The most elementary and radical objection to translation is that it puts the poem in another language. I stipulate that the translation is more or less adequate, but refuse the legitimacy of reading “Lorca” in any language other than Spanish. Why would I be attracted to such an extreme position? I feel that this position must be correct, even though I cannot justify it.

Murat’s attack on Jabès gives me pause. I’ve read very little of Jabès, who owes a good deal of his fame and prestige to Derrida. I’ve always assumed that I ought to admire him, and Murat gives me permission, if not to ignore him, at least to recognize what he must look like to a different sort of Jewish poet. Valente admired him, of course: but is there an aspect that’s almost “too good to be true” in a figure like Jabès? The combination of Jewish-exile/ Mallarmean themes is obviously too much for someone like Derrida to resist, even though Derrida himself downplays his Jewishness. I wouldn’t presume to reach any conclusion. I don’t find Jabès’ language very interesting, but I feel the same way about a lot of French poetry. Nor am I thrilled with Derrida as prose stylist. What if Derrida were actually a great writer? Then, and only then, would I accept the argument about the rapprochement of poetry and philosophy in his work.

“Les lettres du blanc sur les bandes du vieux billard”
“Les lettres du blanc sur les bandes du vieux pillard”