Selected Poems

eBook Selected Poems My God my dreamer keep dreaming me Borges I simply adore the man Every word from his pen traces a warm euphoria through my veins If drug dealers sold books Borges would

eBook Selected Poems ‘My God, my dreamer, keep dreaming me’Borges. I simply adore the man. Every word from his pen traces a warm euphoria through my veins. If drug dealers sold books, Borges would be what you get when you ask ‘for that dank chronic, yo’. The man restructures reality and imparts infinity with prose alone. If you are unfamiliar with this writer, please, do yourself a massive favor and pick up a copy of Ficciones or even just find the text of Garden of the Forking Paths online here. As a disclaimer, I am not responsible for cleaning up the mess when your mind bursts all over your wall when you reach the end of his stories. However, this review is not about his stories, it is about his poetry. If it was stunning how much he could convey in tiny stories, it is even more impressive the power contained in his lines of poetry. These poems, which span his entire career, are certainly worthy of 5 golden stars, yet, the translations in this collection do there best to tarnish the rating. Still, to step inside the mind of this master is to step into a magical realm of literature, knowledge and fantasy.Not unlike his short fiction, Borges fills his poems with ethereal visions of winding labyrinths, notions of infinity, dreams, the sadistic and mystical nature of mirrors, and endless allusions to literature ranging from the famous Greek stories, James Joyce, Walt Whitman, and spreading to the most esoteric myths he could conjure up. Huge armies clash and fall, kings are murdered in the dark, Pythagoras ponders, mirrors come alive while the moon muses the passage of time; these poems feel larger than life and as monumental as reading Homer for the first time. Time, death, and the fabric of reality are the major themes that run through these epic stanzas. Even after a quick flip through the book, the reader will notice Borges has something he really wants to tell you: ‘You are going to die’. These thoughts of death hang on his head like a heavy crown and permeate a vast majority of the poems.‘To The One Who Is Reading Me’You are invulnerable. Have they not granted you,those powers that preordain your destiny,the certainty of dust? Is not your timeas irreversible as that same riverwhere Heraclitus, mirrored, saw the symbolof fleeting life? A marble slab awaits youwhich you will not read – on it, already written,the date, the city, the epitaph.Other men too are only dreams of time,Not indestructible bronze or burnished gold;The universe is, like you, a Proteus.Dark, you will enter the darkness that awaits you,Doomed to the limits of your traveled time.Know that in some sense you are already dead.Through many of these poems, Borges shows us the frailty of our life, drawing out the infinite length time occupies to juxtapose it with our ephemeral existence. He reminds us ‘your matter is time, its unchecked and unreckoned/Passing. You are each solitary second’ while we collect and surround ourselves with lifeless belongings that ‘will endure beyond our vanishing and will never know that we have gone’. He even embraces his own death, yet offers up a hopeful sentiment acknowledging that even when he too enters the realm of shadows, that his words will remain. He will ‘assemble the great rumble of the epic and carve out my own place’, and we will keep him alive eternal through these words. ‘Through this indolent arrangement of measured words I speak to you.Remember Borges, your friend, who swam in you.Be present to my lips in my last moment.’Not all is dark and dreary however .It is clear through his poems that to him there is nothing greater than to create a lasting work of words, and hopefully he found peace and acceptance of death through this. ‘My fortune or misfortune does not matter. I am the poet.’ Most of this collection is uplifting and wildly inventive. His patterns of logic will send your mind spinning. Mirrors and dreams are toyed with often, and at the end I will include an excellent example of this. He also spends much time speaking lovingly of books and of Buenos Aires. The major issues with this collection are the translations. Granted, there are 13 different translators at work here and some are much better than others. This does lend to a very uneven feel, and also it seems a shame that the better translators have the fewest number of poems. One aspect I really enjoyed of this collection was that it included the poem in its original language across from the translation. It may serve as a disclaimer for the translation, but it does not forgive the liberties that are taken with the poem. I never like when translators force a rhyme scheme, it really is not needed. Here, not only do they freely alter the structure and meaning to force a rhyme, but they don’t even use the same rhyme scheme as Borges! Borges will offer beautiful stanzas following a pattern such as ABBC CDDA while the translator gives us ABCB DEFE. What is the point in giving a cheap rhyme that insults the integrity of not only the prose, but the original flow? Plus, the words and order will be changed dramatically to fit this cheap rhyme and it all comes out as a farce. Especially because I can see right on the other page what he was really saying, so it almost feels like I am being lied right to my face. This is a perfect example of what my dear Goodreads friend Richard insightfully referred to as ‘he triumph of hope over experience’, (one of the many excellent quotes from him, there are several that future scholars should embrace, which make this site such a useful resource). They fail in my eyes. Also, the translation to the collection The Maker in this collection is different than those included in Collected Fictions put out by the same publisher. This is nice, as it offers a different view and flow, but I found the Collected Fictions to appeal more to my