Borges 1992 - Classics - University of California, Santa Barbara

Modern Language Association
http://www.jstor.org/stable/462868 .
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .
http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of
content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms
of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].
Modern Language Association is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to PMLA.
http://www.jstor.org
JorgeLuis Borges
Some
Versions
of
Homer
TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCIION
"Las versiones homericas" ("Some Versions of Homer") was first
published in 1932 in Discusion, a volume of essays reflecting Borges's
principal preoccupations at the time: Argentine reality, Eastern philosophy, and literary and rhetorical issues. Doubtlessly belonging to
the last category, "Some Versions of Homer" is the first of a series
of pieces that question translation's marginal status and resituate the
translator's activity at the center of literary discussion. These texts
include "Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote" (1939), which is
one of Borges's first "ficciones" and which George Steiner, in
After Babel, calls a summa of all translation theory (70). "The Translators of the 1001 Nights" (1935) and "The Enigma of Edward
Fitzgerald" (1952) are among other noteworthy Borgesian discussions of the historical paradoxes and metaphysical mysteries of
translation.
"Some Versions of Homer" gives us a preview of what Emir Rodriguez Monegal defines as Borges's theory of the "readeras writer"demonstrated further in "Pierre Menard," "Kafka and His Precursors," and other meditations. Borges sees translation as a model for
reading as well as for writing, and he prefigures reception theory in
privileging the relation between the reader'scontext and the text over
the now desacralized concepts of authorship and originality. Borges
the reader-translatorprefers Alexander Pope's version of Homer because the English poet's "[s]peeches and spectacles" recall for himas Borges's translation of Pope's translation dramatizes-the ornate
grandiosity of G6ngora. In Borges's reading, the great baroque bard
revives in the Spanish language the primary grandeur of the epic
poem (Borges always preferredthe epic to the lyrical) and of classical
rhetoric.
Copyright? 1974 by EmeceEditores,S.A., BuenosAires;copyright? 1988, 1989,
1991 by EmeceEditoresand Maria Kodama,Executrixof the Estateof JorgeLuis
Borges.All rightsreserved.By arrangementwith EmeceEditoresand the Estate of
JorgeLuis Borges.
1134
Jorge Luis Borges
1135
Homer has long been a seminal topic in the history of translation
studies. But why, aside from Borges's subversive drive to demythify
canonical subjects, did this Argentine Anglophile choose to focus a
translation discussion on Homer in English? As one who questioned
the sacred cow of authorship, he certainly found a prime example in
the age-old controversy over Homer's problematic identity. But
Borges's love for sea epics also played a role, and hence he chose to
translate samples from the British Isles since English literature, from
"The Seafarer"to Joyce's Ulysses, has displayed a profound affinity
with the Greek saga. Mentioning "The Seafarer"leads us to another
translator much admired by Borges, Ezra Pound. One might say that
Borgesadheresto the Poundian spiritof translation;despite his remote
connection to the original language of the text, he captures an essence
in his mannered translations,and through Pope (via G6ngora), Borges
(following Pound's injunction) makes the old new.
Another question we might ask is why Borges did not use existing
Spanish translations or, rather, whether this piece was perhaps an
excuse for him to give a virtuoso performance of different styles and
eras of Homer. In 1929 Borges translated the last page of Ulysses,
giving a breathtaking rendering of Molly Bloom's final breathless
words. One need only compare that brief exercise with the corresponding translations by fellow scribes from the Iberian peninsula
(including the "authorized"version by Jose Maria Valverde):Borges's
excerpt is infinitely more playful and musical. Borges is Joyce in that
text, just as Borges (is Pope) is Homer in the modest "Some
Versions of Homer."
Suzanne Jill Levine
University of California, Santa Barbara
WorksCited
25 (1972):
RodriguezMonegal,Emir."Borges:The Readeras Writer."Triquarterly
102-43.
NewYork:Oxford
Steiner,George.AfterBabel:Aspectsof Languageand Translation.
UP, 1975.
