Borges' Yo (波赫士的我)

I think it might be interesting to see how Borges thinks of himself as a man. So I chose to translate the following poem under the the title of "Yo". So here it is:

Yo                                                           I                                                                          我

La calavera, el corazón secreto,                  The skull, the hidden heart.                               那頭顱，那隱蔽的心，
Los caminos de sangre que no veo,              The paths of blood I see not,                             那些我看不見的血脈，
Los tuneles del sueño, ese Proteo,               The tunnels of dream, that Proteus                     那些夢中的隧道,那布特廸斯，
Las visceras, la nuca, el esqueletto.             The bodies, the nape, the skeleton.                     那身軀，那頸背，那骨架。
Soy esas cosas. Increíblemente                    I am those things. Unbelievably                         我是那些。不可思擬地
Soy también la memoria de una espada        I am also the memory of a sword                       我也是一把劍的記憶
Y la de un solitario sol poniente                  And that of a lonely setting sun                        那正自我散布為金黄，影子和虛無
Que se dispersa en oro, en sombra, en nada.which dissipates in gold, in shadows and in nothing.   在孤單落日的那把
Soy el que ve las proas desde el puerto;        I am he who sees the prows from the port            我是從右舷看到船頭的那人  
Soy el que los contados libros, los contados  I am he that the few books, the few                   我是疲累時間雕塑的那寥寥可數的
Grabados por el tiempo fatigados;               engraved by a tired time                                  書本與多少東西
Soy el que envidia a los que ya se han muerto. I am he who envies those already dead.            我是那妒忌那些亡人者
Más raro es ser el hombre que entrelaza       What's rare is being the man who weaves           稀奇的是我就是那在一屋內某房中
Palabras en un cuarto de una casa.              Words in a room in a house.                            咬文嚼字的那人。 

To Borges, he is first and foremost the various parts of his body, visible and invisible to himself. Then he is also his memories of a "sword" which obviously can carry more than one meaning. both as an instrument of aggression, self protection and also another meaning in a sexual context.. But to him, this is something incredible, something which inspires awe. But he is always aware of the effect of time. He thinks of himself as a man in the sunset of his life, dissipating himself into the gold of that sunset and then into darkness and nothingness. He thinks of himself as a careful person, the type who would scrupulously inspect and weigh up the ship of life on which he is going to venture into the unknown world from the front of the ship to its sides. He thinks of himself as the books that he has read and little else. He is not happy with the way he is. He prefers to die. He envies the dead. But above all, he thinks of himself as a person who knows and who works with his words. He is a slave of words. But through long years of practice, he may have become  also its master. And the  slave or master has turned himself into a magician. What he "entrelaza" (weaves) in the darkness of his room is the web of his life! Like the web of the spider, its silky threads shine with all the colours of the rainbow under the sun. But he no longer has eyes for them. He has become progressively blind by his early 50s'.