Jorge Luis Borges may just be one of the world’s most celebrated poets, particularly in the academic world where his works are studied in fields ranging from foreign language to advanced literature. Given Borges’ profession as a librarian, it follows logically that his entire wealth of knowledge stemmed from his careful dedication to the writings of other important authors during the 19th and early 20th centuries. His collections of short stories were well known for artfully blending the fantastical with the realistic; however, his prominence as an author whose work has influenced so many other authors was derived from a much more concrete sense of craftsmanship: blending literary achievements between Europe and the Americas while simultaneously reminding his readers that “creation is recreation” (BBC, 2014). His experiences catalogued by both his poetic works and short stories were original through his belief that everything new is still nothing more than a restoration of some other work. His writings have been translated on a global scale, and the variety of available and credible English translations is far-reaching and diverse. So why would I endeavor to translate a collection of poetry that has been translated time and again by many greater translators?
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Journalist Silvia Hopenhayn said of Borges’ writing, “I treasure above all his audacity with adjectives, how he finds the right verb, as if he were diving in the treasure of language” (BBC, 2016). English by nature flaunts its rhythm, and while Borges’ native Spanish at times possesses the propensity to achieve rhythms similar to any Shakespearean sonnet, his nature as a storyteller reigned in most readings of his many works. Many of his poems read like a story. There is a certain rhythm to the words, but in the end it ended up being the words that matter above all else. It is with this thought in mind that I endeavored to translate that which had already been translated, not because I believed more in my own virtue as a translator, but because I found the process of poetic invention to be very personal. In defense of the notion of translation as a vehicle for relaying information, I find that the process of translating a poet’s construction between languages is not only entirely possible, but it is necessary for fostering the beauty and mystique of the original text. My own translation may share as much with Borges’ own words as it would with the best translations I have encountered, but it would still be a new work entirely comprised of my own attempts to discover the right words, and to dive into the treasure of language just as Borges did.
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First, poet and theorist James S. Holmes introduced the role of the poet as a metapoet in an article that discussed the limits between translating poetry and prose. (Translation—Theory and Practice, 406). Holmes’ entire problem with translation rested on the semantic limits when translating prose versus poetry, where translators end up being faced with the issue of lacking exact semantic comparison between certain words in various languages. The issue of translating poetry itself, which is often more focused on either rhythm or emotion, lends itself to the creation of a whole new work born from the translation. Holmes believed that a translated poem, due to the differences in semantic possibility between languages, ended up being “A fundamentally different kind of object from the poem from which it derives” (Translation—Theory and Practice, 407). Holmes was the theorist to purport that poetry is not translatable solely by people who are already poets. The process of combining poetic activities with critical ones left the translator with a work that, as Holmes claimed, was “nothing more nor less than a poem.” My interpretation of his theory ended up resting heavily on his idea that translators need to negotiate between the poetic nature, the literary expectations, and the cultural context of the work. From there, it logically followed that a translator was essentially at liberty to create a new work based on their own interpretation of the author’s original text. As the limits between semantic capabilities are evident in many languages, it falls upon the translator to create a viable construction; however, the way I see it, this leaves the translator with a fair amount of leeway in creating the final product. They may base their translation heavily on the emotional response garnered by reading the work, or they may make selections mainly based on elements of the author’s unique cultural experience. In essence, translators have a duty to convey the original in an authentic way, but I expect what Holmes was trying to say was that there are many viable ways in which this authenticity can be achieved. Wearing the hat of poet, translator, and translation theorist, Holmes offered the explanation that the best translations came about thanks to the combination of various types of translators. In ‘Poem and Metapoem: Poetry from Dutch to English’, Holmes wrote, “One must perform some (but not all) functions of a critic, some (but not all) functions of a poet, and some functions not normally required of either critic or poet” (Translation—Theory and Practice, 407). Holmes’ main argument was that while differences will undoubtedly crop up through the translation of poetry, the metapoet’s main goal should involve allowing the translation to keep the main structure of the original poem intact. I would argue that Holmes’ thought process was that through mimicking the structure and verse of an original, it would be just as possible that a translation could convey the extent of the poem’s sense even if certain words do not translate perfectly between languages.
