∞《狡猾的道奇》美國文學(xué)雜志
1980年4月25日
與博爾赫斯的對(duì)話
博爾赫斯棲身于多個(gè)領(lǐng)域，并在其中頗有建樹。他是現(xiàn)代西班牙語文學(xué)里的一位關(guān)鍵人物，他從日耳曼語系中吸取了很多創(chuàng)作靈感：英語詩歌、弗蘭茲·卡夫卡、古英語和北歐神話中的勇士傳奇。這位堅(jiān)定反政治、反說教的阿根廷作家的作品經(jīng)常圍繞著南美歷史以及人們心中的羈絆。博爾赫斯聲稱要用簡(jiǎn)單的方式講故事，他的故事可能會(huì)發(fā)生在異域的寺廟或者在附近的酒吧；他會(huì)描述老虎和月下的刀光劍影，或者一位學(xué)者翻閱古老手稿時(shí)的耐心。博爾赫斯的文字來自夢(mèng)境和現(xiàn)實(shí)。沒有什么事情是可以確定的；生命充滿了力量，僅僅是匆匆一瞥就足以讓人興嘆。
博爾赫斯不斷地跨越語言、神話以及社會(huì)的界限，寫下了大量享譽(yù)世界的作品，包括隨筆、小說、詩歌。1961年，博爾赫斯與法國劇作家塞謬爾·貝克特共同獲得了福門托國際出版獎(jiǎng)，他也經(jīng)常被預(yù)言是未來的諾貝爾文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)得主。
雖然博爾赫斯在19世紀(jì)20年代就開始在布宜諾斯艾利斯出版作品，但是他最重要的小說集《虛構(gòu)集》在1944年才出版，直到1961年《迷宮》問世，他的作品才開始流傳到美國以及其他英語國家，這部作品包含了他早期的小說、隨筆和詩歌。
Labyrinths: Selected Stories & Other Writings
New York: New Directions, 1962.
Donald A. Yates 、James E.Irby 等人翻譯
1962年《杜撰集》出了譯本。
Ficciones《杜撰集》
Anthony Kerrigan 翻譯
New York: Grove Press, 1962.
隨后《自選集》（1967）、《阿萊夫》（1972）、《影子的頌歌》（1974）的譯本也相繼出現(xiàn)，后四本書都是
諾曼·托馬斯·蒂·喬凡尼翻譯或在他指導(dǎo)下翻譯的，博爾赫斯和他有密切的合作。
A Personal Anthology《自選集》
Anthony Kerrigan 翻譯
左邊1967美國版，右邊1968英國版
與博爾赫斯深度對(duì)話，就是去通過由他的經(jīng)驗(yàn)和態(tài)度所搭造的迷宮來追尋他，在追尋的過程中所碰的壁也許會(huì)展開出人意料的圖景。它們或許會(huì)為這趟追尋提供線索，或許只會(huì)把人引入岔路，但是要理解博爾赫斯，哪怕只是理解一小部分，就必須明白正是這些線索或岔路組成了博爾赫斯。我們不能指望每次的理解都相同。不只是有一個(gè)博爾赫斯，而是有很多個(gè)。
以下是1980年4月25日博爾赫斯接受文學(xué)雜志《狡猾的道奇》Artful Dodge的訪談錄。一共有三個(gè)訪談?wù)叻謩e是：丹尼爾·伯恩Daniel Bourne，斯蒂芬·凱普Stephen Cape，查爾斯·西爾弗Charles Silver。
丹尼爾·伯恩Daniel Bourne和《狡猾的道奇》雜志
?博爾赫斯：
首先我想說，問我點(diǎn)直接的問題吧。不要問像“你覺得未來會(huì)怎樣”這種問題，因?yàn)槲蚁胛磥碛刑喾N可能，并且都各不相同。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
那我就問問你的過去吧，比如說你的影響。
?博爾赫斯：
好的，那我來說說我曾經(jīng)受到的影響，而不是我對(duì)別人的影響，因?yàn)槲也恢牢覍?duì)別人有什么影響而且我也不是太在意。我首先認(rèn)為自己是一個(gè)讀者，然后也是一個(gè)作者，但這兩者多少不太相關(guān)。我自認(rèn)為是一個(gè)好的讀者，我能夠閱讀多種語言。我尤其愛讀英語，因?yàn)槲艺峭ㄟ^英語才了解到詩歌，而不是通過母語西班牙語，我最開始讀的是父親喜歡的斯溫伯恩、丁尼生、濟(jì)慈、雪萊他們的詩?？梢哉f當(dāng)時(shí)我是在拼讀，而不是閱讀。雖然我不理解，但是我能感受到詩。父親讓我自由進(jìn)出圖書館。當(dāng)我想到童年，我想到的是那時(shí)讀過的書。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你的確是一個(gè)書蟲。能否談?wù)勀阕鳛橐粋€(gè)圖書管理員和古書收藏家的審美趣味怎么樣令你的作品常有新鮮感？
?博爾赫斯：
我不確定我的作品里是不是有新鮮感。我認(rèn)為我自己是屬于19世紀(jì)的人。我出生在19世紀(jì)的最后一年，也就是1899年。盡管我當(dāng)時(shí)的閱讀范圍很受限，但陪伴我長(zhǎng)大的有狄更斯、圣經(jīng)、馬克·吐溫，當(dāng)然，我也會(huì)讀當(dāng)代的作家。我對(duì)過去很感興趣，也許是因?yàn)槲覀儾荒軇?chuàng)造或者改變過去。我的意思是，你無法撤銷現(xiàn)在。但是過去畢竟只是一段記憶，或是一個(gè)夢(mèng)境。你知道嗎，在我回憶過去或是閱讀一些有意思的東西的時(shí)候，我的過去好像隨時(shí)在改變。我應(yīng)該感謝很多作家，感謝那些我讀過的作家，這些作家是他們的語言和傳統(tǒng)的一部分。語言本身就是一種傳統(tǒng)。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
接下來我們聊一聊你的詩歌吧。
?博爾赫斯：
朋友說我是一個(gè)闖入者，因?yàn)槲以趯懺姷臅r(shí)候并不是真的在寫作。但是我有一些寫隨筆的朋友說我在寫隨筆的時(shí)候并不是一個(gè)寫作者。所以我不知道要怎么辦，我處在一個(gè)困境中。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
現(xiàn)代詩人加里·斯奈德在《砌石》這首短詩中描述了他的詩歌理論。他的一些觀念似乎和你的詩歌很相似，我想引用其中的一節(jié)，來看看他對(duì)詩歌中詞語的看法。
?博爾赫斯：
好啊，但是為什么只讀一節(jié)呢，多讀幾節(jié)豈不是更好？我也想享受一下這個(gè)早晨。
《砌石》Riprap.
Ashland: Origin Press, 1959.
