cherry of burnished red,
when sin puts its mark on you,
he abandons your body and gathers up your soul."
I'm going to give this 3 stars just because I didn't enjoy the content matter much and I don't think it was something that I loved, but I also don't think it was bad, it was just somewhere in the middle.
August 23, 2016
Overall, I preferred Langston Hughes' translation though I can't give any examples to show why. I did like the accompanying woodcut illustrations by Antonio Frasconi that this volume included.
May 15, 2015
I did not like the early poetry of Gabriela Mistral, although it is evidently much beloved in Chile. Way too overwrought and sentimental for my taste.
But in her middle years she found a voice that resonated with me. She moves out into the world with ideas and imagery that connect nature and the spiritual with the personal. Birds and flowers, water and sky, frame her words and thoughts.
This parallels her own journey from local teacher to world traveler and diplomat working for children, traditional cultures, the dispossessed, peace.
Death makes a frequent appearance. She sees the world's trials and sorrow.
"Here the path breaks it,
here breezes lift it,
wind flurries toss it,
and something I don't know
hurls it to earth again."
Always, Mistral noted the mysteries of life.
Born in 1889, Gabriela Mistral won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1945. 2015 marks the 70th anniversary of that award.
This edition of her selected poems also contains wonderful woodcuts by Antonio Frasconi and text in both Spanish and English.
But in her middle years she found a voice that resonated with me. She moves out into the world with ideas and imagery that connect nature and the spiritual with the personal. Birds and flowers, water and sky, frame her words and thoughts.
This parallels her own journey from local teacher to world traveler and diplomat working for children, traditional cultures, the dispossessed, peace.
Death makes a frequent appearance. She sees the world's trials and sorrow.
"Here the path breaks it,
here breezes lift it,
wind flurries toss it,
and something I don't know
hurls it to earth again."
Always, Mistral noted the mysteries of life.
Born in 1889, Gabriela Mistral won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1945. 2015 marks the 70th anniversary of that award.
This edition of her selected poems also contains wonderful woodcuts by Antonio Frasconi and text in both Spanish and English.
Shelved as 'xx-dnf-skim-reference'
June 18, 2016Some reviews for this on GR are for a different edition, and some editions seem to be much different. ISBN 0801812569 and 080181197X are both in my edition, by Johns Hopkins Press, the coppery-brownish cover. This one does have facing-page translations, 3 pre-faces, and a few illustrations by Frasconi. The translator, Dana, explains why translations cannot do the poet justice, and so, since I do not read Spanish, I decided only to skim the book.
I do quite like "The Other" which begins:
"I killed one of me,
one I did not love.
She was the flame
of mountain cactus.
She was drought and fire,
thirstless."
I also like that the 'index' is a list of the poems as sorted by "themes." Not sure I agree with the interpretation thereof, but it's a help.
I do quite like "The Other" which begins:
"I killed one of me,
one I did not love.
She was the flame
of mountain cactus.
She was drought and fire,
thirstless."
I also like that the 'index' is a list of the poems as sorted by "themes." Not sure I agree with the interpretation thereof, but it's a help.
June 6, 2015
To get lost in her poetry is to spend time in paradise. Dame La Mano, what love poems should be.
August 11, 2016
منذ عشرين عاما وفي صدري
وقد شقّ بخنجر
وضع بيت شِعر هائل ، متطاول
كالموجة الشاسعة في البحر
[image error]
May 10, 2022
I finished this sensational selection of poetry last night and have been trying to decide how to review it. I decided the best way is to just quote a couple of the poems. I knew this was going to be a good book when I read this opening poem titled "The Strong Woman":
I remember your face, set deep in my days,
woman of the blue skirt and sunburnt forehead,
whom I saw in my childhood, in my land of ambrosia,
break the black furrow open in fiery April.
In the tavern, lifting the vile cup and drinking deep,
was the man who fixed a child to your white breast;
and under the searing brand of that memory
the seed slipped from your hand, serene.
