Santiago de Compostela

  • On Saturday 3rd, we went to Santiago de Compostela.

    We visited tha town and we read poems by women in the different languages in the Praza de Praterías.


    We also visited the Museo do Pobo Galego to find out more about Galician women.


    The manifesto and the poems

    Santiago de Compostela. Praza de Praterías – 3 February 2018

    Santiago de Compostela.

    People from all over the world.

    Hundreds of years of shared interests and values.

    Today, we are students from 5 different European countries.

    We worry about Human Rights.

    We worry about women and their problems today.

    Praza de Praterías, in English, square of silversmiths. The past and the present of a tradition of artisans.

    Praza de Praterías. Women.

    The Fountain of the Horses.

    The woman with a star on top is the symbol of Compostela.

    A fountain. Women carrying heavy pots of water in the past. Women, traditional water providers yesterday here and today still in many parts of the world. But also, women’s everyday meeting point in the past.

    The Romanesque façade of this cathedral. Representative of women in their traditional roles: saints and sinners.

    To the right, Virgin Mary, symbol of purity and mother of God, distanced from carnal desires and a role model for women.

    To the left, Eve, responsible for death on Earth, and a figure with a skull on her lap which is said to be either the very Eve or the adulteress, condemned by her husband to carry and kiss the skull of her dead lover twice a day.

    Here we want to shout against women’s discrimination, against violence towards women, and we want to make of this, a claim for respect and freedom.

    We compromise to reflect and help overcome these inequalities in our daily lives.

    Also, as a group of worried and committed European teenagers, we will create a book club and share literary texts by women.

    Here we want to raise our voice against women’s discrimination.

    And we’ll do it by reading texts written by women in five different languages, the languages of our countries: France, Greece, Italy, Romania and Spain.

    France. A witch like the others by Anne Sylvestre read by Gaya Redoute

    Greece. Recognition Sign by KIKI DIMOULA read by Gina Kalliora

    Italy. TO  WOMEN by Alda Merini read by Alessia Maffei

    Romania. Game by Ileana Malancioiu read by Stefania Gazacu

    Spain. WOMEN text written in Galician by Iria Rivas read by Lara Barroso


    Anne Sylvestre ‘Une sorcière comme les autres’

    Je vous ai porté vivant

    Je vous ai porté enfant

    Dieu comme vous étiez lourd

    Pesant votre poids d’amour

    Je vous ai porté encore

    À l’heure de votre mort

    Je vous ai porté des fleurs

    Je vous ai morcelé mon coeur

    Quand vous jouiez à la guerre

    Moi je gardais la maison

    J’ai usé de mes prières

    Les barreaux de vos prisons

    Quand vous mourriez sous les bombes

    Je vous cherchais en hurlant

    Me voilà comme une tombe

    Avec tout le malheur dedans

    Ce n’est que moi, c'est elle ou moi

    Celle qui parle ou qui se tait

    Celle qui pleure ou qui est gaie

    C’est Jeanne d’Arc ou bien Margot

    Fille de vague ou de ruisseau

    Et c'est mon coeur ou bien le leur

    Et c'est la soeur ou l’inconnue

    Celle qui n’est jamais venue

    Celle qui est venue trop tard

    Fille de rêve ou de hasard

    Et c’est ma mère ou la vôtre

    Une sorcière comme les autres

    Anne Sylvestre, A witch like the others


    I carried you alive

    I carried you child

    God how heavy you were

    Weighing your love weight

    I carried you again

    At the time of your death

    I brought you flowers

    I split my heart for you

    When you played war

    I kept the house

    I used my prayers

    The bars of your prisons

    When you died under the bombs

    I was looking for you screaming

    Here I am like a grave

    With despair inside me

    It's only me, it's her or me

    The one who speaks or is silent

    The one who cries or is happy

    It's Joan of Arc or Margot

    Daughter of a wave or stream

    And it's my heart or theirs

    And it's the sister or the unknown

    The one that never came

    The one that came too late

    Daughter of chance or dreams

    And it's my mother, or yours

    A witch like the others


    Σημεῖο Ἀναγνωρίσεως

    ἄγαλμα γυναίκας μέ δεμένα χέρια


     Ὅλοι σέ λένε κατευθείαν ἄγαλμα,
    ἐγώ σέ πρσφωνῶ γυναίκα κατευθείαν. 

