Welcome back to CríticaZoma. I'm John, and as always, I'm here with Grace. Today, we're diving into the roots of feminist poetry in Latin America, and honestly, you can't start that story without Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.Absolutely, John. Sor Juana is, well, she's almost mythical at this point. Seventeenth-century New Spain, a nun, a scholar, and a poet who—against all odds—defended women's right to think, to learn, to write. Her poem "Hombres necios que acusáis" is just... iconic. It's a direct challenge to the hypocrisy of men who blame women for the very things they encourage.Yeah, and it's wild to think about the risks she took. I mean, she was writing in a time when women weren't supposed to have opinions, let alone publish them. She was basically calling out the entire patriarchal system, right?Exactly. And you see these protofeminist themes—she's not using the word "feminism," of course, but she's defending women's intellect, their right to education. She was so ahead of her time. I remember, actually, the first time I read Sor Juana was as a student in Madrid. I was maybe nineteen? I picked up her poems for a class, and I just... I couldn't believe how bold she was. That was the moment I realized feminist literature wasn't just theory—it was lived, it was dangerous, and it was necessary.That's such a great story, Grace. And I think it's easy to forget how much she risked. She faced real consequences—censorship, pressure from the church, even being forced to give up her library. But her words survived. They still hit hard, centuries later.So, moving forward a couple centuries, we get to the early 20th century and this explosion of women poets—Alfonsina Storni, Juana de Ibarbourou, Gabriela Mistral, Delmira Agustini. They were part of modernismo, but also kind of breaking away from it, right?Yeah, and what stands out to me is how they had to carve out space for themselves. A lot of them published under pseudonyms, or in these little literary magazines that were mostly run by men. It was like, if you wanted to be heard, you had to be clever about it.And yet, Alfonsina Storni, for example, managed to get into the tertulias—the literary salons—where women weren't usually welcome. She was fearless. And she didn't just write quietly; she debated, she argued, she took on critics in public. There's that famous case with her poem "Sábado," where she basically confronted her detractors head-on.Right, and each of these poets brought something different. Storni with her irony and social criticism, Ibarbourou with her celebration of the body and nature, Mistral with her deep lyricism and themes of justice, and Agustini—she wrote about erotic desire in a way that was, I mean, it was shocking for the time. They all claimed the right to speak from their own experience, from their bodies, from their intellect. That was radical.And it wasn't just about being published—it was about being heard, being taken seriously. They were pushing against a literary world that didn't really want them there. But they made themselves impossible to ignore.Let's dig a little deeper into Storni, because her poetry really set the tone for so much that came after. Poems like "Ella," "Sábado," and especially "Tú me quieres blanca"—they're all about resisting the roles women were supposed to play. "Ella" is this tension between domesticity and desire, right?Yes, and in "Sábado," you get this sense of solitude, of a woman who refuses to just accept the conventions of love. But "Tú me quieres blanca"—that one is a direct confrontation. She's calling out the double standards, the way men demand purity from women but don't hold themselves to the same standard. The color symbolism—white, red, black, mother-of-pearl—it's all so deliberate.And the way she flips the gaze—suddenly, it's the woman judging the man. That's not something you saw much before her. She uses nature as this purifying force, almost like she's saying, "Go cleanse yourself before you come to me." It's powerful stuff. Actually, I remember editing an anthology a few years ago, and we included Storni's work. The younger poets were so excited—her influence is still everywhere in feminist poetry.Absolutely. And her use of free verse, her colloquial language—it made her poetry accessible, but also sharp. She wasn't just writing for the elite; she was writing for women who saw themselves in her words. That's why she still resonates.And after Storni, you see this ripple effect. Her techniques—free verse, everyday language, that directness—they show up in so many later poets. Poetry workshops, feminist literary circles, all these spaces started popping up where women could write, share, and critique each other's work. It was a real community.Yes, and you get these contemporary poets who openly say, "Storni is my inspiration." They take her themes—gender, desire, resistance—and update them for their own time. But they also borrow her style, her willingness to break the rules. It's like, every generation finds something new in her work.And it's not just about imitation. It's about transformation. These poets are using Storni's legacy to talk about issues that matter now—violence, identity, justice. They're building on what she started, but they're also making it their own.So, fast forward to today, and the landscape is totally different. Digital platforms, social media—women poets in Latin America are sharing their work with huge audiences, building communities that cross borders. It's a whole new world.Definitely. You see poets like Cristina Rivera Garza, Gioconda Belli, María Baranda—they're not just writing about gender, they're tackling social justice, migration, identity. And they're using every tool available—multimedia, performance, even video art. It's not just about the written word anymore.And that integration of performance and technology really amplifies their voices. They're challenging what poetry can be, and who gets to participate. It's exciting, honestly. And it all traces back to those early voices—Sor Juana, Storni, and the rest—who refused to stay silent.Exactly. The boundaries keep shifting, but the core is the same: women using poetry to claim space, to challenge, to inspire. And I think that's a good place to wrap up for today. There's so much more to explore, but we'll save that for next time.Yeah, I can't wait. Thanks for listening, everyone. Grace, always a pleasure.Thank you, John. And thank you to everyone out there. Until next time—read them, teach them, share them. Bye!Bye, everyone.

Episodes

Feminist Voices in Latin American Poetry