So That Our Hands Would Meet - Jorge Luís Borges
Monday, November 21, 2016
In past blogs I have written at length how as a portrait photographer I have this fascination with human hands. I know that a pair of hands is usually as big as a person’s face. I know that Sherlock Holmes could tell a lot by simply looking at hands.
In my years of taking photographs of modern and ballet
dancers I know how crucial hands are in any photograph. They must look graceful
and never in a grip of tension. My wife Rosemary from the very beginning of
looking at my photographs, years ago, would ask me what I thought was a trivial
question when I showed her what I thought was a very good portrait, “What is
she doing with that little finger?”
I would go as far as to say that many of my portraits have
passing grades because the hands look just fine.
The photograph above, which I took some years ago, part of a series of pictures I took of Kimberley Klaas, shows my interest in hands.
Many poets have written about hands. In fact I may have a
couple of blogs that feature photographs of hands with a two different poems by
Emily Dickinson. But after looking at this image a favourite poem by Jorge Luís
Borges (both in English and in Spanish below) came to mind:
The Causes
by Jorge Luís Borges
The sunsets and generations.
The days and none was the first.
The coolness of water in Adam's
throat. Orderly Paradise.
The eye deciphering the dark.
The love of wolves at dawn.
The word. The hexameter. The mirror.
The Tower of Babel and pride.
The moon that Chaldeans gazed at.
The innumerable sands of the Ganges.
Chuang-Tzu and the butterfly that dreams him.
The golden apples on the islands.
The steps in the wandering labyrinth.
Penelope's infinite tapestry.
The Stoics' circular time.
The coin in the dead man's mouth.
The weight of the sword on the scale.
Each drop of water in the clepsydra.
The eagles, the auspicious days, the legions.
Caesar on the morning of Pharsalia.
The shadow of the crosses over the earth.
The chess and algebra of the Persian.
The footprints of long migrations.
The conquest of kingdoms by the sword.
The relentless compass. The open sea.
The clock's echo in memory.
The king beheaded by the ax.
The incalculable dust which was armies.
The nightingale's voice in Denmark.
The calligrapher's meticulous line.
The face of the suicidal one in the mirror.
The gambler's card. Greedy gold.
The shapes of a cloud in the desert.
Every arabesque in the kaleidoscope.
Each regret and each tear.
All those things were necessary
so that our hands would meet.
Las causas - Jorge Luís Borges
Los ponientes y las generaciones.
Los ponientes y las generaciones.
Los días
y ninguno fue el primero.
La
frescura del agua en la garganta
de Adán.
El ordenado Paraíso.
El ojo
descifrando la tiniebla.
El amor
de los lobos en el alba.
La
palabra. El hexámetro. El espejo.
La Torre
de Babel y la soberbia.
La luna
que miraban los caldeos.
Las
arenas innúmeras del Ganges.
Chuang-Tzu
y la mariposa que lo sueña.
Las
manzanas de oro de las islas.
Los
pasos del errante laberinto.
El
infinito lienzo de Penélope.
El
tiempo circular de los estoicos.
La
moneda en la boca del que ha muerto.
El peso
de la espada en la balanza.
Cada
gota de agua en la clepsidra.
Las
águilas, los fastos, las legiones.
César en
la mañana de Farsalia.
La
sombra de las cruces en la tierra.
El
ajedrez y el álgebra del persa.
Los
rastros de las largas migraciones.
La
conquista de reinos por la espada.
La
brújula incesante. El mar abierto.
El eco
del reloj en la memoria.
El rey
ajusticiado por el hacha.
El polvo
incalculable que fue ejércitos.
La voz
del ruiseñor en Dinamarca.
La
escrupulosa línea del calígrafo.
El
rostro del suicida en el espejo.
El naipe
del tahúr. El oro ávido.
Las
formas de la nube en el desierto.
Cada
arabesco del calidoscopio.
Cada remordimiento
y cada lágrima.
Se
precisaron todas esas cosas
para que
nuestras manos se encontraran.