    Στολίζεις κάποιο πάρκο1.
    Ἀπό μακριά ἐξαπατᾶς.

    Θαρρεῖ κανείς πώς ἔχεις ἐλαφρά ἀνακαθήσει 
    νά θυμηθεῖς ἕνα ὡραῖο ὄνειρο πού εἶδες,
    πώς παίρνεις φόρα νά τό ζήσεις.
    Ἀπό κοντά ξεκαθαρίζει τό ὄνειρο: 
    δεμένα εἶναι πισθάγκωνα τά χέρια σου

    μ' ἕνα σκοινί μαρμάρινο
    κι ἡ στάση σου εἶναι ἡ θέλησή σου 
    κάτι νά σέ βοηθήσει νά ξεφύγεις 
    τήν ἀγωνία τοῦ αἰχμάλωτου. 
    Ἔτσι σέ παραγγείλανε στό γλύπτη:



    Δέν μπορεῖς
    οὔτε μιά βροχή νά ζυγίσεις στό χέρι σου, 
    οὔτε μιά ἐλαφριά μαργαρίτα.
    Δεμένα εἶναι τά χέρια σου.

    Καί δέν εἶν' τό μάρμαρο μόνο ὁ Ἄργος.2
    Ἄν κάτι πήγαινε ν' ἀλλάξει
    στήν πορεία τῶν μαρμάρων,
    ἄν ἄρχιζαν τ' ἀγάλματα ἀγῶνες
    γιά ἐλευθερίες καί ἰσότητες,

    ὅπως οἱ δοῦλοι,
    οἱ νεκροί
    καί τό αἴσθημά μας,
    ἐσύ θά πορευόσουνα
    μές στήν κοσμογονία τῶν μαρμάρων

    μέ δεμένα πάλι τά χέρια, αἰχμάλωτη.

    Ὅλοι σέ λένε κατευθείαν ἄγαλμα, 
    ἐγώ σέ λέω γυναίκα ἀμέσως. 
    Ὄχι γιατί γυναίκα σέ παρέδωσε 

    στό μάρμαρο ὁ γλύπτης

    κι ὑπόσχονται οἱ γοφοί σου 
    εὐγονία3 ἀγαλμάτων, 
    καλή σοδειά ἀκινησίας.
    Γιά τά δεμένα χέρια σου, πού ἔχεις 
    ὅσους πολλούς αἰῶνες σέ γνωρίζω,

    σέ λέω γυναίκα. 

    Σέ λέω γυναίκα 
    γιατ' εἶσ’ αἰχμάλωτη.


    (Τό λίγο τοῦ κόσμου, 1971)  

    Κική Δημουλά



    img34   Σχετική εικόνα   Σχετική εικόνα

    Recognition Sign

    (a statue of a woman with tied hands)


    (Translation: Maria Dimitropoulou 28/1/2018)


    They all call you a statue, straight away,
    I, straight away, call you a woman.

    The ornament of a park. (1)

    Misleading us from a distance.


    One might think you have lightly sat up

    to remember a fine dream you saw,
    that you are speeding up to live it.

    But coming closer, the dream is revealed:
    your hands are tied up behind your back


    with a marble rope
    and your posture is your will
    for something to help you escape
    from the agony of a captive.

    That’s how you were ordered to the sculptor:

    a captive.


    You cannot even
    weigh a rain in your hand,
    not even a light daisy.
    Tied up are your hands.


    And your Argus is not only the marble. (2)
    If something was about to change
    in the course of the marbles,
    if the statues started fights

    over freedoms and equalities,


    just like the slaves would do
    or the dead
    and our feeling,

    you would walk through
    the cosmogony of the marbles

    having your hands tied up once more, a captive.


