Shinto by Jorge Luis Borges
When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.
Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us--
touch us and move on.
3 comments:
Fred, are you translating these yourself? If so, they're very good! If not, you should credit the translator, who deserves at least 1/3 of the credit for the finished poem, methinks.
Sadly, the page I found this on did not credit the translator. My Chinese is limited to some really really basic knowledge. I know more Japanese. But your point is well taken.
And I believe this one was also not credited.
One of the main reasons I learned Spanish was to be able to rerad Borges and Lorca in the original. Tho my Spanish is pretty good, I'd be too intimidated to post my own translations.
I will endeavoir to find the translator in the future. Thanks for the nudge.
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