Showing posts with label Jorge Luis Borges. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jorge Luis Borges. Show all posts

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Camden, 1892


El olor del café y de los periódicos.
El domingo y su tedio. La mañana
y en la entrevista página esa vana
publicación de versos alegóricos

de un colega feliz. El hombre viejo
está postrado y blanco en su decente
habitación de pobre. Ociosamente
mira su cara en el cansado espejo.

Piensa, ya sin asombro, que esa cara
es él. La distraída mano toca
la turbia barba y saqueada boca.

No está lejos el fin. Su voz declara:
Casi no soy, pero mis versos ritman
la vida y su esplendor. Yo fui Walt Whitman.

Jorge Luis Borges


Camden, 1892 


The smell of coffee and the daily news.
Another Sunday and the Sunday blues.
Morning. Printed on a hazy page,
some happy other poet’s vain displays
of allegoric verse. And in this place,
poor but still well kept, the old man lies
white and flat in bed. His idle eyes
look in the tired mirror at his face.
He thinks (it doesn’t shock him now) that face
is him. His absent-minded fingertips
pluck at his muddy beard and plundered lips.
The end is not far off. And his voice says:
I almost am not. But my lines keep the rhythm
of life and its splendour. I was Walt Whitman.

translated by Madeleine Picciotto


(Picture: Portrait of Walt Whitman, Thomas Eakins)

Wednesday, 18 September 2013

El sueño



















Si el sueño fuera (como dicen) una
tregua, un puro reposo de la mente,
¿por qué, si te despiertan bruscamente,
sientes que te han robado una fortuna?

¿Por qué es tan triste madrugar? La hora
nos despoja de un don inconcebible,
tan íntimo que sólo es traducible
en un sopor que la vigilia dora

Thursday, 4 July 2013

Limits





















Of these streets that deepen the sunset,
There must be one (but which) that I’ve walked
Already one last time, indifferently
And without knowing it, submitting

To One who sets up omnipotent laws
And a secret and a rigid measure
For the shadows, the dreams, and forms
That work the warp and weft of this life.

If all things have a limit and a value
A last time nothing more and oblivion
Who can say to whom in this house
Unknowingly, we have said goodbye?