（斯蒂芬·凱普讀了《砌石》這首詩。）
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
標(biāo)題“砌石”指的是在滑石上用石子鋪一條路，好讓馬匹退回到山上，這是一條由相互緊靠的石子鋪就的小路。
?博爾赫斯：
當(dāng)然，他寫作時(shí)會(huì)用到很多隱喻，而我不是，我的寫作方式比較簡(jiǎn)單。但是他對(duì)英語能夠駕輕就熟，但我不行。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
他的觀念，似乎是把詩歌中的遣詞造句看成是鋪就一條相互緊靠的石子組成的路，每個(gè)石子都依靠著它周圍的石子。你贊同這種對(duì)詩歌結(jié)構(gòu)的看法嗎，還是說這只是眾多觀點(diǎn)中的一種罷了。
?博爾赫斯：
我的想法和吉卜林一樣，他說：“有69種寫作部落敘事詩的方法，其中的每一種都是對(duì)的。”也就是說，每一種都是所有正確方式中的一種。但我的想法也不完全是這樣。我的腦海里存在著一種關(guān)聯(lián)，一種非常薄弱的關(guān)聯(lián)。我會(huì)有一個(gè)想法，這個(gè)想法可能會(huì)化成一個(gè)故事或者一首詩。但是我只有起點(diǎn)和終點(diǎn)。然后我必須創(chuàng)造或者建構(gòu)在起點(diǎn)和終點(diǎn)之間發(fā)生了什么，然后盡我所能（將它們寫出來）。但一般來說，當(dāng)我有那種靈感，我會(huì)盡力拒絕它。但它如果一直追著我，那我就必須寫下來。但是我從來不會(huì)去尋找主題。他們總是主動(dòng)找上我，在我準(zhǔn)備入睡或者剛醒來時(shí)。他們?cè)诓家酥Z斯艾利斯的街道上找到我，或者在任何地點(diǎn)、任何時(shí)間。
比如說，上星期我做了個(gè)夢(mèng)，是個(gè)噩夢(mèng)。我醒來時(shí)，覺得這個(gè)噩夢(mèng)不值得寫下來，但是里面潛藏著一個(gè)故事，我想要發(fā)現(xiàn)它。現(xiàn)在我認(rèn)為我找到了它，我會(huì)在接下來的五六個(gè)月把它下下來。我會(huì)在這上面花時(shí)間。所以可以說，我用的是一種不同的方法。每位手藝人都有它自己的方式，我當(dāng)然應(yīng)該尊重這一點(diǎn)。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
斯奈德試圖把他的心理狀態(tài)直接傳達(dá)給讀者，盡量避免理性的干擾。他追求的是觀感的直接傳達(dá)。在你看來這是不是有一點(diǎn)極端？
?博爾赫斯：
不，他似乎是一位非常謹(jǐn)慎的詩人。而我實(shí)在是古板和純樸。我只是東拉西扯，試圖找到我自己的方式。人們問我，比如說，你要傳達(dá)什么訊息。我想我沒有什么想要傳達(dá)的。就拿寓言來說，它的寓意是什么？我好像并不知道。我只是一個(gè)造夢(mèng)者，其次是一個(gè)作者，而我作為一個(gè)讀者的時(shí)候才最快樂。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
您認(rèn)為文字的效用和它包含的詞語及意象是不是一致的？
?博爾赫斯：
我認(rèn)為是的。比如說，你要寫一首十四行詩，就拿西班牙語來說，你一定會(huì)用到某些詞。韻腳只有那么幾種。這些詞也許會(huì)被用作比喻，一些獨(dú)特的比喻，因?yàn)槟惚仨氀永m(xù)這個(gè)韻腳。
我敢說，很可能英語中的“moon”并不是從拉丁語或西班牙語中的“l(fā)una”得來的，而是有其他的來源。當(dāng)然，我這個(gè)說法可能不夠準(zhǔn)確?！癿oon”這個(gè)詞的發(fā)音很綿長(zhǎng)，是很美的詞。法語里的這個(gè)詞“l(fā)une”也很美。但是在古英語里，這個(gè)詞是“mona”，它有兩個(gè)音節(jié)，一點(diǎn)也不優(yōu)美。在希臘語里就更糟糕了“celena”，有三個(gè)音節(jié)。但是“moon”是很美的詞?？晌靼嘌勒Z里就沒有這個(gè)發(fā)音。月亮。我會(huì)徜徉在詞語中。詞語會(huì)給人靈感。它們有自己的生命。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
詞語的自主生命比它在一定語境中的含義更加重要嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
我認(rèn)為這些含義多少是不相關(guān)的。重要的是，我想提兩個(gè)重要的方面，一個(gè)是情感，再一個(gè)是由這種情感驅(qū)使所迸發(fā)出來的詞。我覺得一個(gè)人在寫作的時(shí)候不可能不帶任何情感。如果你有意試著這樣做，那結(jié)果就會(huì)顯得很刻意。我并不喜歡這種寫作。如果我認(rèn)為一首詩寫得好，那這首詩一定是由它自己而不是由作者創(chuàng)造出來的。它應(yīng)該是自然涌動(dòng)的。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
如果一個(gè)詩人的一組韻腳被另一個(gè)詩人替換了，那詩歌的效果還會(huì)一樣嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
我認(rèn)為每個(gè)詩人都有屬于自己的神話。也許他自己意識(shí)不到。人們說我創(chuàng)造了關(guān)于老虎、匕首和迷宮的個(gè)人神話，但我自己沒有意識(shí)到這一點(diǎn)，而讀者們卻總是能發(fā)現(xiàn)。我認(rèn)為這也許就是詩人的職責(zé)。當(dāng)我想到美國，我總是想到惠特曼?！奥D”（Manhattan）這個(gè)詞就是為他創(chuàng)造的，不是嗎？
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
這是美國興旺茁壯的那一面嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
是的，沒錯(cuò)。同時(shí)，沃爾特·惠特曼本人也是一個(gè)神話，這個(gè)神話的主角是一個(gè)作家，他非常貧窮，但他是一個(gè)了不起的流浪漢。我曾說過惠特曼也許是這個(gè)世界上唯一的作家，他成功地讓自己成為一個(gè)神話般的人物，圣父、圣子、圣靈都是他的讀者，因?yàn)楫?dāng)你閱讀沃爾特·惠特曼的時(shí)候，你會(huì)發(fā)現(xiàn)自己變成了沃爾特·惠特曼。很奇怪，他可以做到這樣，他也是世界上唯一一個(gè)這樣的人。
當(dāng)然，美國有很多在全世界都很重要的作家，尤其是新英格蘭地區(qū)，這些作家是無法被世界遺忘的。比如說，如果沒有愛倫·坡、惠特曼，也許還有梅爾維爾和亨利·詹姆斯，當(dāng)代文學(xué)就不可能是現(xiàn)在我們看到的樣子。但是在南美，這里有對(duì)我們和西班牙很重要的東西，但是對(duì)世界上其他地方來說就沒有那么重要。我認(rèn)為西班牙語文學(xué)有著非常精美的開始。后來，雖然我們有克維多和貢戈拉這樣的作家，但還是覺得有些東西僵化了，語言不再像過去那樣恣意流動(dòng)了。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
在20世紀(jì)還是這樣嗎？我們已經(jīng)有了，比如說，洛爾迦。
?博爾赫斯：
但
我并不喜歡洛爾迦。你看，這是我的一個(gè)缺點(diǎn)，我不喜歡具象的詩歌。他的東西一直很具象化，并且他喜歡用奇幻的比喻。但我當(dāng)然知道，他是非常受尊敬的。我認(rèn)識(shí)他。他在紐約住過一年，但奇怪的是，他在紐約住了一年之后還不認(rèn)識(shí)一個(gè)英語單詞。我只在布宜諾斯艾利斯見過他一次。對(duì)他來說被處決是一件幸運(yùn)的事。這是能夠發(fā)生在詩人身上的最好的事了，是一種挺不錯(cuò)的死法，不是嗎？能夠讓人印象深刻。然后安東尼奧·馬查多為他寫了一首很美的詩。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
霍皮印第安人（美國印第安人）經(jīng)常被當(dāng)成一個(gè)例子，是因?yàn)樗麄冋Z言的特點(diǎn)，因?yàn)樗麄冋Z言和詞匯所體現(xiàn)出來的思維——
?博爾赫斯：
