That rough poetry  

From Willis Barnstone's recollections about translating Borges:

In those months in Buenos Aires of evening bomb blasts and kidnappings, I often pored through the night on new sonnets from a book Borges had just brought out called La moneda de hiero ("The Iron Coin"). One day a decisive event took place. Late in the afternoon, while English versions of those poems were still spread all over my living room floor, Carlos Frias knocked at the door of my apartment. "Borges has a message for you about the sonnets," the editor said.

"What's the message?"

"In your translation of 'Camden, 1892,' the one about Whitman," Frias said discreetly, "Borges thinks your rhyme in the last couplet is incorrect."

I wondered why Borges hadn't called me himself. Why the messenger? I began to fumble with words, defending slant rhymes, saying how modern poets in English like to use muted assonant rhymes, how...

"Borges thinks you should try a little harder," Frias coldly interrupted.

"Four of the best things in America are Walt Whitman's Leaves, Herman Melville's Whale, the sonnets of Barnstone's Secret Reader, and my daily Corn Flakes -- that rough poetry of the morning."