In January I watched you reap your child's wheat,
and not understanding, kept watching you
with eyes widened by both tears and wonder.
And even now I'd kiss the mud on your feet,
for among a hundred city women, I've never seen your face,
and still I follow your shadow in the furrows with my song.
Another poem that I thought was outstanding is one I think most mothers would agree with titled "Let Him Not Grow Up":
May my little boy
stay just as he is.
He didn't suck my milk
in order to grow up.
A child's not an oak
or a ceiba tree.
Poplars, meadow grasses,
things like that grow tall.
My little boy
can stay a mallow-flower.
He has all he needs,
laughter, frowns, skills,
airs and graces.
He doesn't need to grow.
If he grows they'll all come
winking at him,
worthless women
making him shameless,
or all the big boys
that come by the house.
Let my little boy
see no monsters coming.
May his five summers
be all he knows.
Just as he is
he can dance and be happy.
May his birthdays fit
in the length of a yardstick,
all his Easters
and his Christmas Eves.
Silly women
don't cry. Listen:
the Sun and the stones
are born and don't grow,
they never get older,
they last forever.
In the sheep fold
kids and lambs
grow up and die:
be damned to them!
O my Lord, stop him,
make him stop growing!
Stop him and save him,
don't let my son die!
I remember your face, set deep in my days,
woman of the blue skirt and sunburnt forehead,
whom I saw in my childhood, in my land of ambrosia,
break the black furrow open in fiery April.
In the tavern, lifting the vile cup and drinking deep,
was the man who fixed a child to your white breast;
and under the searing brand of that memory
the seed slipped from your hand, serene.
In January I watched you reap your child's wheat,
and not understanding, kept watching you
with eyes widened by both tears and wonder.
And even now I'd kiss the mud on your feet,
for among a hundred city women, I've never seen your face,
and still I follow your shadow in the furrows with my song.
Another poem that I thought was outstanding is one I think most mothers would agree with titled "Let Him Not Grow Up":
May my little boy
stay just as he is.
He didn't suck my milk
in order to grow up.
A child's not an oak
or a ceiba tree.
Poplars, meadow grasses,
things like that grow tall.
My little boy
can stay a mallow-flower.
He has all he needs,
laughter, frowns, skills,
airs and graces.
He doesn't need to grow.
If he grows they'll all come
winking at him,
worthless women
making him shameless,
or all the big boys
that come by the house.
Let my little boy
see no monsters coming.
May his five summers
be all he knows.
Just as he is
he can dance and be happy.
May his birthdays fit
in the length of a yardstick,
all his Easters
and his Christmas Eves.
Silly women
don't cry. Listen:
the Sun and the stones
are born and don't grow,
they never get older,
they last forever.
In the sheep fold
kids and lambs
grow up and die:
be damned to them!
O my Lord, stop him,
make him stop growing!
Stop him and save him,
don't let my son die!
December 1, 2024
Gabriela Mistral found inspiration in the beauty of nature, the laughter of children, the history of her native Chile, feminist struggle, and most of all in grief. The mournfulness of her poetry is arresting, trapped by the anguished cry in her soul, and liberated by her lyrical verse.
For a Nobel Prize in Literature laureate writing in Spanish, the sparsity of her poetry in English translation is dumbfounded. Ursula K. Le Guin's bilingual collection "Selected Poems of Gabriela Mistral" is a rare gem, bringing to light a poet whose literary output is world class par excellence. With 164 poems, this is one of the largest anthologies of her work in the English language to date. Be it the changing time or fashion, or the predominant disinterest in poetry in the English-speaking world, it is difficult to see how this author ended up in partial obscurity a century after the publication of her first book.