我對(duì)它了解得不是很多。我是從祖母那里聽到的關(guān)于潘帕斯草原印第安人的故事。她一生都生活在胡寧，那里是文明的最西端。她告訴我他們的算數(shù)。她舉起一只手說：“我來教你潘帕斯草原印第安人的數(shù)學(xué)。”“我不會(huì)明白的?！薄笆牵彼f，“但是你將來會(huì)懂?？次业氖郑?、2、3、4，還有很多?！本瓦@樣，她用手指擺出無無限可能。我注意到，在文明人所說的潘帕斯草原上，人們沒有什么距離感，他們沒有英里、里格的概念。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
我一個(gè)從肯塔基來的朋友告訴我，他們用“一座山／兩座山之外”來表示距離。
?博爾赫斯：
真的嗎？這很奇怪。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
從西班牙語到英語再到德語或古英語，這似乎讓你擁有了不同的看待世界的方式，對(duì)嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
我認(rèn)為不同的語言本身其實(shí)是同義的。在西班牙語里，很難讓事物流動(dòng)起來，因?yàn)閱卧~太長(zhǎng)。但是在英語里，有很多輕巧的單詞，比如“slowly”、“quickly”這兩個(gè)單詞，你聽到的是這兩個(gè)詞中有意義的部分：slow-ly、quick-ly，你聽到的主要是slow和quick。但是在西班牙語里，例如“l(fā)entamente”和“rapidamente”這兩個(gè)單詞，這兩個(gè)單詞的發(fā)音你聽到的重音在“-mente”，但這個(gè)部分可以說是沒有實(shí)義的。
我有一個(gè)朋友把莎士比亞的十四行詩翻譯成西班牙語。我說，他翻譯一首英語十四行詩需要用兩首西班牙語十四行詩的篇幅，因?yàn)橛⒄Z單詞短小而意義明確，但西班牙語單詞太長(zhǎng)。并且英語有一種物質(zhì)屬性，比如，你可以說“to explain away”。
在吉卜林的《東西方歌謠》中，一位英國軍官在追一個(gè)阿富汗馬賊。他們都騎在馬背上。吉卜林寫道：“They have ridden the low moon out of the sky./ Their hooves drum up the dawn.”（他們已經(jīng)催策著低低的月亮隱沒于天際。他們的馬蹄敲起了黎明。） 但是在西班牙語里，你不能說“ride the low moon out of the sky”，你也不能說“drum up the dawn”。在西班牙語里，甚至沒有“he fell down”或“he picked himself up”這樣的簡(jiǎn)單表達(dá)。你必須說“he got up the best he could”或者用其他別扭的表達(dá)。
但是在英語中，你可以用動(dòng)詞和詞序表達(dá)很多意思。你可以寫：“dream away your life; live up to; something you have to live down. ”但是在西班牙語里你就不能這么說，這是無法表達(dá)的。英語里還有很多合成詞，比如“wordsmith”（文字大師）。但是在西班牙語里，你只能說“un herrero de palabras”（一個(gè)精通文字的人），這就顯得非常生硬、粗魯。
在德語中，你總是可以合成單詞，但英語卻不是這樣。西班牙語不像昂格魯-撒克遜語那樣有那么多自由。比如說在英語中，可以說“sigefolc”或“victorious”的人（即勝利者），這在古英語里不像是拼湊出來的單詞，但是在西班牙語里就不是這樣。當(dāng)然，西班牙語有一些方面我覺得很美，它的發(fā)音特別清晰。但是在英語里，開元音經(jīng)常會(huì)被吞掉。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
盎格魯-撒克遜語詩歌最初吸引你的是什么？
?博爾赫斯：
在我擔(dān)任阿根廷國家圖書館館長(zhǎng)期間，我的視力已經(jīng)無法閱讀了。但我不會(huì)因此屈服或自憐。我嘗試做一些別的事情。我記得當(dāng)時(shí)家里有亨利·斯威特寫的“Anglo-Saxon Reader” （《盎格魯-撒克遜讀本》）和“The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles”（《盎格魯-撒克遜編年史》），于是我決定嘗試讀盎格魯-撒克遜語。然后我就這么開始了，我仔細(xì)研讀了《盎格魯-撒克遜讀本》。
我因?yàn)閮蓚€(gè)單詞愛上了它。到現(xiàn)在我仍然記得這兩個(gè)詞，它們是倫敦的名字Lundenburh，和羅馬的名字Romeburh?，F(xiàn)在我正在讀古斯堪的納維亞語，這是比古英語更加精美的一種語言。
?斯蒂芬·凱普：
你會(huì)怎樣描述作家的20世紀(jì)神話？
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
這是一個(gè)很大的問題！
?博爾赫斯：
我認(rèn)為不應(yīng)該可以追求。你不需要努力變得很現(xiàn)代。你本來就是當(dāng)代的人。神話中的人一直都在演化。我個(gè)人認(rèn)為我能夠滿足于希臘和古斯堪的納維亞神話。比如說，我并不需要飛機(jī)、火車或汽車。
?查爾斯·西爾弗：
我想知道，在你讀過的神學(xué)或宗教作品中有沒有哪些影響到你？
?博爾赫斯：
當(dāng)然是有的，我曾經(jīng)讀過英語和德語的關(guān)于蘇菲派的東西。于是我想，在我死之前，我要盡自己最大努力寫一本關(guān)于神學(xué)家
斯威登堡的書。布萊克也是一個(gè)神秘主義者，但是我不喜歡他的神話，看起來太做作了。
博爾赫斯，1982
查爾斯·西爾弗Charles Silver拍攝
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你說過：“當(dāng)一個(gè)人閱讀惠特曼的時(shí)候，他就是惠特曼”，那么我想知道，在你翻譯卡夫卡的時(shí)候，你會(huì)不會(huì)偶爾覺得自己就是卡夫卡？
?博爾赫斯：
我覺得我從卡夫卡那里學(xué)到了很多，以至于我覺得我都不需要存在了。但是，說真的，對(duì)于切斯特頓、卡夫卡還有我很喜歡的托馬斯·布朗爵士來說，我只是一個(gè)詞語而已。我把托馬斯·布朗的作品翻譯成17世紀(jì)的西班牙語，結(jié)果很成功。我把《甕葬》中的一章翻譯成克韋多式的西班牙語，效果很不錯(cuò)——他們是同一個(gè)時(shí)代的人，都想用一種不同的語言表達(dá)拉丁語的思想，比如英語和西班牙語。
Hydriotaphia《甕葬》
London：Hen.Brome，1658
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你是第一個(gè)把卡夫卡翻譯成西班牙語的人。在翻譯他的時(shí)候你會(huì)有一種使命感嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
沒有，那是我在翻譯
惠特曼的《自我之歌》時(shí)會(huì)有的感受。我對(duì)自己說：“現(xiàn)在我在做的是一件很重要的事。”當(dāng)然，我打從心底里懂得惠特曼。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你覺得翻譯別人的作品會(huì)幫助你理解和欣賞自己的作品嗎，這會(huì)不會(huì)讓你覺得自己做過的事情很有意義？
?博爾赫斯：
不，我從不認(rèn)為自己的作品……
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
在你翻譯的時(shí)候……
?博爾赫斯：
不，如果是在阿根廷，你來布宜諾斯艾利斯，我?guī)銋⒂^我的圖書館，在那里你找不到一本我自己的書。這點(diǎn)我很確定——我會(huì)挑選自己的書。我有什么資格與托馬斯·布朗爵士或者愛默生并排呢，我誰也不是。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
所以作家博爾赫斯和譯者博爾赫斯是兩個(gè)獨(dú)立的個(gè)體嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
沒錯(cuò)，是這樣的。在翻譯的時(shí)候，我會(huì)盡量避免侵犯原文。我盡量翻譯得公正，盡量做一個(gè)詩人。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你說你不會(huì)在自己的作品里加入什么意義。
?博爾赫斯：