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Later on, theorist and literary critic George Steiner wrote extensively on the topic of polysemy, known more simply as the capacity of words to encompass a variety of meanings. In After Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation, Steiner wrote, “Interpretation as that which gives language life beyond the moment and place of immediate utterance or transcription is what I am concerned with” (Translation—Theory and Practice, 397). Steiner supported this claim with an explanation of the word “interpret” in reference to its meaning in artistic endeavors, from actors performing an interpretation of Shakespeare to musicians offering an interpretation of Beethoven. With the flexible nature of language as a driving force, it is then equally possible to offer my own translation as an interpretation of Borges. Of the translations I have encountered through my process of translating Borges’ poetry, very few could be dismissed as incorrect, despite the variety of differences that existed between some of the most widely disseminated English translations. The concept of polysemy was twofold throughout the process of translating Borges. For one, it was necessary to decipher the meaning of many of his Spanish words in the context of the poem. Additionally, what followed was the determination of whether the most direct word-for-word translation into English would suffice, or if another word or series of words would more accurately capture the sense I believed Borges was attempting to convey. For instance, in the poem “Despedida” (translated into English as “Parting”), the last lines are written as follows: “Definitiva como un mármol // Entristecerá tu ausencia otras tardes.” The most simplistic, direct translation of the word “entristecerá” is “will sadden.” Translator W.S. Merwin included this exact translation in his own interpretation, leaving the English lines to read as “Final as marble // Your absence will sadden other afternoons” (Coleman, 29). However, through my own process of reading the Spanish and attempting to convey Borges’ intentions accordingly, I felt that the word choice did not quite capture the deeper sense of emotional longing that his words brought forth in Spanish. My native English offers such a variety of expression that to use a verb like “sadden” felt like a betrayal of the potential I was offered through language. I disagreed with the use of the strange-sounding phrase “will sadden,” especially when the possibility to substitute other words had the potential to offer a richer interpretation of the text. My own translation reads, “Definitive as marble // Your absence will bring despondence on other afternoons.” A word like sadness is simplistic and certainly utilitarian in plenty of contexts, however in a poem so deeply felt as “Despedida,” my only object was to select a word that would convey the deeper sense of grief that I believed Borges was referencing. As Steiner progressed toward a more simplistic explanation of the more complex idea of interpretation, what he most valued was the notion that translation is not reliant on one static formula; the process of translation is so dependent on the relationship between languages and the background and values of the translator that to assume one steadfast process would not account for all of the variety that translation encompasses.
Additionally, it was thanks to the concept of polysemy that I was allowed so much liberty in my own translation experience. Through the close reading of Borges’ poems and in coordination with the study of other English translators, I was able to form my own understanding of Borges’ experience as an author. From that path, it became clear how important word choice should be in my own interpretation. Many of Borges’ poems written in quatrains, stanzas of four lines each, included the enclosed rhyme scheme “abba,” which follows the pattern of rhyming the first and fourth lines as well as the second and third lines. Many of the principle English translators that I encountered did not echo this rhyme scheme in their translations; however, the choice to forego Borges’ rhyme was understandable given the changes to both language and sense that would have been necessary to create the same rhyming experience in English. With that in mind, much of my own translation did not echo this dedication to Borges’ intended rhyme scheme either, simply based on the thought that words and stanzas can be just as lyrical even without rhyming. In the poem “Los espejos” (translated in English as “Mirrors”), I deviated from this pattern of language over rhyme and instead translated in accordance with the intended rhyme scheme. I wrote, “I see them profoundly, fundamental // Executors of some ancient pact // To multiply the world like an act // Of creation, sleepless and fatal.” Compare this to Alastair Reid’s translation of the poem, which reads as the following incomplete enclosed rhyme: “I look on them as infinite, elemental // fulfillers of a very ancient pact // to multiply the world, as in the act // of generation, sleepless and dangerous” (Coleman, 105). I cannot speak to Reid’s decision to leave the enclosed rhyme incomplete, especially when the word disrupting the rhyme is “dangerous”—Borges’ line ended on the word “fatales,” which translates into “fatal,” which I used in my translation, so it would have been reasonable for Reid to continue the rhyme without changing the word entirely. However, it is this potential for a variety of word choice that I think makes each translation a fairly original act of creation within itself. The reason for interpretation is to foster a sense of diversity in the creative field. Each translator brings to the table his or her own vast personal experience, comprised of a unique backstory and particular artistic and academic influences, so to believe that all interpretations should converge into one universally accepted translation is a fallacy.
