Borges poem
May. 16th, 2003 12:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avadHappiness
Jorge Luis Borges
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Whoever embraces a woman is Adam. The woman is Eve.
Everything happens for the first time.
I saw something white in the sky. They tell me it is the moon, but
what can I do with a word and a mythology.
Trees frighten me a little. They are so beautiful.
The calm animals come closer so that I may tell them their names.
The books in the library have no letters. They spring forth when I open them.
Leafing through the atlas I project the shape of Sumatra.
Whoever lights a match in the dark is inventing fire.
Inside the mirror an Other waits in ambush.
Whoever looks at the ocean sees England.
Whoever utters a line of Liliencron has entered into battle.
I have dreamed Carthage and the legions that destroyed Carthage.
I have dreamed the sword and the scale.
Praised be the love wherein there is no possessor and no possessed, but both surrender.
Praised be the nightmare, which reveals to us that we have the power to create hell.
Whoever goes down to a river goes down to the Ganges.
Whoever looks at an hourglass sees the dissolution of an empire.
Whoever plays with a dagger foretells the death of Caesar.
Whoever dreams is every human being.
In the desert I saw the young Sphinx, which has just been sculpted.
There is nothing else so ancient under the sun.
Everything happens for the first time, but in a way that is eternal.
Whoever reads my words is inventing them.
-La cifra "The Limit" (1981). Jorge Luis Borges - Selected Poems. Translation by Stephen Kessler.
Jorge Luis Borges
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whoever embraces a woman is Adam. The woman is Eve.
Everything happens for the first time.
I saw something white in the sky. They tell me it is the moon, but
what can I do with a word and a mythology.
Trees frighten me a little. They are so beautiful.
The calm animals come closer so that I may tell them their names.
The books in the library have no letters. They spring forth when I open them.
Leafing through the atlas I project the shape of Sumatra.
Whoever lights a match in the dark is inventing fire.
Inside the mirror an Other waits in ambush.
Whoever looks at the ocean sees England.
Whoever utters a line of Liliencron has entered into battle.
I have dreamed Carthage and the legions that destroyed Carthage.
I have dreamed the sword and the scale.
Praised be the love wherein there is no possessor and no possessed, but both surrender.
Praised be the nightmare, which reveals to us that we have the power to create hell.
Whoever goes down to a river goes down to the Ganges.
Whoever looks at an hourglass sees the dissolution of an empire.
Whoever plays with a dagger foretells the death of Caesar.
Whoever dreams is every human being.
In the desert I saw the young Sphinx, which has just been sculpted.
There is nothing else so ancient under the sun.
Everything happens for the first time, but in a way that is eternal.
Whoever reads my words is inventing them.
-La cifra "The Limit" (1981). Jorge Luis Borges - Selected Poems. Translation by Stephen Kessler.
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-16 12:44 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-05-16 07:36 am (UTC)goddamnit. have I mentioned that I hate to cry at work?
Date: 2003-05-16 05:41 am (UTC)My body and soul have clung to my mind as beaten and weathered armor, with dents and pockmarks and rust spots, brittle on neglected edges, repaired by my own meager hands along the road. Reading this poem is the hammer and the anvil and the white-hot forge that gives me the repairs to march another one hundred miles, the song in my heart resounded through the ranks, and raised to the air that stokes the fires for another one hundred battles.
My teeth are chattering, and I'm shivering, and my eyes are wide. When I talk about translating beauty from ethereal ghosts into words for the living, THIS is what I mean. This is what I strive for; if I can create such pure resonations that vibrate in the hearts of humans, like stones vibrate with the harmonies of the earth, I will consider myself an accomplished artist. Not one day before that.
Goddamnit. Thank you for this one.
Re: goddamnit. have I mentioned that I hate to cry at work?
Date: 2003-05-16 07:52 am (UTC)I am glad to be of service, that in my need to speak the poem of Borges that struck my heart to remembering, another was moved so by the same. The forks are tuned.
There are two I have found who have this amazing power to give words to the eternal ghosts which wander through my/our chest and mind- Borges and Annie Dillard. Drink their potions...and the scales fall away, the rust dissolves. Search earlier in my journal for mention of Annie Dillard and certain poems. I think there are 3 or 4 entries. And you, my friend, know that you are well on your way in this realm...you are spiralling the same ghosts, coaxing them to form. The tears are a good sign.:)
no subject
Date: 2003-05-16 04:36 pm (UTC)XX
Re:
Date: 2003-05-18 06:33 pm (UTC)love and snooky-kisses