Le Guin chose a few poems from "Desolation" (1922), a collection that is dominated by the emotions felt by a young woman who has lost her only love through death. The love poetry here is a deep sigh of loss, of unfulfilled dreams and emotions that never found birth into reality. The same anguish persists in many poems from "Tenderness" (1924), though here we also find her at her happiest, especially in the songs targeted towards children. An educator by profession, Mistral understood well the necessities of a young heart. Nature also starts shining in her verses, and akin to the ancient people of South America, she strives for the symbiosis between the natural and spiritual world. Nature's moods mimic those of the pulsating soul breathing in the poet's mind. As a river, this theme flows into the poems from "Clearcut" (1938), which take the man's cruelty into the suffering of the nature. The horror of wars trembles with terror in the souls of her heroines, either recounting their personal tragedies, or the painful history of Latin America. We never leave that anguished voice, angry with God and man by the time we get to the poems from "Winepress" (1954), a collection sombre in its grief at the suicide of her only (adopted) son. It is impossible to ignore the soulfulness of "Anniversary", in which a mother's love breaks down into exasperation.
Selections from her symbolist epic "Poem of Chile" (published posthumously in 1967), and four unpublished works complete this edition. The closing poem "Electra in the Fog" is a surprising discovery, for it embodies Gabriela Mistral's mastery, both as an erudite poet, but also one which celebrated feminist concerns in literature, and foremost one that treasured the deep bond between mother and child.
Le Guin's translation (at her own admission) stays away from the strict replication of rhyme and meter. Instead, the translator focused on the melody of Mistral's poetry, a feat which she achieved with excellence. As readers, we find ourselves taken by the hand to listen to a poet's song, that, although mournful, it exalts our souls.
For a Nobel Prize in Literature laureate writing in Spanish, the sparsity of her poetry in English translation is dumbfounded. Ursula K. Le Guin's bilingual collection "Selected Poems of Gabriela Mistral" is a rare gem, bringing to light a poet whose literary output is world class par excellence. With 164 poems, this is one of the largest anthologies of her work in the English language to date. Be it the changing time or fashion, or the predominant disinterest in poetry in the English-speaking world, it is difficult to see how this author ended up in partial obscurity a century after the publication of her first book.
Le Guin chose a few poems from "Desolation" (1922), a collection that is dominated by the emotions felt by a young woman who has lost her only love through death. The love poetry here is a deep sigh of loss, of unfulfilled dreams and emotions that never found birth into reality. The same anguish persists in many poems from "Tenderness" (1924), though here we also find her at her happiest, especially in the songs targeted towards children. An educator by profession, Mistral understood well the necessities of a young heart. Nature also starts shining in her verses, and akin to the ancient people of South America, she strives for the symbiosis between the natural and spiritual world. Nature's moods mimic those of the pulsating soul breathing in the poet's mind. As a river, this theme flows into the poems from "Clearcut" (1938), which take the man's cruelty into the suffering of the nature. The horror of wars trembles with terror in the souls of her heroines, either recounting their personal tragedies, or the painful history of Latin America. We never leave that anguished voice, angry with God and man by the time we get to the poems from "Winepress" (1954), a collection sombre in its grief at the suicide of her only (adopted) son. It is impossible to ignore the soulfulness of "Anniversary", in which a mother's love breaks down into exasperation.
Selections from her symbolist epic "Poem of Chile" (published posthumously in 1967), and four unpublished works complete this edition. The closing poem "Electra in the Fog" is a surprising discovery, for it embodies Gabriela Mistral's mastery, both as an erudite poet, but also one which celebrated feminist concerns in literature, and foremost one that treasured the deep bond between mother and child.
Le Guin's translation (at her own admission) stays away from the strict replication of rhyme and meter. Instead, the translator focused on the melody of Mistral's poetry, a feat which she achieved with excellence. As readers, we find ourselves taken by the hand to listen to a poet's song, that, although mournful, it exalts our souls.
May 19, 2009
So good!