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Borges’ own theories in regards to translation were best portrayed through the messages found in studying his own published works. It is unlikely that anyone could misinterpret Borges’ feelings about the task of the translator, especially after reading “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” in which the underlying message spoke to the idea that translators would do well to understand the cultural and linguistic nuances of the original author so as to produce a viable translation. However, it is not my interpretation that he was as steadfast in this theory as Nabokov appeared to be in his writings about translation. As a talented linguist who, in the minds of many academic figures, translated as flawlessly as possible between Russian, French, and English, Nabokov’s own practice as a writer and translator should be enough to convince him that basically flawless translation was indeed possible (Translation—Theory and Practice, 380). As was clear in Nabokov’s strict guidelines for translation, he believed that translators must possess a unique set of skills in order to move seamlessly between languages. Those guidelines were highly limiting, as they were so specific that it was doubtful if even Nabokov himself actually possessed those skills. Even with the guidelines Nabokov determined through his own study of translation, his overall theory still left the impression that he did not believe that perfect translation was even possible.
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If I had been following the conditions outlined by Nabokov in his 1941 publication The Art of Translation, I would never have endeavored to translate a literary figure so celebrated and complex as Jorge Luis Borges. Outside of his immense literary talent was his undeniable status as trailblazer for many Spanish language writers that followed in his footsteps. His work and the themes he was best known for were coopted beyond Spanish literature and portrayed in a variety of other languages and cultures around the world. With Borges’ stature in the literary world cemented so soundly, Nabokov would never believe that an undergraduate student could possess the knowledge and framework that he deemed necessary when attempting a translation. As he put it, “He [the translator] must have as much talent, or at least the same kind of talent, as the author he chooses […], he must know thoroughly the two nations and the two languages involved and be perfectly acquainted with all details relating to his author’s manner and methods” (Translation—Theory and Practice, 380). By this measure, I would be considered uniquely unqualified to attempt a plausible translation of any work by Borges, as I am not a completely fluent Spanish speaker and also lack the full understanding of Borges’ life and work so as to understand his unique approach to language in the way that Nabokov would require. Further, Nabokov was quite particular in what he believed were additional qualifications required by any translator; by his principle, translators should not introduce any personal preferences or biases into their translation (Translation—Theory and Practice, 380). Instead, a translator was meant to be a mere vehicle by which the author’s exact nuances and speech patterns can be turned into a new language.
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Interestingly enough, despite the theories that arose through his creation of the character Pierre Menard, through my study of Borges’ work and teachings, I came to believe that Borges would likely refute the notion that a translator’s own personality should not make an appearance in the translated work. Borges does attest to the importance of understanding the author’s unique cultural place in history, but he appeared to leave far more room for interpretation when it came to various translation practices. There was the sense of translation that aimed to mimic the original as closely as possible, as was represented by Pierre Menard. However, Borges also allowed us to consider the manners in which translation can be a wholly unique endeavor in the creative vision of the translator. During my translation process, I was so moved by one line at the end of Borges’ poem “La Dicha” (appearing as the last poem in my translation collection as “Fortune”) that I began the entire collection with my interpretation of this one line. In Spanish, the line reads, “El que lee mis palabras está inventándolas.” This line can either be translated word for word or more in a sense that garnered Borges’ unique combination of translation theories. In my interpretation, the line reads, “He who reads my words has the power to invent them.” A more direct translation might read, “He who reads my words is inventing them,” but I felt that adding in the word “power” more accurately captured Borges’ perspective on translating. A translator is essentially creating a completely new work of art; in the end, it is up to that particular translator to decide how much of the original he or she wants to highlight. It would appear that in his belief, a text cannot be fully reproduced—any attempt to translate in essence becomes a wholly new work, so even when translating a text word-for-word, the translator is essentially allowed the liberty to create a new work that serves the purpose of the translator alone. When facing the problem of translating more challenging words, the kinds that offer many synonym possibilities, Borges once advised his translator “to write what he was trying to say, not what he was saying” (Translation—Theory and Practice, 508). While this brought into question how a translator could know exactly what the original meaning was, Borges would likely agree that an attempt to translate his work was by no means an attempt to overshadow or replace his words; rather, the purpose could easily be to offer a new interpretation that was at the liberty of the translator. By translating according to my own creative devices and emotional response to the language and message, I was doing a service to the creative field by providing something altogether new.
