by Kristen McHenry

“Men think a talented woman a veritable calamity, and would rather marry the ass of Balaam than a bright girl.” *

Such is the complaint of Rosalía de Castro, early feminist, poet and novelist from the Galician region of Spain. Though her literary talents were disregarded for most of her life, several decades after her death, de Castro’s poetry became a major influence on Fredrico García Lorca and other Spanish Romantic poets. Today, she is revered in Galicia and is considered a champion of the poor and downtrodden.

De Castro was born 1837 into an well-to-do family. At that time in Spain it was traditional for girls of her social standing to be given over as children to rural peasant families, then reclaimed when they came of age. Through this arrangement, de Castro grew up in the impoverished Galicia countryside and developed a deep love of Galician lore and poetry, as well a life-long empathy for the poor and powerless.

When she was 14, she was reclaimed by her mother and enrolled in a girl’s school in Santiago where she studied music, art and writing. But the Galician countryside was in her blood and she was often homesick.  Scholars believe much of the pain and melancholy that permeates her poetry is a result of both the early separation from her mother and her longing to return to Galicia.

In 1856 de Castro moved to Madrid, where she wrote her first collection of poems, La Flor. The book captured the attention of Manuel Murguía, a journalist and editor, who gave the book a glowing review. The two soon married and she bore seven children, two of whom died within the first year of their lives. Married life was marred by financial troubles and grief over the death of their children, but de Castro managed to be fairly prolific, producing five novels and seven volumes of poetry before she died.

De Castro’s work has not been as widely translated as many other Spanish poets, and she is still sometimes unfairly described as a regional poet. Galicia was considered provincial and much of the disregard for her poetry was due to the fact that that she wrote mostly in Galician, a form of Portuguese. Translator Eduardo Freire Canosa explains: “Expected to speak and write in Spanish only, she took the bold, unconventional step of writing in the Galician language. Her defiance earned her the contempt and spite of that segment of the population for whom Galician was a dialect fit only for the illiterate and the churlish; but Rosalia’s gallant gesture won her the love and admiration of the rest.”

Later in life, de Castro became a champion of the Galician people and an outspoken advocate for Galician women, who were often abandoned and left defenseless when their husbands sought work abroad.

“A Disgracia” (“Misfortune”) exemplifies the quality of saudade — a Galician word meaning sadness and longing — a concept that runs throughout much of de Castro’s work.

Fae that is never
Satisfied, who redoubles her fury
At the bloodied sight of the deep wound,
Where does she come from? What does she want?
Why do you indulge her,
Mighty God who gaze on our woes?
Do you not see, Lord, that her force strangles
Faith and love in the spirit who trusts you?
How she hardens the heart that was
Once all softness! How she snuffs out
The light of hope which decanted a tranquil luster
Of existence on the heavenly bodies
Lending new vigor to the weary step
And greater courage to the fearful soul!
Everything wilts where she treads, her sole
Accursed ruins everything for evermore;
Her sticky mire muddles everything.
And what a deep hole she digs around
Whom she badgers!

“Follas Novas” (“New Medleys”) reflects de Castro’s strong sense of social justice:

Listen! The tax collectors
Are making the run of the hamlet;
But how to pay them, how, if one
Can’t even afford the rent?
“They will impound everything;
Their sort has no conscience or soul.
They will evict us,
Children of my innards!
“May a black hand strike you down
Before you get here…!
How sadly beat the hearts of the poor
When you are near!”
“Mary, if it weren’t
Because there is a God who punishes and rewards,
I would kill those men
Like the fox slays a hen.”
“Silence! Don’t blaspheme,
This is a vale of tears…!
But why must some suffer so much
And others pass their lives in gladness?

In “Has de Cantar” (“You Must Sing”), the sound of a young girl singing in the town square brings much-needed solace to the grief-stricken speaker.

Sing yes you must,
I’ll give you boiled chestnuts;
Sing yes you must,
I‘ll give you loads of them.

You must sing,
Little piperette,
You must sing
For I’m dying of heartache

Sing, little girl,
By the side of the fountain;
Sing, I will give you
Buns of polenta.

Sing, little girl,
With delicate cadence,
I’ll give you anisette crust cake
From the stone of the oven.

Pastry cream with milk
Too I will give you,
Soups seasoned with wine,
French toasts covered with honey.

….With the sound of the bagpipes,
With the sound of the drum
I beg do please sing,
Little girl—for the sake of God!

Rosalía de Castro did not begin to receive wide acclaim for her work until the publication of her last book in 1884, En las orillas del Sar (Beside the River Sar), which was written while she was suffering from terminal cancer. She died at the age of 47. At her request, her remaining manuscripts were destroyed by her daughter. Today, she is considered a major voice in Galician poetry and a key catalyst for the Galician renaissance.

If you find yourself in the Galicia region of Spain, you can visit Rosalía de Castro’s home, which has been turned into a museum.

* Rosalía De Castro in her 1856 book, Literary Women.

Translations are by Eduardo Freire Canosa and are used with kind permission. (He is happy to share these poems and others freely, so great is his admiration for de Castro’s work.)

Kristen McHenry works on poetry by night and health outreach by day. She created and facilitates the Poet’s Cafe, a weekly poetry workshop for homeless teens. She shares poetry and her thoughts on writing at The Good Typist.