February 20, 2016
"Ni por juego digas
o exageración
que nos separamos
tierra y mar, que son:
ella, sueño y él
ܳԲó"
o exageración
que nos separamos
tierra y mar, que son:
ella, sueño y él
ܳԲó"
November 19, 2018
Mistral is a magnificent poet but very difficult to translate into English. Le Guin has done an amazing job of compiling such a diverse assortment of Mistral's poems, and should be commended for making them available in the one place. But the translations themselves don't always work, and I found myself shocked at times by Le Guin's flat interpretations of Mistral's short, condensed lines. The decision to cram both Spanish and English versions on the same page was also unfortunate.
January 15, 2023
There is a consistent longing and a dreadful potency in Mistral's poetry that comforts the soul and startles the mind and yet for me it felt somehow distant and unreachable. I think, however, that if I ever become pregnant I just might be able to understand it.
Long live the queen mother of Chilean letters!
Long live the queen mother of Chilean letters!
August 5, 2011
Mistral creates vivid characters out of anything: a country, an orchard, the sea, the thin air. These characters tend to tell a quiet, everyday tale where the revelations of more romantic poets would be unnecessary. Mistral is a more reserved Whitman, ready to praise everything but not quite as willing to let it all out at once. While at times her purpose is almost lost in the ebb of her conversational verses, the strong sense that the world operates for a positive purpose is never lost.
Favorite poems:
We Were All Going To Be Queens
Epilogue: The Last Tree
--
I shall leave what I had
of ash and firmament,
my flank full of speech
and my flank full of silence;
the loneliness I gave myself,
the loneliness they gave me,
and the tithe I paid the lightning
of my gentle, severe God.
(From "The Last Tree")
Favorite poems:
We Were All Going To Be Queens
Epilogue: The Last Tree
--
I shall leave what I had
of ash and firmament,
my flank full of speech
and my flank full of silence;
the loneliness I gave myself,
the loneliness they gave me,
and the tithe I paid the lightning
of my gentle, severe God.
(From "The Last Tree")
July 3, 2008
I fell in love with a translation of "She with a Missing Finger" when I stumbled upon it in the 1962 volume of the Hudson Review. I had to read more. Gabriela Mistral was a wonderful talent, underappreciated and undertranslated.
November 26, 2016
loved this poet - I wish that I could have read Spanish to be able to appreciate the original text.
Able to to convey such depth of feeling and also able to paint an entire landscape.
definitely added to my list of favorite poets!
Able to to convey such depth of feeling and also able to paint an entire landscape.
definitely added to my list of favorite poets!
December 22, 2017
Una obra poética llena de simbolismos, que sabe a campo, a agricultores, a tierra mojada, a corcho de vino, muy propia de su forma conservadora pero a la vez progresista de ver la vida, de enseñar y de aprender de Gabriela Mistral, sobre todo muy Latinoamericana.
Read
January 12, 2011لم تعجبني الترجمة
Read
June 16, 2011#
May 6, 2024
There is a stark contrast between the first half of this book, featuring poems Mistral wrote early in her life from 1922 to 1938, and the second half, which is the collection Winepress from 1954. The first poems are a bit more hopeful, despite their topics of despair and death, and deal with a search for God � in short, not the kind of poetry that connects with me. But after winning the Nobel Prize in 1945 and experiencing the Spanish Civil War, World War II, and the deaths of several friends (according to the introduction in this collection), Mistral’s poetry becomes more focused on reflections on pain, suffering, and death. The opening line of the first poem is a stark declaration:
I killed one in me:
one I did not love.
(Another translation, not in this edition, reads: “I killed a woman in me …�)
Although death and nature did appear as themes in her early work, the expressions in these later poems are less of a search and more of a lament, eulogy, or remembrance; less openly speaking of God and more grounded in images of the natural world, even if the verse retains a sense of the spiritual. And when she does describe prayer, as in “The Liana,� it is more connected to nature, and rooted (pardon the pun, as you will see) in death: “My prayer is, and I am not. / It grows, and I perish. / I have only my hard breath, / my reason and my madness. / I cling to the vine of my prayer. / I tend it at the root / of the stalk of night.� Her prayer is her poem, taking root in the decay of her old (perished) self, cultivated in the dark night of twentieth-century suffering.
