Every so often I'm proud of the human race. We don't have much capacity to identify stupidity, but sometimes we do know genius.
Tonight I'm going to post another selection from Poems of the Night, a gathering of work from several of Jorge Luis Borges' collections. I want, for myself, his easy passage into dream and back, his understanding of depth, process and transparency of the collective unconsciousness, of the momentous occasion of its existence, and a personal access through myth and dream (and good fortune). Borges gives me hope as an artist and as a believer (in many things).
Each sentence below is a meditation.
Someone Will Dream
What will the indecipherable future dream? A dream that Alonso Quijano can be Don Quixote without leaving his village and his books. A dream that the eve of Ulysses can be more prodigious than the poem that recounts his hardships. Dreaming human generations that will not recognize the name of Ulysses. Dreaming dreams more precise than today's wakefulness. A dream that we will be able to do miracles and that we won't do them, because it will be more real to imagine them. Dreaming worlds so intense that the voice of one bird could kill you. Dreaming that to forget and to remember can be voluntary actions, not aggressions or gifts of chance. A dream that we shall see with our whole body, as Milton wished from the shadow of those tender orbs, his eyes. Dreaming a world without machines and without that afflicted machine, the body. Life is not a dream, Novalis writes, but can become a dream.
Suzanne Jill Levine tr.
Borges, Waiting for the Night, Poems of the Night (Penguin).
*Painting by Ric Nagualero: www.nagualero.com / Facebook.com/nagualero