Poem of the day - Voices from the other world by James Merrill (Comments, analysis and Spanish translation)

El Greco - A Boy Blowing on an Ember to Light a Candle
(Muchacho encendiendo una candela)

Voices from the Other World BY James Merrill

Presently at our touch the teacup stirred,    Then circled lazily about From A to Z. The first voice heard (If they are voices, these mute spellers-out)    Was that of an engineer Originally from Cologne. Dead in his 22nd year Of cholera in Cairo, he had KNOWN NO HAPPINESS. He once met Goethe, though.    Goethe had told him: PERSEVERE. Our blind hound whined. With that, a horde    Of voices gathered above the Ouija board,    Some childish and, you might say, blurred    By sleep; one little boy Named Will, reluctant possibly in a ruff Like a large-lidded page out of El Greco, pulled    Back the arras for that next voice,    Cold and portentous: ALL IS LOST. FLEE THIS HOUSE. OTTO VON THURN UND TAXIS.    OBEY. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. Frightened, we stopped; but tossed Till sunrise striped the rumpled sheets with gold. Each night since then, the moon waxes,    Small insects flit round a cold torch We light, that sends them pattering to the porch . . . But no real Sign. New voices come, Dictate addresses, begging us to write; Some warn of lives misspent, and all of doom    In ways that so exhilarate We are sleeping sound of late. Last night the teacup shattered in a rage.    Indeed, we have grown nonchalant Towards the other world. In the gloom here,    our elbows on the cleared Table, we talk and smoke, pleased to be stirred Rather by buzzings in the jasmine, by the drone Of our own voices and poor blind Rover’s wheeze,    Than by those clamoring overhead, Obsessed or piteous, for a commitment We still have wit to postpone Because, once looked at lit By the cold reflections of the dead Risen extinct but irresistible, Our lives have never seemed more full, more real,    Nor the full moon more quick to chill.

* Taken from a newsletter by Poetryfoundation

This is my first time reading this author, what I´ve found most interesting about his work, from the little I know of it, is the way he uses his personal experiences to build his poems. In Voices from the other world, James Merrill tells us about the time when he was given a Ouija and his own experiences using it with his friend. 

In the poem we can notice the life cycle of the common experiences. At the beggining, the writer is excited about his new project. Then, he and his friend feel fear upon hearing the voices of the dead and have to stop "Frightened, we stopped." he says. But later, they grow accustomed to the same situations repeating over and over "we have grown nonchalant" so they no longer feel fear.

I find it interesting how we become used to certain activities through repetition, even when they once seemed extraordinary or frightening. Merrill’s poem suggests that even the supernatural, when experienced repeatedly, can become part of the ordinary.

Inspired by the poem, I would like to elaborate a brief verse 

Last night, I went back to work,
Pulled the Ouija from the old trunk.
I traced his name letter by letter,
But he seemed far too busy now,
More than when we played, seeking voices.

I asked the IA ChatGPT to write his own also

The planchette moved, but not for me
A hand once steady now fades in dust,
Whispering names I no longer trust.

IA's verse was kind of disturbing, but I think I like it! 

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Hay poemas dificiles de traducir, de hecho, pienso que la mayoria de los poemas pierden su esencia cuando uno los traduce, ya sea por la estructura formal o por el aspecto semántico, pero hay mucho que se pierde de la intención del autor. Esto nunca me ha detenido y casi siempre insisto en buscar maneras de trasladar de un idioma a otro lo más posible. En este caso, voy a hacer el intento solo con algunos de los versos que me gustaron más del poema.

"Asustados, nos detuvimos 

y dimos vueltas en la cama 

hasta que el amanecer tiñó las sábanas arrugadas de oro.

Cada noche desde entonces, la luna crece,

pequeños insectos revolotean una antorcha fría

que encendemos enviándolos aleteando hacia el porche"

Es evidente que se pierde la estructura del poema, pero se conserva la esencia de la cotidianidad, nos sigue mostrando que el sentir del poeta durante su experiencia usando la ouija con su amigo, sus temores y sus pequeños rituales cotidianos. 

De este poema rescato la manera en la que el autor muestra como vamos adaptándonos a las rutinas, vamos perdiendo interés y generando costumbres. Un tema sería entonces el agotamiento de lo rutinario. Pero esa es solo una lectura, porque también lo podríamos abordar desde lo nostálgico, sobre el final del poema, el autor señala que sus vidas nunca fueron tan plenas como en esos tiempos, parece que añora esa etapa de su vida jugando a la ouija con su amigo, de esa lectura salió mi ejercicio de más arriba intentando elaborar un verso en inglés inspirado en el poema de Merrill. 

© JorgeRGalán 2025