WOMEN POETS to celebrate March 8th, an International Women's Day

Women's Day is an important celebration for the achievements and gains made by women around the world. A major day of global celebration for the economic, political and social achievements of women. Let us remember two poet women for us to read today

Emily Dickinson Poems

I'm Nobody! Who are you? by Emily Dickinson I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you -- Nobody -- Too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise -- you know!

How dreary -- to be -- Somebody!
How public -- like a Frog --
To tell one's name -- the livelong June --
To an admiring Bog!

Sample of Rosalía de Castro's Poetry

I was born with plants in blossom,
In a month when gardens grew,
In a dawn so very gentle,
In a dawn of April dew.
That’s the reason why I’m Rosa,
With a grin gone red with rue,
Bristling thorns for everybody
(Never, though, a thorn for you).
Since I fell in love (a thankless
Thing I did) life’s gone askew
And I let it go, believing
You my life and glory too.
Why then this complaining, Mauro?
Why the rage? You know it’s true—
If my dying made you happy,
Happily I’d die for you.
Still you stab me with a dagger
Spiked with curses. Not a clue
What it was you really wanted,
Crazy deeds you made me do!
All I had to give I gave you
In my hungering for you.
Now my shuttered heart I send you
With the only master key.
I’ve got nothing left to give you,
You’ve no more to ask of me.
From the original Galician "Nasín cand' as prantas nasen"




















NASÍN CAND' AS PRANTAS
NASEN ... I WAS BORN AT BIRTH OF
BLOSSOMS ...
Nasín cand' as prantas nasen,
No mes das froles nasín,
Nunha alborada mainiña,
Nunha alborada d'abril.
Por eso me chaman Rosa,
Mais á do triste sorrir,
Con espiñas para todos,
Sin ningunha para ti.
Dés que te quixen, ingrato,
Todo acabou para min,
Que eras ti para mín todo,
Miña groria e meu vivir.
¿De qué, pois, te queixas, Mauro?
¿De qué, pois, te queixas, di,
Cando sabes que morrera
Por te contemplar felís?
Duro cravo me encravaches
Con ese teu maldesir,
Con ese teu pedir tolo
Que non sei qué quer de min,
Pois dinche canto dar puden
Avariciosa de ti,

O meu coraçón che mando
C'unha chave para ó abrir;
Nin eu teño máis que darche,
Nin ti máis que me pedir.