To Johannes Brahms (致若翰內斯. 勃拉姆斯)

Finally, I can breathe a sigh of relief. At least for the moment, before my next course in Spanish begins in a month or so's time. Nothing can describe the lightness in my heart as I stepped out of the classroom, bantering with my classmates still awaiting their turn for the obligatory oral after finishing the written. I could go back to reading poetry now. I did just that. One of the poets I like is an almost blind Argentinian who never won the Nobel prize in literature,some say, because of his conservative political views. He's Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges (24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986), a short-story writer, essayist, translator and poet who was anti-Peron but pro-Pinochet, born and dying in Buenos Aires, the capital of .Argentina and its head librarian.

A Johannes Brahms

Jo, que soy un intruso
en los jardines

Que has prodigado a la
plural memoria

Del porvenir, quise
cantar la gloria

Que hacia el azul erigen
tus violines.

He desistido ahora. Para
honrarte

No basta esa miseria que
la gente

Suele apodar con
vacuidad el arte.

Quien te horare ha de
ser claro y valiente.

Soy un cobarde. Soy un
triste. Nada

Podrá justificar esta
osadia

De cantar la magnifica
alegria

--Fuego y cristal—de tu
alma enramorada.

Mi servidumbre es la
palabra impura,

Vástago de un concepto y
de un sonido;

Ni simbolo, ni espejo,
ni gemido,

Tuyo es el rio que huye
y que perdura.

Jorge F. I. L. Borges

 

To Johannes Brahms I, an intruder in the gardens Who has wasted plural memories To come, would like to sing the glory                                                   That towards the blue your violins build. I’ve stopped insisting now. To honor thee. No enough of this misery which people Hollowly nickname Art. I’m a coward. I’m a sorrow. Nothing Would justify such daring. To sing the great happiness --Fire and crystal—of your soul in love.                  He who would honor you have to be bright and brave My slavery is the impure word. Offshoot of concept and sound. Neither symbol nor mirror nor moan, Yours is the river that flows and lives on .                                                                                     (tr. El Zorro)

致若翰內斯. 勃拉姆斯 我，多個花園的侵擾者 揮霍了多少來日 回憶，多渴望歌訟你 小提琴向藍天築成的榮耀。 現不再堅持。為向你致敬。 人們習慣空洞地 給藝術添小名，夠苦了。 我是懦夫。我是悲苦。沒有 什麼可支撐這無理的大膽 歌訟你愛中靈魂 --火與水晶--的極樂。 祟敬你者必得靈巧與勇猛。                  我只能以不潔的文字服役。 概念與聲的枝椏。 非象徵非鏡亦非呻吟 你則以那流動永生的河川。 (譯: 艾索羅)