[Tim Murphy]

Here is Mezey's and Barnes' translation of They Are Rivers (see my discussion of their work in Intro to Mezey on The Discerning Eye board). If there's a greater modern sonneteer than Frost, it is Borges. Borges wrote many meditations on Heraclitus' observation that no man can step twice into the same river. Mark how the translators use full and slant rhyme, as well as the author's own repetitions, to smuggle this little masterpiece across the great Germanic river that divides Spanish from English.

They Are Rivers

We are time. We are the much renowned
saying of Heraclitus the Obscure.
We are water, not diamonds that endure;
what ebbs and passes, not what holds its ground.
We are the Greek who sees himself in the stream;
we are the stream. His brief reflection shimmers
in water which is made of shimmering mirrors,
in the dark glass that shimmers like a flame.
We are the stream, predestinate and vain,
heading down to the sea pursued by shadows.
Everything said goodbye, everything goes.
Memory no longer mints its coin.
And nevertheless there is something that remains,
and nevertheless there is something that complains.

[Christopher Mulrooney]

This seems to me like the great California wines that show the evidence of much labor and get described in terms of other fruit.

[This message has been edited by Christopher Mulrooney (edited February 04, 2001).]

[Alan Sullivan]

Thanks for posting this, Tim.

One might discuss whether translators should try to recreate form as well as sense in another language. Or one might express disdain without deigning to debate. I think nearly everyone on the site is tired of your snide asides, Christopher. You have proven that intellect and maturity need not be paired. If you merely want to sneer at people, please go do it on some other site.

Alan Sullivan

[Tim Murphy]

From a letter to Rhina Espaillat:

It was about 1970. I was just a kid, but Red Warren told me to go see the greatest poet on the planet. 'Bout all I remember is his presence. Totally blind, he was led onto the stage by his diminutive wife, accompanied by his almost equally short translator, Giovanni, whose pedestrian translations gave us so little inkling of the Master. He was tall, imperially slim, gaunt even. I listened to his Spanish as I would have to music, and what I chiefly recall was its sonority, the meters and rhymes rising, falling, and swelling to each conclusion. Of course that was also the period of my great memorization, and I thoroughly approved of his performing without text! Rhina, you've told me I'm lucky to have heard him. You are the lucky one to possess that majestic language. --Tim

[Caleb Murdock]

I am always a little suspicious of translations, because the art of any translation is generally a product of the translator and not the original poet. This translation has a lovely flow to it; but being a metaphysical poem, it will appeal only to those who agree with it. I happen to agree with it, but I find myself assuming that Borges and I had/have different reasons for believing these things (I don't know why I assume that). Also, the more a poem (even a metaphysical poem) is based on everyday events, the more accessible it will be; but this poem ignores the mundane entirely, a weakness, in my view.

I studied Spanish in school and have often thought that I should have continued to learn it (especially since 30% of my neighbors speak it), but alas, I never did. Just the thought of having three times as many rhymes to work with makes me salivate.

P.S. What is the URL for The Discerning Eye board?

[This message has been edited by Caleb Murdock (edited February 05, 2001).]

[robert mezey]

Caleb, why on earth do you think a poem will appeal only
to those who agree with it? In that case, Dante would
have very few readers. Out on the street I am not a
Christian and don't believe in the immortality of the
soul (I don't disbelieve in it either), but bending over
George Herbert I am in his world with my whole heart.
My fellow devotion to Jesus may be merely literary, and
temporary, but it is no less heartfelt for that. If I
had to agree with the poets I read, there would be for
me no Wordsworth (archRomantic), no Frost (conservative),
no Rochester (monarchist and nihilist), no Emerson
(transcendentalist), no Larkin (Thatcherite), no Eliot (anti-Semite), no Pound (Fascist), no Vallejo (Communist) and on and on and on.

[Caleb Murdock]

I think that everyone has to agree to some extent with the poems that they love. I'm not talking about agreeing with a poet's overall philosophy; I am talking about agreeing with the message of the poem. Agreement is a big part of liking something, and I think that is especially true with metaphysical poetry, which supposedly expresses deep spiritual truths.

Taking one of the poets you listed as an example, I may not "agree" with Frost's overall philosophy or style, but every poem of his that I love has some central truth in it that I agree with.

I wasn't being entirely frank in my post above. Tim Murphy sent me an e-mail inviting me to post my opinion. Not wanting to reveal to him that I didn't like the poem, I composed what I thought was a tactful commentary. The poem, in my view, makes broad, general statements, and doesn't explain them very well. All the metaphors and images have been done to death (time, diamonds, reflections in water or mirrors, fire, the sea, shadows, etc.). And it ends on a clumsy rhyme which might have been beautiful in Spanish but sounds amateurish in English. There are a few lines that I like, but they are outweighed by the lines I don't like.

Now, if the poem's message rang true with me on some deep level, I am sure I would like it much more than I do. That's why I say that agreement is important to like a poem like this. Part of the problem, actually, is that the poem doesn't convey its message clearly enough for me to identify with it.

Robert, you need to be less sensitive and defensive.

Tim, don't tell me what threads to post on.

[This message has been edited by Caleb Murdock (edited February 05, 2001).]

[robert mezey]

I don't feel defensive, Caleb, I just get
irritated by ignorance. You're perfectly
free not to like the Borges sonnet. And
free not to agree with its argument (though
that's a trivial matter). But the final
rhyme is not clumsy---it may not be
particularly striking, but it's a literal
rendering of quedarse and quejarse
and not hackneyed or otherwise objectionable.
As for the metaphors seeming familiar, they are
familiar, but freshly turned. As Borges has
written many times, it is the weak poet who
strains for the novel and striking figure, the
never-before-thought-of figure; whereas there are
about eight or ten metaphors as old as the hills
but used again and again and again in every
language: sleep and death, time and a river, eyes
and stars, women and flowers, etc etc, and there's
nothing cliched about them as long as they give
off a fresh glow in the new context.

[Terese Coe]

"As for the metaphors seeming familiar, they are
familiar, but freshly turned. As Borges has
written many times, it is the weak poet who
strains for the novel and striking figure, the
never-before-thought-of figure; whereas there are
about eight or ten metaphors as old as the hills
but used again and again and again in every
language: sleep and death, time and a river, eyes
and stars, women and flowers, etc etc, and there's
nothing cliched about them as long as they give
off a fresh glow in the new context." [RM]

Robert. Heartfelt thanks for posting this. The truth of it has been on my mind for a long time, but I'd not been courageous enough to express it. Excellent!

Terese

[Alan Sullivan]

I arrive somewhat belatedly to continue this thread. Having acquired a new computer, I had to spend a couple of days loading and configuring files and programs. But now I'm up and running again, glad to resume the fray.

Caleb, I somewhat sympathize with your comments about the poem. This does not strike me as one of Borges' best. I'm a bit baffled why Tim chose it. Yes, he loves to puzzle over Heraclitus, but I would guess the couplet sold him. It's magic, even if the rhyme is pat.

I haven't properly read the collected Borges straight through; I've just dipped into it here and there. The work is so varied that one cannot generalize based on a single poem. I studied and loved Borges' <u>Labyrinths</u> when I was little more than a boy. I have reread it several times, endlessly challenged and fascinated. I have also read a great deal of South American fiction in translation, and I think it helps to have authors like Amado or Vargas Llhosa as mental companions when one encounters Borges.

Robert makes a fine point when he defends his eclectic taste in poets. If we only enjoy the like-minded, we are sure to wind up narrow-minded.

Alan Sullivan