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Are we the prisoners of our love and our identity? In sensitive and strong writing, Virginia Brindis de Salas shows us the fibers of her heart. In the prologue, the heart is the "Jailer that opens the doors, systole and diastole" of this prison. In a collection of 17 poems, we see the feelings of a life experience determined by her skin color and identity, Afro-Uruguayan.
One Hundred Prisons of Love (Cien Cárceles de Amor) opens the white curtains that cover Southern Cone poetry. A fog that doesn't let us see what the black and indigenous hands were weaving in those lands. Colorism did its "fair" share here. However, it didn't win.
The poems that stand out most are about the African diaspora's identity and the oppression suffered by them. In a portrait of the ancestors who forcefully work in plantations or in the profile of a woman who works as a housekeeper, Brindis traces the injustice in a protest. In poems like "Cantos" and "Hay algo en mis venas," we see identity pulsating within her. And "Navidad Palermitana" demonstrates the cultural strength of the black community and the joy that comes when you can be yourself in your own culture.
Likewise, there are love poems. "Crisantemos," "La Carta," and "Mi Corazón" are about love with painful notes. The love that never happens, the person who waits for the beloved, the end of a profound relationship. It made me think a lot regarding the statements I heard about the Black woman's loneliness and how that romantic and delicate love can be denied with such a constant and cruel frequency.
The book is structured in 5 sections. The first and last sections demonstrate how much Virginia was known in her time. They consist of a prologue written by Isaura Bajac de Borges and followed by a section of praise from authors from all over the Americas, such as the Chilean Nobel Prize winner in Literature Gabriela Mistral. The book is finished with 5 poems dedicated to the author.
Me cabe el cañaveral en cuatro dedos de ron. Poco paga el yanqui ya por este millón de cañas que el negro sembró y cortó. Mas no me trago este trago, porque es trago de sudor. Aquí el borracho es marino, pero si se pone a andar se ve que es de tierra el mar. La ola suelta de un trago aquí siempre es de huracán. | The cane field fits me in four fingers of rum. The Yankee pays little now for a million sugarcanes that the black man sowed and cut. But I won't swallow this drink, because it is a drink of sweat. Here the drunk is a sailor, but if he starts walking It is seen that the sea is made of land. The wave released in one gulp It's always a hurricane here. |
Excerpt from "Abuelito Mon" | |
Before we reach her poems, she enlightens us on her two illustrious relatives, who "wore the crown of glory and the cross of martyrdom." Two famous black artists in Buenos Aires were the Cuban violinist Claudio Brindis Salas and the Argentine minstrel Gabino Ezeiza. Both were geniuses in their art but ended up in poverty and neglected. She tries to touch on their brilliance, requesting blessings for her art. At the same time, she demonstrates that their race determined their final destiny.
Despite not being published in other languages, it is possible to find various studies and book translations on the internet of two poems from this book in Portuguese and English. Her book is available in the Uruguayan online library as public domain in Spanish.
It's an essential book not only for the black community but for all of us from South and Latin America. And North America too. As part of how our society was, how it is, and how we can make it better.
Undoubtedly, I will read it multiple times.
Note: All quotes mentioned above are a loose translation.
About the Writer
Virginia Brindis (1908-1958) was an Afro-Uruguayan poet born in Montevideo. One of the first black authors to be published in Uruguay, her work was overlooked and full of controversies due to her humble origins and her race. An activist in the black movement, she actively participated in the intellectual and political life of Uruguay.
Other Books: "Pregón de Marimorena" (1946)
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