是的，我認(rèn)為自己是一個(gè)道德的人，但我并不想說教。我沒有什么要傳達(dá)的訊息。我對(duì)當(dāng)代生活知之甚少。我不看報(bào)紙。我不喜歡政治和政客。我沒有加入任何政黨。我的私生活就是私生活。我盡量避免被拍照或在公共場(chǎng)合露面。我的父親也有著相同的想法。他對(duì)我說：“我想當(dāng)威爾斯所寫的'透明人’。”他對(duì)此引以為傲。在里約熱內(nèi)盧，沒有人知道我的名字。在那里我的確覺得自己是透明的。但是不知道為什么，公眾喜歡我。我對(duì)此能做些什么呢？我并不追求它。但它喜歡我。當(dāng)然，當(dāng)一個(gè)人活到了80歲，就難免被發(fā)現(xiàn)、被關(guān)注。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
關(guān)于你作品中的意義，或者說意義的缺失——卡夫卡的作品充斥著罪惡感，而在你的作品里所有的東西都超越了罪惡。
?博爾赫斯：
沒錯(cuò)，是這樣的?？ǚ蚩ㄊ冀K有一種負(fù)罪感。而我沒有，因?yàn)槲也幌嘈抛杂梢庵?。因?yàn)槲宜鲞^的事情都是為了自己，或者至少是通過自己完成的。但是我并沒有真的做。但是我不相信自由意志，我無法感到罪惡。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你曾說過元素之間的組合方式是有限的，那么是否可以推斷各種想法的構(gòu)思實(shí)際上僅僅是對(duì)過往的再度發(fā)現(xiàn)？
?博爾赫斯：
沒錯(cuò)，我想是這樣的。我認(rèn)為每一代人都要以稍微不同的方式去重寫過去的書。當(dāng)我寫詩的時(shí)候，這首詩已經(jīng)被寫過很多次了，但我要重新發(fā)現(xiàn)它。這是我的道德責(zé)任，我想我們嘗試了每種微妙的變體，但語言本身幾乎不會(huì)改變。喬伊斯試圖這樣做。但是他沒有成功，盡管他寫下了一些美麗的句子。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你認(rèn)為所有被重寫的詩篇會(huì)不會(huì)回到迷宮里的同一面墻上？
?博爾赫斯：
是的，它會(huì)回來。那是一個(gè)很好的比喻。它當(dāng)然會(huì)回來。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
可否給給我們一些指示，在什么情況下，運(yùn)用本土色彩是合理的，什么時(shí)候不是呢？
?博爾赫斯：
我想，如果你能讓它不顯得扎眼，那就很好。但如果你刻意強(qiáng)調(diào)這一點(diǎn)，就會(huì)顯得有點(diǎn)不自然。但應(yīng)該要用到它，我的意思是，這不是被禁止的。但你不需要強(qiáng)調(diào)它。在布宜諾斯艾利斯，我們演化出一種俚語。作家們?yōu)E用它，用得太多了。但是人們并不怎么使用它。他們可能每隔大約20分鐘說一次俚語，但是沒人會(huì)一直說俚語。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
有沒有一些北美洲作家，讓你覺得是有效地向你——他們文化的局外人，傳達(dá)出了這種本土色彩？
?博爾赫斯：
有，我認(rèn)為馬克·吐溫就讓我感受到了很多。然后林·拉德納讓我感受到另一種本土色彩。你是不是認(rèn)為他非常的美式？
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
而且都市化……
?博爾赫斯：
更加都市化，沒錯(cuò)。然后，還有沒有其他作家呢？當(dāng)然啦，我讀過布勒特·哈特的書。我覺得?？思{是一位了不起的作家，我不喜歡海明威，但?？思{真的是一位偉大的作家，盡管他講故事的方法有問題，并且經(jīng)常打亂時(shí)間線。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你翻譯了福克納的《野棕櫚》。
?博爾赫斯：
沒錯(cuò)，但是我并不是特別喜歡那本書。我認(rèn)為《八月之光》好多了。盡管他自己瞧不上這本書?！妒サ睢芬彩且槐痉浅Ａ钊苏鸷车臅@是我讀過的第一本?？思{的書，然后才看的其他作品。他的詩我也會(huì)讀。
Las palmeras salvajes
《野棕櫚》博爾赫斯譯本
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
?？思{的作品里有一些本土色彩，在翻譯的時(shí)候你是怎么處理的呢，是直譯成西班牙語，還是盡量使用相對(duì)應(yīng)的具有本土風(fēng)格的西班牙語？
?博爾赫斯：
不，我想如果要翻譯俚語，那就應(yīng)該直譯成西班牙語，因?yàn)槟悴弧愕玫搅肆硗庖环N本土風(fēng)格。比如說，埃爾南德斯的《馬丁·菲耶羅》有一首詩叫做《高喬人》，它被翻譯成了牛仔英語。我想說，這是不對(duì)的，因?yàn)檫@讓你想到的是牛仔而不是高喬人。如果讓我翻譯《馬丁·菲耶羅》，我會(huì)用我能想到的最純正的英語。因?yàn)楸M管牛仔和高喬人也許是同一類人，但你看待他們的方式是不一樣的。比如說，當(dāng)你想到牛仔，你會(huì)想到槍。但當(dāng)你想到高喬人，你想到的是匕首和決斗。這兩件事是完全不一樣的。我對(duì)此曾有體會(huì)。我見過一個(gè)大概75歲的老人，向一個(gè)年輕人發(fā)起決斗，他說：“我馬上回來。”于是他帶了兩把看起來非常危險(xiǎn)的匕首回來，其中一把有著銀做的手柄，比另一把要大。兩把匕首大小不一。他把它們放在桌子上說：“選擇你的武器吧。”所以你看，他說這句話的時(shí)候用了一種修辭。他的意思是：“你可以選那把大的，我不介意?！比缓竽莻€(gè)年輕人當(dāng)然道歉了。那位老人的家里有很多匕首，但他刻意選了這兩把。這兩把匕首說：“這個(gè)老人知道怎樣使用匕首，因?yàn)樗梢赃x擇另外那把?！?div style="height:15px;">
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
這讓我想起了你的故事。
?博爾赫斯：
當(dāng)然了，我在我的故事中使用了它們；先講述別人的經(jīng)驗(yàn)，故事就從中而來了。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
那些故事中都有意義，但你不必提及意義，僅僅講述發(fā)生了什么就夠了。
?博爾赫斯：
意義就是，一個(gè)人是暴徒；他是騙子。但同時(shí)他有著騎士精神。我的意思是，他如果不事先警告是不會(huì)攻擊別人的。我的意思是，他清楚這些事情是怎么做的。整件事的過程都非常非常緩慢。一個(gè)人可能剛開始會(huì)稱贊另一個(gè)人。接著你可能想說，他來自一個(gè)沒人知道怎么打架的地方。你也許想要教他。接著，他可能會(huì)用稱贊的話打斷另一個(gè)人，然后他會(huì)說：“我們?nèi)ソ稚习伞?“去選你的武器”，等等。但整個(gè)過程非常緩慢，非常溫和。我想知道這種修辭藝術(shù)是不是已經(jīng)消失了。我想是這樣的?，F(xiàn)在他們都用槍了，那種騎士精神全都消失了。你可以從很遠(yuǎn)的地方射擊一個(gè)人。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
刀戰(zhàn)更加親密。
?博爾赫斯：
是的，這更親密。我會(huì)使用那個(gè)詞。在
一首詩的結(jié)尾我用了那個(gè)詞。一個(gè)人的喉嚨被割，我寫道：“親切的刀子穿透了咽喉”。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你說過，新的作家剛開始應(yīng)該模仿舊的形式和過去的作家。
?博爾赫斯：
我想這是一個(gè)誠實(shí)的問題不是嗎？如果你想要?jiǎng)?chuàng)新，你要先證明你能做出已有的東西。你不能一開始就創(chuàng)新。比如說你不能一開始就寫自由詩。你首先應(yīng)該嘗試十四行詩或其他的詩體，然后你再去創(chuàng)新。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
那什么時(shí)候該脫離呢？能不能結(jié)合你自己的經(jīng)驗(yàn)，講講你怎么知道是時(shí)候嘗試新方法的？
?博爾赫斯：