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One poem whose translation was particularly driven by a combination of emotion and metaphor was “The Enchanted Rose.” The process of translating a partial collection of my favorite poetry by Jorge Luis Borges became far more emotional than I had initially anticipated, and this poem in particular ended up being less about the direct translation and more about interpreting the effect Borges had in my mind. By emotional, I do not mean to say the process was hysterical or lacking control; rather, my emotional response to the beauty of Borges’ grasp of the Spanish language was what drove my translation. In fact, many lines throughout my translation were not radically dissimilar from some of the translations provided by various other translators in my edition of Borges’ selected poems; however, I would defend this similarity by the tone of what Borges wrote in his poems. I felt that many of the lines where the Spanish was clear, meaning only to convey a piece of information rather than an emotional response, I had the potential to exercise more freedom in my decision to pursue a translation more in the grain of a word-for-word translation.
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While translating these poems that have been translated time and again in a number of different languages, it occurred to me that my own work was in danger of being a close replication of previous translations of Borges’ works. My own personal justification for translating that which had been translated so many times before was again a reminder that my translation was a completely new version of Borges’ poetry. During my process of translation, the edition of poetry that I translated from proved useful in a number of ways, as its structure included the original Spanish poem mirrored by an English translation. The original poem was printed on the left page with an English translation by one of the book’s principle translators appearing on the right. At first brush, my process involved building up a word-for-word translation based on what I already knew of the Spanish language. However, as I moved into later drafts, there were instances in which the poetic nature of the language proved too confusing for me to immediately interpret. In those cases, it was helpful to match lines from the original with the corresponding lines from the translation provided in my edition of poems, as I found that the provided English translations often offered enough insight to clarify some of the more dense or confusing lines in Spanish. Through the comparison of various other online translations, I was able to see how others had interpreted the original and instead offer my own take. Overall, I felt that the process of reading other translations provided me with a more developed understanding of the original; my worry that I would essentially be copying other translations melted away, leaving me instead with a heightened perception of Borges’ original intentions that I believe ended up showing through in my work.
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As my translation process progressed, I continued to find myself somewhere in between a word-for-word and a sense-for-sense translation. While reading Borges’ poems, I did not feel that translating sense-for-sense would always be the right choice if my purpose was to accurately capture the beauty and mystique of Borges’ language and ideas. With this in mind, I found myself more often substituting certain simple Spanish words for more eloquent or rhythmic words in English. In regards to the emotional aspect of translation that I mentioned, I found that the emotion actually allowed me to take further liberties with word choice. For example, there were a few instances in which I found the sense-for-sense approach to be far more appropriate. For instance, the poem “Espejos” (translated as “Mirrors”) is, in its essence, a highly ethereal poem that I felt needed an additional sense of mystique. One stanza in the original Spanish reads, “sino ante el agua especular que imita // el otro azul en su profundo cielo // que a veces raya el ilusorio vuelo // del ave inversa o un temblor agita” (Coleman, 104). My translation of that stanza was as follows: “But before the glasslike water whose cerulean mirrors // The blue we observe in our unfathomable sky, // The crystal is scored at times by the illusory flight // Of inverted birds or that of a trembling ripple.” In comparing the two, it is clear that I took some liberties in my choice of words that captured the sense of the language more than the direct translation of any Spanish words. For instance, the word “azul” (“blue” in English) only appears once in the second line, but I changed the wording slightly to include a few poetic additions. When working word-for-word, the first line translates as “But before the specular water that imitates // the other blue in its profound sky.” My translation offered a few liberties in regards to word choice, providing what I felt was a more poetic reading.
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As the translation process came to a close, I found it easier to justify some of the more challenging parts of translating. As long as I was coming at the translation from a place of knowledge, I felt that my own interpretation was equally as valid in the realm of translation as any professional poet or translator. By being humble in the knowledge that I do possess and acknowledging that there is plenty of knowledge that I do not possess, I hope it was clear that I was never attempting to upstage a writer so esteemed as Jorge Luis Borges. Returning to that line of Borges’ poem “La Dicha” that spoke to the power of the reader (and by extension, the translator) to act as the interpreter and inventor of his words, I came to the conclusion that Borges believed that a translation of his work was merely an extension of what he had already created. In my view, translations are not meant to replicate fully every nuance of the author’s original work; rather, they are meant to convey an interpretation of what a particular text meant to the translator. In that sense, I would defend the translation of poetic form as being at the translator’s liberty to make selections based on their own experience and knowledge in a way that only furthers the creative mission of the translation process.
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