    You are instantly called a statue,
    I call you instantly a woman.

    Not because you were handed in by the sculptor
    as a woman to the marble

    and your hips promise 

    good and affluent birth of statues,
    good harvest of immobility.
    It’s for the tied hands you have

    throughout all the centuries that I have known you

    that’s why I call you a woman.

    I call you a woman
    because you are a captive.

    1. It’s about the marble sculpture of Konstantinos Seferlis “The Northern Epirus” (1951) which is situated at the Tositsa Square in Athens. The tied up woman is perceived, not as a historical and national allegory, but rather as a symbol of social oppression of women.
    2. Argus Panoptes, is a many-eyed giant in Greek mythology set by Hera as a very effective watchman of Io. Io has been the mythic symbol of the oppressed and persecuted woman



    Alda Merini (1995)

    Fragile, opulenta donna, matrice del paradiso

    sei un granello di colpa

    anche agli occhi di Dio

    malgrado le tue sante guerre

    per l’emancipazione.

    Spaccarono la tua bellezza

    e rimane uno scheletro d’amore

    che però grida ancora vendetta

    e soltanto tu riesci

    ancora a piangere,

    poi ti volgi e vedi ancora i tuoi figli,

    poi ti volti e non sai ancora dire

    e taci meravigliata

    e allora diventi grande come la terra

    e innalzi il tuo canto d’amore.


    Alda Merini (1995)

    Fragile, opulent woman, matrix of paradise

    you are a grain of guilt

    even in the eyes of God

    despite your holy wars

    for emancipation.

    They split your beauty

    of which a skeleton of love remains

    which, however, still cries for revenge

    and you are the only one

    who can still cry;

    then you turn and see your children again,

    then you turn around and you still can not express

    the amazement and joy

    and then you become as big as the earth

    and raise your song of love.




                         de Ileana Malancioiu

    Îmi iau numărul meu de pietre

    şi le aşez cât mai riscant

    şi-ncep jocul convinsă

    că oricum voi pierde.


    De ce joci, totuşi?

    mă veţi întreba.


    Ce altceva pot să fac?

    vă voi răspunde.


    Apoi liniştită

    voi muta mai departe

    piatră după piatră

    munte după munte.


                       by Ileana Malancioiu

    I get my number of stones

    and place them as risky as possible

    I start to play convinced

    that I will lose anyway.


    Why do you play, though?

    you will ask me.


    What else can I do?

    I will answer you.


    Then quiet

    I will keep on moving

    stone after stone

    mountain after mountain.



    Imagini*Ileana Mălăncioiu (January 23, 1940) is a contemporary poet and a Romanian essayist, publicist, dissident and civic activist. Her work was censored by the communist regime.

    Since March 2013 she has been a member of the Romanian Academy.


    Mulleres de Iria Rivas

    Mulleres que loitan,





    e crían.

    Mulleres que abrazan

    que danzan

    traballan, xogan e saen.

    Mulleres escultura, compañeiras de vida.

    Mulleres que abren,

    camiños e vidas.

    Mulleres que aman,

    mulleres obxecto obrigadas a vivir

    nunha sociedade patriarcal,

    mulleres que saben,

    mulleres que aman.

    Mulleres que gobernan,

    mulleres motor,



    Mulleres vida, mulleres Nobel.

    Mulleres, nazis, fillas, avoas e






    Women by Iria Rivas

    Women who fight,





    and create.

    Women who embrace

    who dance

    work, play and go out.

    Sculpted women,

    partners in life.

    Women who open,

    paths and lives.

    Women who love,

    objectified women, forced to


    in a patriarchal society,

    women who know,

    women who love.

    Women who rule,

    engine women,

    Frida, Marie, Jane, Alva, Wangari,


    Living women, Nobel women.

    Women, Nazis, daughters, grandmothers and






    *Iria Rivas is a poet and student in IES San Rosendo. She has won sereral prizes for her poetry and short stories.