Mistral uses fewer words and more direct images in these later poems, and I love them far more than her early work. I feel her later two books contain the stronger lyrics.
I killed one in me:
one I did not love.
(Another translation, not in this edition, reads: “I killed a woman in me …�)
Although death and nature did appear as themes in her early work, the expressions in these later poems are less of a search and more of a lament, eulogy, or remembrance; less openly speaking of God and more grounded in images of the natural world, even if the verse retains a sense of the spiritual. And when she does describe prayer, as in “The Liana,� it is more connected to nature, and rooted (pardon the pun, as you will see) in death: “My prayer is, and I am not. / It grows, and I perish. / I have only my hard breath, / my reason and my madness. / I cling to the vine of my prayer. / I tend it at the root / of the stalk of night.� Her prayer is her poem, taking root in the decay of her old (perished) self, cultivated in the dark night of twentieth-century suffering.
Mistral uses fewer words and more direct images in these later poems, and I love them far more than her early work. I feel her later two books contain the stronger lyrics.
September 19, 2021
Review of Winepress, included in Selected Poems
Gabriela Mistral, Chile’s religious, conservative counterpart to the more radical Pablo Neruda � is what I thought before actually reading any of her poetry. On reading this, a selection from her last complete collection, I find poetry that is rather elemental, grief-stricken and unearthly. Published in 1954, nine years after winning the Nobel Prize and three years before her death, Le Guin explains in her introduction that Mistral foregrounded the title of the collection in an earlier poem. “In death’s wide winepress,� Mistral wrote, “still you will not trample out my breast!�, evoking the crush of mortality, the squeeze of blood-purple juices. It is a fittingly visceral, vital image for a death-lurking collection that is nonetheless filled with the defiance of that final exclamation mark. Read more on my .
Gabriela Mistral, Chile’s religious, conservative counterpart to the more radical Pablo Neruda � is what I thought before actually reading any of her poetry. On reading this, a selection from her last complete collection, I find poetry that is rather elemental, grief-stricken and unearthly. Published in 1954, nine years after winning the Nobel Prize and three years before her death, Le Guin explains in her introduction that Mistral foregrounded the title of the collection in an earlier poem. “In death’s wide winepress,� Mistral wrote, “still you will not trample out my breast!�, evoking the crush of mortality, the squeeze of blood-purple juices. It is a fittingly visceral, vital image for a death-lurking collection that is nonetheless filled with the defiance of that final exclamation mark. Read more on my .
February 16, 2023
Que mi dedito lo cogió una almeja,
y que la almeja se cayó en la arena,
y que la arena se la tragó el mar.
Y que del mar la pescó un ballenero
y el ballenero llegó a Gibraltar;
y que en Gibraltar cantan pescadores:
-"Novedad de tierra sacamos del mar,
novedad de un dedito de niña.
¡La que esté manca lo venga a buscar!"
Que me den un barco para ir a traerlo,
y para el barco me den capitán,
para el capitán que me den soldada,
y que por soldada pide la ciudad:
Marsella con torres y plazas y barcos
de todo el mundo la mejor ciudad,
que no será hermosa con una niñita
a la que robó su dedito el mar,
y los balleneros en pregones cantan
y están esperando sobre Gibraltar...
🩵 la manca 🩵
Ya sabéis que estoy haciendo un reto poético de leer distintos poetas mujeres y/o hombres de todo el mundo.
Le tocó el turno a #GabrielaMistral 🌾. No conocía a la autora, para seros realistas. Pero buscando y viendo la repercusión que realizó esta mujer, no dudé en incorporarla en mi reto personal.
Mistral recibió elPremio Nobel de Literaturaen 1945. Fue la primera mujeriberoamericana y la segunda persona latinoamericana en recibir unPremio Nobel.
Por supuesto sus poemas me han gustado, y esta edición es maravillosa, con esas solapas tan coloridas.