SomeVersionsof Homer
1136
PROBLEM is more essential to literature and its small mysteries than
translation.A lapse of memory spurredby vanity,
the fear of divulging mental processes that we
can guess to be perilously pedestrian, the attempt
to maintain an incalculable reserve of mysteryall cast a veil over the alleged original. Translation, in contrast, seems destined to illustrate aesthetic debates. The model to be imitated is a
visible text, and the translatoris not free to follow
the unfathomable labyrinths of past projects or
to accept the sudden temptation of an easy solution. Bertrand Russell defined an external object as a circular system radiating many possible
impressions. Given the incalculable repercussions
of words, the same could be said about a text,
whose translationsbecome a partial and precious
document of the changes it inevitably suffers.
What are the many renderingsof the Iliad-from
Chapman's to Magnien's-if not different perspectives of a mutable fact, if not a long experimental lottery of omissions and emphases?
(Changing languages is not necessary for this deliberatejuggling of interpretations, which can occur within a single literature.) To assume that all
recombinations of elements are necessarily inferior to their original form is to assume that
draft 9 is necessarily inferior to draft H-since
every text is a draft. The notion of a "definitive
text" belongs to religion or perhaps merely to
exhaustion.
Our superstition that translations are inferior-reinforced by the age-old Italian adage traduttore traditore-is the result of our naivete: all
great works that we turn to time and again seem
unalterable and definitive. Hume identified our
habitual idea of causality with the experience of
temporal succession. Thus a good film seen a
second time seems even better; we tend to take
repetitions for absolutes. Our first reading of famous books is really the second, since we already
know them. The cliche "rereading the classics"
turns out to be an unwitting truth. But how can
we know now whether the statement "In a place
of La Mancha, whose name I don't care to remember, there lived not long ago a nobleman
who kept a lance and shield, a greyhound, and a
N
?O
skinny old nag" actually proceeded from divine
inspiration? I only know that any modifications
would be sacrilegious and that I could not conceive of another beginning for Don Quixote. Cervantes, however, probably dispensed with such a
frivolous superstition and may not have recognized this paragraph.I, in contrast, can only reject
any divergence. Since Spanish is my native language, the Quixote is to me an unchanging monument, with no possible variations except those
furnished by the editor, the bookbinder, and the
compositor. But the Odyssey, thanks to my opportune ignorance of Greek, is a library of works
in prose and verse, from Chapman's couplets to
Andrew Lang's "authorized version" or from
Berard'sclassic French drama and Morris'slively
saga to Samuel Butler's ironic bourgeois novel. I
mention mostly English names because English
writers have always gravitated toward this epic
of the sea, and their many versions of the Odyssey
would be enough to illustrate the history of their
literature. But the rich and even contradictory
variety of this library is not attributable solely to
the evolution of the English language, to the original's grand proportions, or to the deviations and
diverse capacities of the translators. The main
cause is the impossibility of knowing what belonged to the poet and what belonged to the language. To this fortunate impossibility we owe so
many possible versions, all of them sincere, genuine, and divergent.
I do not know of a more controversial issue
than the Homeric adjectives. Recurrent expressions such as "the divine Patroclus," "the nourishing earth," "the wine-dark sea," "the
uncloven-hoofed horses," "the moist ways," "the
dark blood," "the dear knees" stir our hearts at
unexpected moments. At one point, there is
mention of "rich noblemen who drink of the
black waters of the Aesopos"; at another, a tragic
king who, "unhappy in lovely Thebes, governed
the Cadmeans by the gods' fatal decree." Alexander Pope, whose lavish translation we shall
scrutinize later, believed that all these immutable
epithets were liturgical in character. Remy de
Gourmont, in his long essay on style, writes that
though they must have been enchanting at one
time, they are no longer so. I, however, suspect
that these standard epithets were what preposi-
Jorge Luis Borges
tions still are today: modest and obligatorysounds
used to join certain words and on which no originality can be exercised. We know, for example,
that the correct way to get somewhere is on foot
and not with foot, just as the blind bard knew
that the adjective to describe Patroclus was "divine." Neither usage is motivated by aesthetic
reasons. I offer these conjectures with humble sobriety: our only certainty is that we cannot separate what belongs to the author from what
belongs to the language. When we read in the
seventeenth-century playwright Agustin Moreto
(if we must read Agustin Moreto) the phrase
"Pues en casa tan compuestas / ,Que hacen todo
el santo dia?" 'What do these prim ladies do at
home the whole damn day?' we know that the
day's unholiness belongs to the language and not
to the writer. Where Homer's accents lie, however, we can never know.