還是不了，因?yàn)槲耶?dāng)時(shí)做錯(cuò)了。我剛開始就寫自由詩。我并不知道要怎么寫，覺得非常吃力。然后我才發(fā)現(xiàn)，要寫自由詩，你必須先要形成自己的模式，并隨著時(shí)間變換它。散文，散文當(dāng)然是在詩的后面了。散文更難一點(diǎn)。我也不知道。我是靠直覺寫作的，我不是一個(gè)特別有自察的詩人。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你說應(yīng)該從多少有些傳統(tǒng)的形式開始。這是不是出于受眾的考慮？
?博爾赫斯：
不是，我從不考慮讀者。在印制我的第一本書的時(shí)候，我并沒有把他們送到書店，也沒有拿給其他作家，只是送了大概三百本給我的朋友。它們不賣。但當(dāng)然，在那個(gè)時(shí)候，沒人認(rèn)為一個(gè)作家會(huì)出名，會(huì)失敗或成功。在二十世紀(jì)二三十年代的時(shí)候，大家還沒有這種概念。沒人用失敗或成功來衡量賣書這件事。大家把寫作看成一種消遣，或是一種命運(yùn)。讀德·昆西的自傳的時(shí)候，我發(fā)現(xiàn)他一直知道他這一生將是文學(xué)的一生，我想彌爾頓、柯勒律治也是這樣。他們始終都知道。他們知道他們的一生都會(huì)交給文學(xué)，或是閱讀或是寫作，當(dāng)然，這兩者是連在一起的。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
你的短篇散文
《博爾赫斯和我》以及
《創(chuàng)造者》這首詩表現(xiàn)出你對(duì)雙重性的著迷。我們可以請(qǐng)你以非作家的身份評(píng)價(jià)一下作家博爾赫斯的作品嗎，他喜不喜歡這些作品？
?博爾赫斯：
我不是很喜歡。我比較喜歡原創(chuàng)性的文本。我喜歡切斯特頓和卡夫卡。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
所以你認(rèn)為，是出于你非作家的自我的想法，才不在阿根廷圖書館里收藏你自己的書籍嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
是的，就是這樣。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
他讓他自己感覺在那樣一種境遇中。
?博爾赫斯：
是的，他是這樣。在我身邊看不到一本博爾赫斯的書，因?yàn)槲揖嫠液軈挓Ｎ腋嬖V他我的感覺。我說，這里又是博爾赫斯。我能怎么辦呢？——繼續(xù)忍受他。我想每個(gè)人都有這種感覺。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
我一直覺得讓-保羅·薩特的一句話很有意思。他說：“人是巫師?！蹦銓?duì)此怎么看？你贊同嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
人是巫師？
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
人炮制了觀念，他炮制了宇宙法則，并試圖讓他的同類相信這些東西。你贊同嗎？
?博爾赫斯：
我想這主要是針對(duì)詩人和作家對(duì)嗎？當(dāng)然還有神學(xué)家。畢竟，當(dāng)你想到“三位一體”，這可比埃德加·愛倫·坡陌生多了。圣父、圣子、圣靈，他們都被歸結(jié)為一個(gè)存在。這真是非常奇怪。但是恐怕沒人相信。至少我不信。
?丹尼爾·伯恩：
可是神話并不一定是真實(shí)有效的。
?博爾赫斯：
的確，但我也很懷疑。比如說，在我們的想象中可以接受獅身人面獸，但不太能接受“牛身貓面獸”。不，那樣不是很好，非常讓人不舒服。但是你可以接受人身牛頭獸、獅身人面獸，因?yàn)樗鼈兪敲赖摹Ｖ辽傥覀冋J(rèn)為它們是美的。它們毫無疑問是傳統(tǒng)的一部分。但是但丁從沒見過雕像，從沒見過錢幣，他是從拉丁語作家那里知道希臘神話的。他認(rèn)為人身牛頭獸是一只牛，長(zhǎng)著一張滿是胡子的人臉。很丑。在很多版本的但丁作品中，你都可以看見這樣一種人身牛頭獸，但它被描寫為牛頭人身。因?yàn)榈∽x到“半牛半人”，他認(rèn)為這種獸就是這樣的。我們的想象很難接受這樣的設(shè)定。
但是當(dāng)我想到那么多神話，有一個(gè)是非常有害的，那就是國家的神話。我的意思是，為什么我要認(rèn)為自己是阿根廷人，而不是智利人或者烏拉圭人。我真的不知道為什么。所有這些人類施加在自己身上的神話都是非常有害的，它們是為仇恨、戰(zhàn)陣、敵意而創(chuàng)造的。我想，從長(zhǎng)遠(yuǎn)來看，政府和國家會(huì)逐漸消失，我們都會(huì)成為“世界人”。
A Conversation With
Jorge Luis Borges
Jorge Luis Borges is a man of many worlds and moods. A significant figure in modern Spanish literature, he has drawn much of his creative force from the Germanic world: English poetry, Franz Kafka, the warrior mythology of the old English and Norse. Strongly anti-political and anti-moralistic, this Argentine's work frequently revolves around the history of South America and the stirrings of the human heart. A storyteller who claims to perform his work in a simple manner, Borges may set his tales in exotic temples or in neighborhood bars; he may describe tigers and knives flashing in moonlight, or the patience of a scholar thumbing an ancient manuscript. Borges' writings emerge from dreams and from experience. Nothing can be taken for certain; life is powerful, but poorly glimpsed before it overwhelms.
The result of Borges' continual crossing of linguistic, mythological, and social boundaries is a body of work --essays, tales and poetry --which has earned recognition the world over. In 1960 he shared the World Publisher's Prize with the French Playwright, Samuel Beckett, and he is often predicted to be a future recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature. Although Borges began publishing in Buenes Aires in the 1920's, and his important collection of prose, Ficciones, came out in 1944, it was not until the appearance in 1961 of Labyrinths (New Directions), an anthology of his earlier stories, essays, and poetry, that his work spread to the U.S. and other English-speaking lands. A translation of Ficciones appeared in 1962, and subsequent translations have included A Personal Anthology (1967), The Aleph and Other Stories (1972), and In Praise of Darkness (1974), the latter four translated by or under the direction of Norman Thomas di Giovanni, with whom Borges worked closely.
