Alfonsina Storni (May 29, 1892 – October 25, 1938) was one of the most important Argentine and Latin-American poets of the modernist period (Wikipedia). She was also an early feminist poet, as this poem clearly shows.
Much of this translation was a group effort with help from Melissa Gioia and Laura Hakala.//
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Tú Me Quieres Blanca Tú me quieres alba, Me quieres de espumas, Me quieres de nácar. Que sea azucena Sobre todas, casta. De perfume tenue. Corola cerrada Ni un rayo de luna Filtrado me haya. Ni una margarita Se diga mi hermana. Tú me quieres nívea, Tú me quieres blanca, Tú me quieres alba. Tú que hubiste todas Las copas a mano, De frutos y mieles Los labios morados. Tú que en el banquete Cubierto de pámpanos Dejaste las carnes Festejando a Baco. Tú que en los jardines Negros del Engaño Vestido de rojo Corriste al Estrago. Tú que el esqueleto Conservas intacto No sé todavía Por cuáles milagros, Me pretendes blanca (Dios te lo perdone), Me pretendes casta (Dios te lo perdone), ¡Me pretendes alba! Huye hacia los bosques, Vete a la montaña; Límpiate la boca; Vive en las cabañas; Toca con las manos La tierra mojada; Alimenta el cuerpo Con raíz amarga; Bebe de las rocas; Duerme sobre escarcha; Renueva tejidos Con salitre y agua; Habla con los pájaros Y lévate al alba. Y cuando las carnes Te sean tornadas, Y cuando hayas puesto En ellas el alma Que por las alcobas Se quedó enredada, Entonces, buen hombre, Preténdeme blanca, Preténdeme nívea, Preténdeme casta.
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You Who Want Me White You want me dawn, You want me sea foam, You want me mother of pearl To be a lily Above all, chaste. Of faint perfume. An unopened blossom. Not even a moonbeam To caress me. Nor a daisy that may call herself my sister. You want me snow, You want me white, You want me dawn. You who had all The drinks at hand, With lips stained From fruits and honey. You who were in the feast, Who were covered with leaves, Who destroyed the flesh To celebrate Bacchus. You who in the black Gardens of deception Dressed in red Ran to ruin. You who still preserve Your skeleton. I don’t even know For what miracles You expect me white (May god forgive you), You expect me chaste (May god forgive you), You expect me dawn. Run away to the forest Leave for the mountains; Clean your mouth; Live in the shacks; Touch with your hands The wet earth; Feed your body With bitter root; Drink from the rocks, Sleep on the frost; Renew your flesh With salt and water; Speak with the birds And get up with dawn. And when your flesh Returns to you, And when you have put In it the soul, Which in the bedroom Was left tangled, Then, good man, Expect me white, Expect me snow, Expect me chaste.
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