Redtree Times

Absorbed– At West End Gallery

What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the
moon of the jagged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked
long and long at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts
that living men have honoured in bronze.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold,
whatever manliness or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never
been loyal.
I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved,
somehow-the central heart that deals not
in words, traffics not with dreams, and is
untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at
sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about
yourself, authentic and surprising news of
yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you
with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

—Jorge Luis Borges, Two English Poems, Verse II, 1934

Wasn’t going to write anything this morning, again. So, I didn’t write this morning. Haven’t felt much like writing lately. Just a little worn down, I guess.

But later in the morning, I came across a draft of a blog entry that I had never shared containing the second verse of a Jorge Luis Borges poem, Two English Poems. It sent me thinking and writing. It is basically about finding and losing love in the first part, followed in the second part by weighing out what the narrator has to offer in order to regain love.

I focused on the second verse of the poem. Its first line– What can I hold you with?— is a thought that often goes through my mind when I stand before a blank canvas. In my conversation with some unidentifiable and indistinct viewer that I imagine being present in the studio, it is often phrased in a slightly different way– What part of myself can I give to you?

The meaning is much the same though. When I paint, I am making an offer of myself to the viewer.

But what has the greatest impact for me was the final part of the second verse, highlighted in red above. It reminds me of the thoughts I sometimes have when trying to describe what I hope others see in my work, those things I have to offer with the hope that it will entrance and hold the viewer.

The artist hopes that what they have to offer, while being their own memories and feelings, opens up new avenues of perception for the viewer of themselves. As Borges put it:

I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about
yourself, authentic and surprising news of
yourself.

I have struggled to say just that for a long time. It is just what I want from my work.

And that final line just crushed me:

I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you
with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

I felt like it was describing much of what I have to offer in my work. You hope that your work represents the totality of you, all the many facets that make up your humanity, with the hope that others see their own similar feelings in it. That includes the deepest of feelings. These are sometimes a bit darker and more somber than feelings of joy and happiness but they are as much a part of who we are as the brightest of our feelings.

As I said, Borges’ poem is very much a poem about what one has to offer in order to gain one’s love. In a way, sharing one’s art is often very much the same thing– a love offering of the deepest and most intimate parts of yourself. It may not be real love but when you connect with art in a deep way, you often feel as though you are connected with the artist and know and understand them.

I don’t know that I can fully explain what I mean here. It may even sound a bit off the wall to you. That’s okay. I am used to that. Just felt like I wanted to share this poem today.

Here’s a reading from Tom O’Bedlam of the whole poem from Borges.