The Aleph & Other Stories 1933-1969
Norman Thomas di Giovanni 翻譯
New York: E.P. Dutton & Company, 1970.
To talk closely to Jorge Luis Borges is to track him through a labyrinth of his pasts experiences and attitudes, and the walls that one encounters in the search might be painted in unexpected ways. These may furnish clues or merely diversions in the pursuit, but to understand Borges at least partially is to realize that these clues and diversions are the Borges. We must not expect to find Borges the same each time. There is not one Borges, but many.
In Praise of Darkness
New York：E.P. Dutton，1974
Norman Thomas di Giovanni 翻譯
This is the Jorge Luis Borges whom the Artful Dodge encountered on April 25, 1980.
Jorge Luis Borges: First let me say: straightforward questions. Not, for example, 'What do you think of the future?' when there are so many futures and quite different from each other I suppose.
Daniel Bourne: Let me ask you about your past then, your influences and so on.
Borges: Well, I can tell you about the influences I have received, but not about the influence I may have had upon others. That's quite unknown to me and I don't care about it. But I think of myself primarily as a reader, then also a writer, but that's more or less irrelevant. I think I'm a good reader, I'm a good reader in many languages, especially in English, since poetry came to me through the English language, initially through my father's love of Swinburn, of Tennyson, and also of Keats, Shelley and so on --not through my native tongue, not through Spanish. It came to me as a kind of spell. I didn't understand it, but I felt it. My father gave me the free run of his library. When I think of my boyhood, I think in terms of the books I read.
DB: You are indeed a bookman. Can you give us a notion of how your librarianship and antiquarian tastes have helped your writings in terms of freshness?
Borges: I wonder if my writing has any freshness. I think of myself as belonging essentially to the nineteenth century. I was born in the last but one year of the century. 1899, and also my reading has been confined- well, I also read contemporary writers- but I was brought up on Dickens and the Bible, or Mark Twain. Of course I am interested in the past. Perhaps one of the reasons is we cannot make, cannot change the past. I mean you can hardly unmake the present. But the past after all is merely to say a memory, a dream. You know my own past seems continually changed when I am remembering it, or reading things that are interesting to me. I think that I owe much to many writers, perhaps to the writers I have read or who were really part of their language, a part of tradition. A language in itself is a tradition.
Stephen Cape: If we could, let's turn to your poetry-
Borges: My friends tell me that I am an intruder, that I don't really write when I attempt poetry. But those of my friends who write in prose say that I'm no writer when I attempt prose. So really I don't know what to do, I'm in a quandary.
SC: One modern poet, Gary Snyder, describes his poetic theory in a short poem called Riprap. His ideas seem to have some things in common with your poetry, and I'd like to quote a short section of it which describes his attitudes towards words in poems.
Borges: Yes but why a short section, a large section would be better, no? I want to enjoy this morning.
(SC reads Gary Snyder's Riprap, in RIPRAP. San Francisco: Origen Press, 1959)
SC: The title Riprap refers to making a path of stones on slippery rock, to get pack horses up a mountain, a small inter-connected path.
Borges: Of course, he writes with varied metaphors, and I don't, I write in a simple way. But he has the English language to play with, and I haven't.
SC: His idea seems to be comparing placing words in a poem with building the inter-connected trail where each piece is dependent on the piece on either side. Do you agree with that type of approach towards the structure of poem, or is it just one of many?
Borges: Well, I think as Kipling said, 'There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays,/ and-every-single-one-of-them-is-right.'- and that may be one of the right ways. But mine is not at all like that. I get- it's some kind of relation, a rather dim one. I'm given an idea; well, that idea may become a tale or a poem. But I'm only given the starting point and the goal. And then I have to invent or concoct somehow what happens in between, and then I do my best. But generally, when I get that kind of inspiration, I do all I can to resist it, but if it keeps bothering me, then I have to somehow write it down. But I never look for subjects. They come to me in a cage, they may come when I'm trying to sleep,or when I wake up. They come to me on the streets of Buenes Aires, or anywhere at anytime. For example, a week ago I had a dream. When I awoke- it was a nightmare- I said, well, this nightmare isn't worth telling, but I think there's a story lurking here. I want to find it. Now when I think I found it, I write it within five or six months. I take my time over it. So I have, let's say, a different method. Every craftsman has his own method, of course and I should respect it.
SC: Snyder's trying to achieve a direct transfer of his state of mind to the reader with as little interference as possible from reasoning. He's going for the direct transfer of sensation. Does this seem a little extreme for you?
Borges: No, but he seems to be a very cautious poet. Where I'm really old and innocent. I just ramble on, try to find my way. People tell me, for example, what message I have. I'm afraid I haven't any. Well, here's fable, what's the moral? I'm afraid I don't know. I'm merely a dreamer, and then a writer, and my happiest moments are when I'm a reader.
SC: Do you think of words as having effects that are inherent in the word or in the images they carry?
Borges: Well yes, fro example, if you attempt a sonnet, then, at least in Spanish, you have to use certain words. There's only a few rhymes. And those of course may be used as metaphors, peculiar metaphors, since you have to stick to them. I would even venture to say- this of course is a sweeping statement- but perhaps the word moon in English stems from something different that the word luna in Latin or Spanish. The moon the word moon is a lingering sound. Moon is a beautiful word. The French word is also beautiful:lune. But in Old English the word was mona. The word isn't beautiful at all, two syllables. And then the Greek is worse. We have celena, three syllables. But the word moon is a beautiful word. That sound is not found, let's say in Spanish. The moon. I can linger in words. Words inspire you. Words have a life of their own.
SC: The word's life of its own, does that seem more important than the meaning that it gives in a particular context?
Borges: I think that the meanings are more or less irrelevant. What is important, or the two important facts I should say, are emotion, and then words arising from emotion. I don't think you can write in an emotionless way. If you attempt it, the result is artificial. I don't like that kind of writing. I think that if a poem is really great, you should think of it as having written itself despite the author. It should flow.
SC: Could one set of myths be replaced by another when moving from one poet to another and still get the same poetic effect?
Borges: I suppose every poet has his own private mythology. Maybe he's unaware of it. People tell me that I have evolved a private mythology of tigers, of blades, of labyrinths, and I'm unaware of the fact this is so. My readers are finding it all the time. But I think perhaps that is the duty of poet. When I think of America, I always tend to think in terms of Walt Whitman. The wordManhattan was invented for him, no?
SC: An image of a healthy America?
Borges: Well, yes. At the same time, Walt Whitman himself was a myth, a myth of a man who wrote, a very unfortunate man, very lonely, and yet he made of himself a rather splendid vagabond. I have pointed out that Whitman is perhaps the only writer on earth who has managed to create a mythological person of himself and one of the three persons of the Trinity is the reader, because when you read Walt Whitman, you are Walt Whitman. Very strange that he did that,the only person on earth. Of course, America has produced writers important all over the world. Especially New England. You have given the world men that cannot be though away. For example, all contemporary literature could not be what it is had it not been for Poe, for Whitman, and perhaps Melville and Henry James. But South America, we have many things important to us and Spain, but not to the rest of the world. I do think that Spanish literature began by being very fine. And then somewhere, and already with such writers as Quevado and Gongora, you feel something has stiffened; the language doesn't flow as it did.