For a lyrical or elegiac poet, this uncertainty
of ours regarding authorial intentions could be
devastating, but not so for the conscientious narrator of vast plots. The deeds of the Iliad and the
Odyssey more than survive, even though Achilles
and Ulysses have disappeared, as have what
Homer had in mind by choosing them and what
he really thought of them. The present state of
his works resembles a complex equation that delineates precise relations among unknown quantities. What a treasure trove for the translator!
Browning's most famous poem, The Ring and
the Book, consists of ten detailed accounts of a
single crime, given by each of those involved. The
work's variety derives entirely from the characters, not from the actions, and offers contrasts
almost as intense and unfathomable as those
among ten just versions of Homer.
The magnificent Newman-Arnold debate
(1861-62), more significant than either of its participants, laboriously depicted the two main ways
to translate. Newman defended the literal retention of all verbal singularities;Arnold argued for
the literary, severe elimination of details that
would distract or detain the reader and for the
subordination of the ever-unpredictable Homer
in each line to the essential or conventional
Homer, whose forthrightsyntax flows and whose
ideas are noble yet plain. Arnold's method pro-
1137
vides the harmonious pleasures of uniformity;
Newman's, continual little surprises.
Let us consider the various destinies of a single
passage from Homer, concerning Achilles's son
Neoptolemus. Ulysses relays the events to the
ghost of Achilles in the city of the Cimmerians,
on the night without end (Odyssey 11). Buckley's
literal version goes like this:
But when we had sackedthe lofty city of Priam,
havinghis shareandexcellentreward,he embarked
unhurton a ship, neitherstrickenwith the sharp
brass,nor wounded hand to hand, as oftentimes
happensin war;for Marsconfusedlyraves.'
Here is another literal as well as archaic rendition, by Butcher and Lang:
But afterwe had sackedthe steepcity of Priam,he
embarkedunscathedwithhis shareof the spoil,and
witha nobleprize;he wasnot smittenwiththe sharp
spear,and got no wound in close fight:and many
such chances there be in war, for Ares rageth
confusedly.2
Cowper, in 1791:
At lengthwhenwe had sack'dthe lofty town
Of Priam,ladenwith abundantspoils
He safeembark'd,neitherby spearor shaft
Aughthurt,or in close fightby faulchion'sedge
As oft in warbefalls,wherewoundsaredealt
Promiscuous,at the will of fieryMars.3
Pope's 1725 version:
And whenthe Gods our armswith conquest
crown'd,
WhenTroy'sproudbulwarkssmok'dupon
the ground,
Greeceto rewardher soldier'sgallanttoils
Heap'dhighhis navywith unnumber'dspoils.
Thusgreatin gloryfromthe din of war
Safehe return'd,withoutone hostilescar;
Tho' spearsin iron tempestsrain'daround,
Yet innocentthey play'd,and guiltlessof a
wound.4
George Chapman, in 1614:
In the event,
HighTroydepopulate,he madeascent
To his fairship,with priseand treasurestore
1138
SomeVersionsof Homer
Safe;and no touch awaywith him he bore
Of far-off-hurl'd
lance,or of close-fought
sword,
Whosewoundsfor favourswardoth oft afford,
Whichhe (thoughsought)miss'din war's
closestwage.
In close fightsMarsdoth neverfight,but rage.5
And finally Butler's 1900 version:
Yet when we had sackedthe city of Priamhe got
his handsomeshareof the prize money and went
on board (such is the fortune of war) without a
woundupon him, neitherfroma thrownspearnor
in close combat,for the rageof Marsis a matterof
greatchance.6
The first two-the literal versions-could
move us for a variety of reasons: the reverential
reference to the sacking of the city; the naive
statement that one gets hurt in war; the infinite
disorders of combat suddenly embodied in a single, raging god. Other, lesser pleasures are also at
work: in one of the texts I have reproduced, the
charming pleonasm "embarked on a ship" and,
in the other, the unnecessaryconjunction in "and
many such chances there be in war." The third
version, Cowper's, is the most innocuous of all
since it is completely literal, as far as Miltonic
verse permits.