«Enseñar siempre: en el patio y en la calle como en la sala de clase. Enseñar con actitud, el gesto y la palabra».
y que la almeja se cayó en la arena,
y que la arena se la tragó el mar.
Y que del mar la pescó un ballenero
y el ballenero llegó a Gibraltar;
y que en Gibraltar cantan pescadores:
-"Novedad de tierra sacamos del mar,
novedad de un dedito de niña.
¡La que esté manca lo venga a buscar!"
Que me den un barco para ir a traerlo,
y para el barco me den capitán,
para el capitán que me den soldada,
y que por soldada pide la ciudad:
Marsella con torres y plazas y barcos
de todo el mundo la mejor ciudad,
que no será hermosa con una niñita
a la que robó su dedito el mar,
y los balleneros en pregones cantan
y están esperando sobre Gibraltar...
🩵 la manca 🩵
Ya sabéis que estoy haciendo un reto poético de leer distintos poetas mujeres y/o hombres de todo el mundo.
Le tocó el turno a #GabrielaMistral 🌾. No conocía a la autora, para seros realistas. Pero buscando y viendo la repercusión que realizó esta mujer, no dudé en incorporarla en mi reto personal.
Mistral recibió elPremio Nobel de Literaturaen 1945. Fue la primera mujeriberoamericana y la segunda persona latinoamericana en recibir unPremio Nobel.
Por supuesto sus poemas me han gustado, y esta edición es maravillosa, con esas solapas tan coloridas.
«Enseñar siempre: en el patio y en la calle como en la sala de clase. Enseñar con actitud, el gesto y la palabra».
March 19, 2018
Ursula is fiercely independent in her translations, what I can make of it, most easily identified for me is the removal of exclamation. She (according to Le Guin herself and my view of a small sample on poetry foundation) favors a more quiet, weird interpretation which I like a lot, in contrast to other translators who forced meter and/or rhyme and disproportionately accentuated the motherly tone on the work. Le Guin has no problems removing "recalcitrant" poems from completed collections, a hatchet job on Desolación. She includes the originals which is wonderful, and useful to understand the meter and rhyme if you have enough sense of Spanish to attempt pronunciation if not comprehension.
January 21, 2023
Mistral’s poems themselves were amazing (though some tested my Spanish), and on their own they merit five stars. However, Le Guin’s translations often left me flat, as they often overlooked, misrepresented, or outright changed some pretty key structures, words, and contexts. I admire her efforts, and if they were her own poems, they would be good and occasionally great, but the English translations show the very real limits of poems translated by somebody who didn’t speak the language (as Le Guin herself noted).
Mistral’s poems: 5 stars
Le Guin’s translations: 2 stars
Mistral’s poems: 5 stars
Le Guin’s translations: 2 stars
March 24, 2022
Mesmerizing in Mistral's capacity to render complex emotions so evocatively, from the thrill and jealousy of passionate love to profound grief, the quiet celebrations of living and the compassionate eye toward suffering. This book contains selections from all four of her publications, which spanned several continents. I can see why her poems for children are so widely popular among Latin American schools and look forward to introducing them to my own children.
July 23, 2019
Reading this collection, I've fallen in love with Mistral's poetry. Her recurring themes make for interesting looks at how symbols develop over a life. The translations and provided backgrounds shed real depth into the works without beating you over the head with "meaning." A fantastic book of poetry that I can't wait to teach.
August 6, 2024
4-4.5
Such a pleasant reading experience! I am happy to have discovered this poetess with so many styles and themes, from god to love to society to nature... I would recommend this one because the words and the metaphors aren't too complicated and the reader doesn't have to ponder over a sentence wondering, "what is the hidden meaning of this or that", you just sit, feel and enjoy.
Such a pleasant reading experience! I am happy to have discovered this poetess with so many styles and themes, from god to love to society to nature... I would recommend this one because the words and the metaphors aren't too complicated and the reader doesn't have to ponder over a sentence wondering, "what is the hidden meaning of this or that", you just sit, feel and enjoy.
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