The Milonga of Manuel Flores

Hmm, have to start in some non-threatening, not-too-extreme way...

A few days ago I woke up in the middle of the night with a sudden urge to read Borges' poem, The Milonga of Manuel Flores, again. I did my own fairly lame verse translation of it, which goes like this:


Paul Jennings Hill is gonna die.
That’s a bet you’re sure to win.
Dying’s a thing that’s common enough
in our fallen world of sin.

Tomorrow they’ll bring me the needle
and kick off my long dark ride;
I think it was Merlin who said it:
“You ain’t been born till you’ve died.”

But that doesn’t dull the pain much
Of telling this life goodbye-
This thing I’ve gotten so used to,
As sweet and true as the sky.

I look at my hand in the morning.
I look at the veins in my hand.
It’s strange to find they look just like
the veins of some other man.

How many things my eyes have seen
on this road I’ve walked along!
Who knows what else they’re yet to see
After Christ has judged my song.

Paul Jennings Hill is gonna die.
That’s a bet you’re sure to win.
Dying’s a thing that’s common enough
in our fallen world of sin.