Borges himself was a translator of some note, and in addition to the translations per se that he left to Spanish culture—a number of German lyrics, Faulkner, Woolf, Whitman, Melville, Carlyle, Swedenborg, and others—he left at least three essays on the act of translation itself.
From Andrew Hurley's A Note on the Translation, printed in the back of this Penguin edition of Borges' FICTIONS (which is oddly hard to find actually).
In “Versions of Homer” (“Las versiones homericas,” 1932), Borges makes it unmistakably clear that every translation is a “version”—not the translation of Homer (or any other author) but a translation.
This is one reason I have resolved to learn Spanish (aside from my desire to spend more time in Mexico City). Having been exposed to works by Arabic authors in both the original Arabic as well as in translation to English, I can see how a work in translation genuinely isn't the same as the original. If I could have things my way, I'd also be learning French, Mandarin, and Hindi, but as a man in his 40s who sucks at multitasking, I've only got so much time for so many battles, and it seems wise to start narrowing one's struggles down to just one or two, maybe three.