Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986) en Baruch Spinoza

Al eerder, 19 september 2008, had ik een blog over de Spinozagedichten van Borges. Zie hier. De aanleiding waarom ik er nog eens over schrijf is het feit dat ik heden een vertaling van zijn gedicht Baruch Spinoza tegenkom, die mij ietsje beter lijkt, dan de Engelse vertaling die ik eerder had gevonden.

Deze vertaling is van Yirmiyahu Yovel, de directeur van het Jerusalem Spinoza Institute, die dit gedicht had opgenomen in zijn boek `Spinoza and other Heretics: The Marrano of Reason, Princeton, 1989´. Ik trof het hier aan.
Ik zou deze nieuwe vertaling uiteraard direct in het eerdere blog hebben kunnen opnemen, maar het lijkt me aardiger het hier in een nieuw blog op te nemen.

                  van hier

 

 

Baruch Spinoza

Bruma de oro, el occidente alumbra
La ventana. El asiduo manuscrito.
Aguarda, ya cargado de infinito.
Alguien construye a Dios en la penumbra.

Un hombre engendra a Dios. Es un judío
De tristes ojos y piel cetrina;
Lo lleva el tiempo como lleva el río
Una hoja en el agua que declina.

No importa. El hechicero insiste y labra
A Dios con geometría delicada;
Desde su enfermedad, desde su nada,
Sigue erigiendo a Dios con la palabra. El más pródigo amor le fue otorgado,
El amor que no espera ser amado.

 

Jorge Luis Borges

 

Baruch Spinoza

Like golden mist, the west lights up
The window. The diligent manuscript
Awaits, already laden with infinity.
Someone is building God in the twilight.

A man engenders God. He is a Jew
Of sad eyes and citrine skin.
Time carries him as the river carries
A leaf in the downstream water.

No matter. The enchanted one insists
And shapes God with delicate geometry.
Since his illness, since his birth,
He goes on constructing God with the word.

 

The mighties love was granted him
Love that does not expect to be loved.

 

— Jorge Luis Borges,
translated by Yirmiyahu Yovel from Spinoza and other Heretics: The Marrano of Reason by Yirmiyahu Yovel, Princeton, 1989

 

Baruch Spinoza

Golden mist, the Occident illumines
the window. The assiduous manuscript
waits, already loaded with the infinite.
Someone is building God in the half-light.

A man begets God. He’s a jew,
sad-eyed and sallow-skinned;
time carries him as the river
carries a leaf on its declining waters.

Not important. The sorcerer insists
and carves God from refined geometry;
from sickness, from nothing,
God is erected from the word.

The most prodigious love was granted him,
the love that has no hope of being loved.

 

Translation, M. Salomon
[van hier]

 

Baruch Spinoza

A haze of gold, the Occident lights up
The window. Now, the assiduous manuscript
Is waiting, weighed down with the infinite.
Someone is building God in a dark cup.

A man engenders God. He is a Jew.
With saddened eyes and lemon-colored skin;
Time carries him the way a leaf, dropped in
A river, is borne off by waters to

Its end. No matter. The magician moved
Carves out his God with fine geometry;
From his disease, from nothing, he's begun
To construct God, using the word. No one

Is granted such prodigious love as he:
The love that has no hope of being loved.

Transl. Willis Barnstone; from The Unending Rose), p. 383.

 

 

spinoza | 12-01-2009 | 23:39 | Link | Reacties (0)