DB: Does this hold for the twentieth century? There's Lorca, for example.
Borges: But I'm not fond of Lorca. Well you see, this is a shortcoming of mine, I dislike visual poetry. He is visual all the time, and he goes in for fancy metaphors. But, of course, I know he's very respected. I knew him personally. He lived a year in New York. He didn't learn a word of English after a year in New York.. Very strange. I met him only once in Buenes Aires. And then, it was a lucky think for him to be executed. Best thing to happen for a poet. A fine death, no? An impressive death. And then Antonio Mucharo wrote that beautiful poem about him.
SC: The Hopi Indians are used as an example many times, because of the nature of their language, of how language and vocabulary thought-
Borges: I know very little about it. I was told of the Pampas Indians by my grandmother. She lied all of her life in Junin; that was on the western end of civilization. She told me as a fact that their arithmetic went thus. She held up a hand and said, 'I'll teach you the Pampas Indians' mathematics.' 'I won't understand,.' 'Yes,' she said, 'you will. Look at my hands: 1, 2, 3, 4, Many.' So, infinity went on her thumb. I have noticed, in what literary men call thePampas, that the people have but little notion of distance. They don't think in terms of miles, of leagues.
DB: A friend of mine who comes from Kentucky tells me that they talk of distance there as one mountain, two mountains away.
Borges: Oh really? How strange.
SC: Does changing from Spanish to English to German or Old English seem to offer you different means of viewing the world?
Borges: I don't think languages are essentially synonymous. In Spanish it is very difficult to make things flow, because words are over-long. But in English, you have light words. For example, if you saw slowly, quickly, in English, what you hear is the meaningful part of the word: slow-ly, quick-ly.You hear slow and quick. But in Spanish you say lentamente, rapidamente, and what you hear is the -mente. That is gratis, so to say. A friend of mine translated Shakespeare's sonnets into Spanish. I said that he needed two Spanish sonnets to a single English one, since English words are short and to the point, but Spanish words are over-long. And English also a physical quality to it. Well, in English, you can say: to explain away . In Kipling's Ballad of East and West, an English officer is pursuing an Afgan horse thief. They're both on horseback. And Kipling writes: 'They have ridden the low moon out of the sky./ Their hooves drum up the dawn.' Now you can't ride the low moon out of the sky in Spanish, and you can't drum up the dawn. It can't be done. Even such simple sentences as he fell down or he picked himself up, you can't do in Spanish. You have to say he got up the best he could or some lame paraphrase. But in English you can do much with verbs and positions. You can write: dream away your life; live up to; something you have to live down. Those things are impossible in Spanish. They cannot be done. Then you have compound words. For example you have wordsmith. It would be in Spanish un herrero de palabras, rather stilted, rather uncouth. But it can be done in German you can make up words all the time, but not in English. You are not allowed the freedom that the Anglo-Saxons had. For example, you havesigefolc, or victorious people. Now in Old English, you don't think of these words as being artificial, but in Spanish it can't be done. But of course, you have what I think is beautiful in Spanish: the sounds are very clear. But in English you have lost your open vowels.
SC: What was it that attracted you to Anglo-Saxon poetry originally?
Borges: Well, I lost my eyesight for reading purposes when I was made chief librarian for the Argentine National Library. I said I won't bow down and allow self-pity. I will attempt something else. And then, I remember, I had at homeSweet's Anglo-Sxon Reader and The Ango-Saxon Chronicles. And I said we'll attempt Anglo-Saxon. And then I began; I studied through Sweet's Anglo Saxon Reader. And then I fell in love with it through two words. Those two words, I can still recall them, those words were the name of London, Lundenburh; and then Rome, Romeburh. And now I'm attempting Old Norse, which was a finer literature than Old English.
SC: How would you describe a twentieth century mythology for writers?
DB: That's a big question!
Borges: I don't think it should be done consciously. You don't have to try to be contemporary. You are already contemporary. What one has in mythology is being evolved all the time. Personally, I think I can do with Greek and Old Norse mythology. For example, I don't think I stand in need of planes or of railways or of cars.
Charles Silver: I wondered if there were any particular mystical or religious readings you've done that have influenced you?
Borges: Yes, I have done some reading, of course, in English and in German, of the Sufis. And then, I think, before I die, I'll do my best to write a book on Swedenborg the mystic. And Blake also was a mystic. But I dislike Blake's mythology. It seems very artificial.
DB: You said, 'When one reads Whitman, one is Whitman,' and I was wondering, when you translated Kafka did you feel at any time that you were Kafka in any sense?
Borges: Well, I felt that I owed so much to Kafka that I really didn't need to exist. But, really, I am merely a word for Chesterton, for Kafka, and Sir Thomas Browne- I love him. I translated him into seventeenth century Spanish and it worked very well. We took a chapter out of Urne Buriall and we did that into Quevado's Spanish and it went very well- the same period, the same idea of writing Latin in a different language, writing Latin in English, writing Latin in Spanish.
DB: You were the first to translate Kafka into Spanish. Did you feel a sense of mission while you were translating him?
Borges: No, that was when I translated Walt Whitman's Song of Myself. 'What I'm doing is very important,' I said to myself. Of course I know Whitman by heart.
DB: Did you feel that in any of your translations that by doing them you'd help the understanding and appreciation of you own work, did they ever seem to justify what you yourself had done?
Borges: No, I never think of my own work...
DB: When you translate...
Borges: No, at home, come visit in Buenes Aires, I'll show you my library, you won't find a single book of mine of one me. I'm very sure of this- I choose my books. Who am I to find my way into the neighborhood of Sir Thomas Browne, or of Emerson. I'm nobody.
DB: So Borges that writer and Borges the translator are completely separate?
Borges: Yes, they are. When I translate, I try not to intrude. I try to do a fair translation of some kind, and to be a poet also.
DB: You said that you don't ever try to put any meaning into your works.
Borges: Well, you see, I think of myself as being an ethical man, but I don't try to teach ethics. I have no message. I know little about contemporary life. I don't read a newspaper. I dislike politics and politicians. I belong to no party whatever. My private life is a private life. I try to avoid photography and publicity. My father had the same idea. He said to me, 'I want to be Well's Invisible Man.' He was quite proud of it. In Rio de Janeiro, there, nobody knew my name. I did feel invisible there. And somehow, publicity has found me. What can I do about it? I don't look for it. It has found me. Of course, one lives to be eighty, one is found out, one is detected.
DB: About meaning in your work or the absence of meaning in it- in Kafka's work there is guilt running all the way through, and in your writing everything's beyond guilt.
Borges: Yes, that's true. Kafka had the sense of guilt. I don't think I have because I don't believe in free will. Because what I have done has been done, well, for me or through me. But I haven't done it really. But I don't believe in free will, I can't feel guilty.
DB: Could this be tied in then with you saying that there is only a finite combination of elements and so actually the conception of ideas is only a rediscovery of the past?
Borges: Yes, I suppose it is. I suppose that each generation has to re-write the books of the past and do it in a slightly different way. When I write a poem, that one has already been written down any amount of times, but I have to rediscover it. That's my moral duty. I suppose we all attempt very slight variations, but the language itself can hardly be changed. Joyce, of course, tried to do it. But he failed, though he wrote some beautiful lines.
DB: Would you say then that all of these poems that have been rewritten are the coming back upon the same wall in the labyrinth?
