One of the wonders of high school is that you’re sometimes forced to do something that you actually end up liking -- or wanted to do anyway.
I had such luck this past year in my Spanish class, in which my classmates and I read many works from famous Latin American writers. I had wanted to start reading poetry written in Spanish for fun before it became a regular homework assignment, but not knowing where to start did not incite my lazy bones to new action. So really, though I sometimes dreaded sitting down to do my homework, on some level I was happy that poetry and short stories had become required assignments. Some of them I found uncaptivating despite their fame -- sorry, but just because it's in a romance language does not make it inherently charming. Others, though, I acutely adored.
One such work was a poem called Hombre Pequeñito by Alfonsina Storní. Storní was actually born in Switzerland in 1892, but is ethnically Argentinian and moved to Buenos Aires at a later point in her life. Many of her poems reflect an attitude of rebellion against traditional gender roles in which women are considered submissive and inferior to men, often by being blunt as hell or through sheer mockery. I loved discussing feminism and machismo culture ("a particular brand of Latin American patriarchy") in class and Storní was not only one of my favorite poets to study, but is now one of my favorite poets of all time.
Like all good poems, Storní's Hombre Pequeñito, to which I owe the name of this blog, can be interpreted a variety of ways, though all avenues point toward the same essential meaning. You'll be smart enough to understand Storní's symbol of a caged canary implies the inequality between men and women, but that's not my favorite part of the poem. It's not even her sass, as she calls a man pequeñito, or little, (actually a step beyond "little" : pequeño = little, the suffix -ito = little, so he's doubly little), because he cannot understand her as an independent being. My favorite part of the poem is something I discovered more recently, hidden in the single word estuve.
Storní says she was in the cage; she no longer is. But estuve is not just the word "was", the past tense of to be. Spanish has two past tenses, the imperfect and the preterite. When learning Spanish as a second language, one is taught that the imperfect is used to speak of emotions, habits, and past actions without a definitive end, while the preterite is always used for actions that are seen as completed.* Finished. Final. Over. Done. She is no longer caged. Yet here Storní is, still asking to be set free. She is free but she is still asking to be free; oh, how I love the paradox. Though she considers herself a free and independent woman, is there not still the need for others to acknowledge her as more than a pretty songbird in order for her voice to truly be heard?
Here's to being libre : free, as in without restrictions. But don't be gratis : free, as in for zero price. Why do those meanings share the same word in English? I don't get it. Freedom is not worthless; it's priceless. I digress. Spanish is cool.
Without further ado.
I had such luck this past year in my Spanish class, in which my classmates and I read many works from famous Latin American writers. I had wanted to start reading poetry written in Spanish for fun before it became a regular homework assignment, but not knowing where to start did not incite my lazy bones to new action. So really, though I sometimes dreaded sitting down to do my homework, on some level I was happy that poetry and short stories had become required assignments. Some of them I found uncaptivating despite their fame -- sorry, but just because it's in a romance language does not make it inherently charming. Others, though, I acutely adored.
One such work was a poem called Hombre Pequeñito by Alfonsina Storní. Storní was actually born in Switzerland in 1892, but is ethnically Argentinian and moved to Buenos Aires at a later point in her life. Many of her poems reflect an attitude of rebellion against traditional gender roles in which women are considered submissive and inferior to men, often by being blunt as hell or through sheer mockery. I loved discussing feminism and machismo culture ("a particular brand of Latin American patriarchy") in class and Storní was not only one of my favorite poets to study, but is now one of my favorite poets of all time.
Like all good poems, Storní's Hombre Pequeñito, to which I owe the name of this blog, can be interpreted a variety of ways, though all avenues point toward the same essential meaning. You'll be smart enough to understand Storní's symbol of a caged canary implies the inequality between men and women, but that's not my favorite part of the poem. It's not even her sass, as she calls a man pequeñito, or little, (actually a step beyond "little" : pequeño = little, the suffix -ito = little, so he's doubly little), because he cannot understand her as an independent being. My favorite part of the poem is something I discovered more recently, hidden in the single word estuve.
Storní says she was in the cage; she no longer is. But estuve is not just the word "was", the past tense of to be. Spanish has two past tenses, the imperfect and the preterite. When learning Spanish as a second language, one is taught that the imperfect is used to speak of emotions, habits, and past actions without a definitive end, while the preterite is always used for actions that are seen as completed.* Finished. Final. Over. Done. She is no longer caged. Yet here Storní is, still asking to be set free. She is free but she is still asking to be free; oh, how I love the paradox. Though she considers herself a free and independent woman, is there not still the need for others to acknowledge her as more than a pretty songbird in order for her voice to truly be heard?
Here's to being libre : free, as in without restrictions. But don't be gratis : free, as in for zero price. Why do those meanings share the same word in English? I don't get it. Freedom is not worthless; it's priceless. I digress. Spanish is cool.
Without further ado.
Hombre Pequeñito
Alfonsina Storní
Alfonsina Storní
Hombre pequeñito, hombre pequeñito, Suelta a tu canario que quiere volar... Yo soy el canario, hombre pequeñito, Déjame saltar. Estuve en tu jaula, hombre pequeñito, Hombre pequeñito que jaula me das. Digo pequeñito porque no me entiendes, Ni me entenderás. Tampoco te entiendo, pero mientras tanto, Ábreme la jaula que quiero escapar; Hombre pequeñito, te amé media hora, No me pidas más. | Little man, little man, Set free your canary which wants to fly... I am the canary, little man, Allow me to fly. I was in your cage, little man, Little man that gives me a cage. I say "little" because you don't understand me, Nor will you understand me. Nor do I understand you, but in the meantime, Open for me the cage that I want to escape; Little man, I loved you half an hour, Don't ask me for more. |
Also check out her poem Tú me quieres blanca. It's a slam poem, really, though I haven't come across any audio of it read as such. It's currently my favorite poem by Storní.
*How the preterite and the imperfect are actually used is not always as clear cut as we are taught in Spanish class. The imperfect tense estaba is used more regularly than estuve in similar contexts as the one I refer to in the poem, though both are correct. In my eyes, Storní's use of the preterite tense reinforces that there was a definite end to her symbolic jail time. As a Spanish language student who has been taught that the preterite is used for completed actions, tense choice may mean more to me than it should. But as a writer who is picky with her own words, I’m willing to bet that her choice in using the preterite over the imperfect was deliberate.
Note:
Original Spanish text of "Hombre Pequeñito" from Panoramas literarios América hispana. English translation by me. Sources for biographical information on Alfonsina Storní from los-poetas.com and Panoramas literarios América hispana.