Clouds (II)
by Tammy Compton Hauge
This poem seems especially appropriate for dark times, and we've had some recently in our Compton family as we've faced some health challenges for my dad (Merlin).
The translated poem was a little "bonus Christmas Gift" from Tim that we received tucked in our Christmas newsletter during the last holiday season. It was a most welcome gift--I read and enjoyed it many times this year. Good job of translating the poem, Tim, and nice choice of poem. He gave me permission to share his translation here.
Clouds (II) Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Timothy Compton
Through the air meander serene mountains
or tragic cordilleras of shadow
that darken our days. The name we give them is
clouds. Their forms tend to be strange.
Shakespeare observed one. It seemed to him
a dragon. Preserved in his word,
that afternoon cloud glitters and blazes
and we still see it today.
What are clouds? An architecture
of randomness? Perhaps God needs them to bring about His infinite masterpiece
and they are the threads of its nebulous plot.
Perhaps clouds are no less significant
than the people who gaze at them in the morning.
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