Borges: Yes, it would. That's a good metaphor, yes. Of course it would be.
DB: Can you give us some guidelines as to when you think using local color is legitimate and when it is not?
Borges: I think, if you can do it in an unobtrusive way, it is all for the good. But if you stress it, the whole thing is artificial. But it should be used, I mean, it's not forbidden. But you don't have to stress it. We have evolved a kind of slang in Buenes Aires. Writers are, well, abusing it, over-using it. But the people themselves have little use for it. They may say a word in slang every twenty minutes or so, but nobody tries to talk slang all the time.
DB: Are there any North American writers that you felt conveyed this local color to you effectively as an outsider to that culture?
Borges: Yes, I think that Mark Twain gave me a lot. And then, I wonder if Ring Lardner gave me something else also. You think of him as being very, very American, no?
DB: And urban...
Borges: More urban, yes. And then, what other writers? Of course, I have read Bret Harte. I think that Faulkner was a very great writer- I dislike Hemingway, by the way- but Faulkner was a great writer, despite, well, telling a story the wrong way and mixing up the chronology.
DB: You translated Faulkner's Wild Palms.
Borges: Yes, but I'm not too fond of that book. I think that Light in August is far better. And that book that he despised. Sanctuary, is a very striking book also. That was the first Faulkner I read, and went onto others. I read his poetry also.
DB: When you were translating Faulkner and his use of local color, how did you deal with it, did you stick with straight Spanish or did you try to put it into a type of local Spanish?
Borges: No, I think that if one has to translate slang one should translate it into straight Spanish, because you're not... you get a different kind of local color. For example, we have a translation of a poem of ours called El Gaucho, Martin Fierro. Now, it has been done into cowboy English. That is wrong, I should say, because you think of cowboys and not of gauchos. I would translateMartin Fierro, into as pure an English as I could get. Because through the cowboy and the gaucho may be the same type of man, you think of them a different way. For example, when you think of a cowboy, well, you think of guns. But when you think of a gaucho, you think of daggers and duels. The whole thing is done in a very different way. I have seen some of it. I have seen an old man, of seventy-five or so, challenge a young man to a duel, and he said, 'I'll be back in no time.' He came back with two very dangerous-looking daggers, one of them with a silver hilt, and one larger than the other. They were not the same size. He put them on the table and said, 'Well, now, choose your weapon.' So you see, when he said that he was using a kind of rhetoric. He meant: 'You can choose the larger one, I don't mind.' And then the younger man of course apologized. The old man had many daggers in his house, but he chose those two on purpose. Those two daggers said, 'This old man knows how to handle a dagger, since he can choose the other one.'
DB: That brings to mind your stories...
Borges: Well, of course, I've used that them for my stories; from telling a person's experience, comes stories afterward of course.
DB: There's meaning in there, but you don't have to mention the meaning, you just have to tell what happened.
Borges: Well, the meaning is that the man was a hoodlum; he was a sharper. But at the same time he had a code of honor. I mean he would not think of attacking someone without fair warning. I mean he knew the way that those things were done. The whole thing was done very, very slowly. A man might begin by praising another. Then you would want to say that where he came from nobody knew how to fight. You might teach him, perhaps. Then after that, he would interrupt the other with words of praise, and then after that he would say, 'let us walk into the street,' 'choose your weapon,' and so on. But this whole thing was done very slowly, very gently. I wonder if that kind of rhetoric has been lost. I suppose it has. Well, they use firearms now, revolvers, and all that code has disappeared. You can shoot a man from a distance.
DB: Knife-fighting is more intimate.
Borges: It is intimate, yes. Well, I used that word. At the end of a poem I used that word. A man is having his throat cut and then I say, 'the intimate end of knife on his throat.'
DB: You said new writers should begin by imitating old forms and established writers.
Borges: I think it's a question of honesty, no? If you want to renew something you must show that you can do what has been done. You can't begin by innovation. You can't begin by free verse for example. You should attempt a sonnet, or any other set stanza, and then go on to the new things.
DB: When is the time to break away? Can you give some idea from you own experience when you knew it was time to go into a new approach?
Borges: No, because I made the mistake. I began by free verse. I did not know how to handle it. Very difficult, and then, I found out that after all, writing with free verse you have to make your own pattern and change it all the time. Well, prose, prose comes after the poetry of course. Prose is more difficult. I don't know. I have written by instinct. I don't think I'm a very conscious poet.
DB: You said that someone should begin with the more or less traditional forms. Isn't it though a matter of audience?
Borges: No, I never thought of an audience. When I printed my first book I didn't send it to the bookshops, or to other writers, just gave copies away to friends- some three hundred copies I gave away to friends. They were not on sale. But of course, in those days nobody thought about a writer being famous, or failure or success. Those ideas were alien to us about 1920, 1930. Noboby thought in terms of failure or success in selling books. We thought of writing as, I would say as a pastime, or as a kind of destiny. And when I read DeQuincey's Autobiography, I found out that he always knew that his life would be a literary life, and Milton also, and Coleridge also, I think. They knew it all the time. They knew their lives would be given over to literature, for reading and for writing, which, of course, go together.
DB: Your short prose piece Borges and I and the poem The Watcher show your fascination with the Double. Could we let Borges the non-writer speak for a while and give some sort of assessment of the writer Borges' work, whether he likes it or not?
Borges: I don't like it too much. I prefer original texts. I prefer Chesterton and Kafka.
DB: So do you think it's the non-writer's decision that your library in Argentina doesn't have any of Borges' books?
Borges: Yes,of course.
DB: He made himself felt in that situation.
Borges: Yes, he did, yes. You won't find a single book of his around me, because I warned him I'm sick and tired. I warned him of the way I feel. I say, well, here's Borges back again. What can I do?- put up with him. Everyone feels that way I suppose.
DB: A comment that Jean-Paul Sartre made has always fascinated me. He said: 'Man is a wizard unto man.' What do you think about that? Would you agree?
Borges: Man is a wizard?
DB: He concocts ideas, he concocts laws of the universe, and tries to make his fellow man believe them. Would you agree with that?
Borges: I suppose that would be applied especially to poets and to writers, no? And to theologians of course. After all, if you think of the Trinity, it's far stranger than Edgar Allan Poe. The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and they're boiled down into one single Being. Very, very strange. But nobody believes in it, supposedly. At least I don't.
DB: Myths don't have to believed to be effective, though.
Borges: No, and yet, I wonder. For example, our imagination accepts a Centaur, but not, let's say, a bull with the face of a cat. No. That would be no good, very, very uncouth. But you accept the Minotaur, the Centaur, because they are beautiful. Well, at least we think of them as being beautiful. They of course are a part of tradition. But Dante, who had never seen monuments, had never seen coins, he knew the Greek myths through Latin writers. And he thought of the Minotaur as being a bull with a human bearded face. Very ugly. In the many editions of Dante you see that kind of Minotaur, while you think of him as a man with face of a bull. But since Dante had read semi-boven, semi-hominem, he thought of him in that way. And our imagination can hardly accept that idea. But as I think of the many myths, there is one that is very harmful, and that is the myth of countries. I mean, why should I think of myself as being an Argentine, and not a Chilean, and not an Uraguayan. I don't know really. All of those myths that we impose on ourselves- and they make for hatred, for war, for enmity- are very harmful. Well, I suppose in the long run, governments and countries will die out and we'll be just, well, cosmopolitans.
題圖：博爾赫斯，1985
?Juan Carlos Piovano
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