Pope's rendering is extraordinary. His luxuriant language (like G6ngora's) can be distinguished by its persistent and excessive use of
superlatives. For example, the hero's lone black
ship becomes a fleet. Continuously subjected to
this law of amplification, all the lines of Pope's
text fall into two grand categories: undiluted oratory, as in "And when the Gods our arms with
conquest crown'd," or visual representation, as
in "When Troy's proud bulwarks smok'd upon
the ground." Speeches and spectacles: this is
Pope. Chapman's fiery version is also spectacular,
but his mode is lyrical, not oratorical. Butler, in
contrast, reveals his determination to evade all
opportunities for the visual and to turn Homer's
text into a sober series of news items.
Which of these many translations is faithful?
the readermight ask. I repeat:none or all of them.
If fidelity implies conveying Homer's inventions
and the bygone people and days that the poet
portrayed, none of the versions can succeed for
us but all would for a tenth-century Greek. If
fidelity means preserving the effects Homer intended, any one of the above might serve, except
for the literal ones, whose virtue lies in their departure from current poetic practices. It is not
out of the question, then, that Butler's sedate version could be the most faithful.
Translator'sNotes
of thisexcerpt
'BorgesprovidesonlyhisSpanishtranslations
andthe followingones. He seeksarchaiceffectsin rendering
forexample:"Perocuandohubimos
Buckley,with"hubimos,"
saqueadola alta ciudadde Priamo,teniendosu porci6ny
se embarc6en unanave,ni malpremioexcelente,inc6olume
trechopor el broncefiloso ni heridoal combatircuerpoa
cuerpo,como es tan comuinen la guerra;porqueMarteconfusamentedelira."
in hischoice
againinscribesthearchaic,particularly
2Borges
of vocabulary:
"Perola escarpadaciudadde Priamounavez
saqueada,se embarc6ilesocon su partedel despojoy con un
noblepremio;no fue destruidoporlas lanzasagudasni tuvo
heridasen el apretadocombate:y muchostales riesgoshay
en la guerra,porqueAresse enloquececonfusamente."
version:"Alfin,luegoquesaqueamosla levantada
3Borges's
villa de Priamo,cargadode abundantesdespojossegurose
embarc6,ni de lanzao venabloen nada ofendido,ni en la
refriegapor el filo de los alfanjes,como en la guerrasuele
las heridaspromiscuamente,
acontecer,dondeson repartidas
segunla voluntaddel fogosoMarte."
worthy
4Borgesdisplayssyntacticinversionsandhyperboles
of G6ngorain this rendition:"Cuandolos diosescoronaron
de conquistalasarmas,cuandolos soberbiosmurosde Troya
humearonpor tierra,Grecia,pararecompensar
las gallardas
fatigasde su soldado,colm6 su armadade incontablesdespojos.Asi,grandede gloria,volvi6segurodel estruendomaren
cial,sin unacicatrizhostil,y aunquelas lanzasarreciaron
tornoen tormentasde hierro,su vanojuego fue inocentede
heridas."
strikesa lyricalnoteforChapman,Pound'sfavorite:
5Borges
"Despoblada
Troyala alta,ascendi6a su hermosonavio,con
grandeacopiode presay de tesoro,seguroy sin llevarni un
rastrode lanzaque se arrojade lejos o de apretadaespada,
cuyasheridassonfavoresqueconcedelaguerra,queel (aunque
En lasapretadasbatallas,Marteno suele
solicitado)no hallo6.
contender:se enloquece."
6Borgescreatesa prosaiccontrasthere:"Unavez ocupada
la ciudad,el pudocobrary embarcarsu partede los beneficios
habidos,que era una fuertesuma. Sali6 sin un rasguniode
toda esa peligrosacampania.Ya se sabe:todo esta en tener
suerte."