taste. For example, in CF as translated by Andrew Hurley, the final line of Ragnorok (one of my favorite Borges lines) reads: ‘We drew heavy revolvers (suddenly in the dream there were revolvers) and exultantly killed the gods.’As by Kenneth Krabbenhoft: ‘We drew our heavy pistols (in the dream, they just appeared) and cheerfully put the gods to death.’In the collection Labyrinths: ‘We took out our heavy revolvers (all of a sudden there were revolvers in the dream) and joyfully killed the Gods.’I suppose, as with any translated work, you should shop around and see which works best for you. This collection of poetry shows Borges as a master of language. Despite some translation issues (at least you can see the original and hopefully know enough Spanish to get by), this is a truly mind blowing collection. I highly recommend it, and please enjoy your stay in the labyrinth of Borges’ mind.3.5/5 RemorseI have committed the worst of sinsOne can commit. I have not beenHappy. Let the glaciers of oblivionTake and engulf me, mercilessly.My parents bore me for the riskyAnd the beautiful game of life,For earth, water, air and fire.I failed them, I was not happy.Their youthful hope for me unfulfilled.I applied my mind to the symmetricArguments of art, its web of trivia.They willed me bravery. I was not brave.It never leaves me. Always at my side,That shadow of a melancholy man.The Art of PoetryTo gaze at a river made of time and waterAnd remember Time is another river.To know we stray like a riverand our faces vanish like water.To feel that waking is another dreamthat dreams of not dreaming and that the deathwe fear in our bones is the deaththat every night we call a dream.To see in every day and year a symbolof all the days of man and his years,and convert the outrage of the yearsinto a music, a sound, and a symbol.To see in death a dream, in the sunseta golden sadness--such is poetry,humble and immortal, poetry,returning, like dawn and the sunset.Sometimes at evening there's a facethat sees us from the deeps of a mirror.Art must be that sort of mirror,disclosing to each of us his face.They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,wept with love on seeing Ithaca,humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,a green eternity, not wonders.Art is endless like a river flowing,passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the sameinconstant Heraclitus, who is the sameand yet another, like the river flowing.The SuicideNot a single star will be left in the night. The night will not be left.I will die and, with me,the weight of the intolerable universe.I shall erase the pyramids, the medallions,the continents and faces.I shall erase the accumulated past.I shall make dust of history, dust of dust.Now I am looking on the final sunset.I am hearing the last bird.I bequeath nothingness to no one.History of the NightThroughout the course of the generationsmen constructed the night.At first she was blindness;thorns raking bare feet,fear of wolves.We shall never know who forged the wordfor the interval of shadowdividing the two twilights;we shall never know in what age it came to meanthe starry hours.Others created the myth.They made her the mother of the unruffled Fatesthat spin our destiny,they sacrificed black ewes to her, and the cockwho crows his own death.The Chaldeans assigned to her twelve houses;to Zeno, infinite words.She took shape from Latin hexametersand the terror of Pascal.Luis de Leon saw in her the homelandof his stricken soul.Now we feel her to be inexhaustiblelike an ancient wineand no one can gaze on her without vertigoand time has charged her with eternity.And to think that she wouldn't existexcept for those fragile instruments, the eyes.LimitsOf these streets that deepen the sunset,There must be one (but which) that I’ve walkedAlready one last time, indifferentlyAnd without knowing it, submittingTo One who sets up omnipotent lawsAnd a secret and a rigid measureFor the shadows, the dreams, and formsThat work the warp and weft of this life.If all things have a limit and a valueA last time nothing more and oblivionWho can say to whom in this houseUnknowingly, we have said goodbye?Already through the grey glass night ebbsAnd among the stack of books that throwsA broken shadow on the unlit table,There must be one I will never read.In the South there’s more than one worn gateWith its masonry urns and prickly pearWhere my entrance is forbiddenAs it were within a lithograph.Forever there’s a door you have closed,And a mirror that waits for you in vain;The crossroad seems wide open to youAnd there a four-faced Janus watches.There is, amongst your memories, oneThat has now been lost irreparably;You’ll not be seen to visit that wellUnder white sun or yellow moon.Elegy For a ParkThe labyrinth is lost. Lost tooall those lines of eucalyptus,the summer awnings and the vigilof the incessant mirror, repeatingthe expression of every human face,everything fleeting. The stoppedclock, the tangled honeysuckle,the arbour, the frivolous statues,the other side of evening, the trills,the mirador and the idle fountainare things of the past. Of the past?If there’s no beginning, no ending,and if what awaits us is an endlesssum of white days and black nights,we are already the past we become.We are time, the indivisible river,are Uxmal, Carthage and the ruinedwalls of the Romans and the lostpark that these lines commemorate.. Selected Poems Viral Kindle Though universally acclaimed for his dazzling fictions, Jorge Luis Borges always considered himself first and foremost a poet This new bilingual selection brings together some two hundred poems the largest collection of Borges poetry ever assembled in English, including scores of poems never previously translated Edited by Alexander Coleman, the selection draws from aThough universally acclaimed for his dazzling fictions, Jorge Luis Borges always considered himself first and foremost a poet This new bilingual selection brings together some two hundred poems the largest collection of Borges poetry ever assembled in English, including scores of poems never previously translated Edited by Alexander Coleman, the selection draws from a lifetime s work from Borges first published volume of verse, Fervor de Buenos Aires 1923 , to his final work, Los Conjurados, published just a year before his death in 1986 Throughout this unique collection the brilliance of the Spanish originals is matched by luminous English versions by a remarkable cast of translators, including Robert Fitzgerald, Stephen Kessler, W S Merwin, Alastair Reid, Mark Strand, Charles Tomlinson, and John Updike.For than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English speaking world With than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up to date translations by award winning translators.. Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo, usually referred to as Jorge Luis Borges Spanish pronunciation xo xe lwis bo xes , was an Argentine writer and poet born in Buenos Aires In 1914, his family moved to Switzerland where he attended school and traveled to Spain On his return to Argentina in 1921, Borges began publishing his poems and essays in Surrealist literary journals He also worked as a librarian and public lecturer Borges was fluent in several languages He was a target of political persecution during the Peron regime and supported the military juntas that overthrew it.Due to a hereditary condition, Borges became blind in his late fifties In 1955, he was appointed director of the National Public Library Biblioteca Nacional and professor of Literature at the University of Buenos Aires In 1961, he came to international attention when he received the first International Publishers Prize Prix Formentor His work was translated and published widely in the United States and in Europe He died in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1986.J M Coetzee said of Borges He, than anyone, renovated the language of fiction and thus opened the way to a remarkable generation of Spanish American novelists.. Popular Books Selected Poems I always find it difficult to review a book, for so many thoughts keep jumping around at a time in my mind but the suitable words to express those thoughts always seem to deceiving me, and even more so difficult to review poetry, for (I feel) poetry itself is creation of refined art, it is a like something suspended in a thin air and which could be interpreted in so many ways, like a free flowing water stream which takes the color of landscapes it traverses through; nevertheless I try to write something about this amazing collection of poems by Borges and I hope it would be of some use to fellow readers. Selected Poems brings together some two hundred poems - the largest collection of Borges' poetry ever assembled in English, including many never previously translated. The brilliance of the Spanish originals is matched with luminous English versions. Borges sees himself first as a poet and only then as the writer of the stories that have made him famous, till the time his poems have been all but unavailable in English. Fervor de Buenos Aires represents a youthful Borges more directly concerned with the specific, local and vernacular, he develops his mature themes--time, imagination, and identity--throughout. Taken together, the poems distill those concerns, which famously preoccupy him in the brief ficciones. And, like the fictions, they are almost disturbingly comprehensible. One peak of the collection isThe Maker/ El hacedor , showing Borges at his most defined and refined, presenting sophisticated riffs on Arisosto, Luke and ""The Other Tiger"" with elegance and gusto. Excerpts:Little by little, the beautiful universe left him behind: a stubborn mist blurred the outline of his hand, the night was emptied of stars, and the ground grew beneath his feet. Everything receded and ran together. When he realized he was going blind, he cried out; Stoic modesty had yet to be invented, and hector could flee unperturbed. Borges explored so many different themes in these poems however a few of the themes which are prominent throughout the collection are time, memory, blindness, age, God, mirrors; the poem ‘The Hourglass’ specifically explored the theme of time in both temporal and metaphorical manner- the idea that time and fate are alike is stark proof of it. Here Borges used ‘hourglass’ as symbol of cosmic time wherein the falling and rising of sand in it represents the ageing of universe/ humankind. It’s one of the most beautiful and lyrical poems of the collection.Excerpts:Pleasure there is in watching how the sand Slowly slithers up and males a slopeThen, just about to fall, piles up againWith an insistence that appears quite human,The sand of every cycle is the sameAnd infinite is the history of sand;So, underlying your fortunes and your sorrows,Yawns an invulnerable eternity.It never stops, the spilling of the sand.I am the one who weakens, not the glass. The rite of falling sand is infiniteAnd, with the sand, our lives are leaving us. The Argentine poet had been fascinated with idea of death and God, he has explored the theme of God in the poem ‘Chess’ wherein the idea that we all are acting on the moves by the creator or God if a chess board considered as a symbol for life, the logic of life can’t be defined as it moves by some magic- what magic really is? Something which can’t be defined by our understanding of life or something which deceives us. The existential traits about nausea towards inability to control one’s own life could be traced out in it, the angst and absurdness that one doesn’t know that one’s life is controlled by someone else- someone omnipotent- is clearly visible in the poem.Excerpts:Within the game itself the forms gives offTheir magic rules: Homeric castle, knightSwift to attack, queen warlike, king decisive,Slanted bishop, and attacking pawns.………………………………….They do not know it is player’s handThat dominates and guide their destiny.They do not know an adamantine fateControls their will and lays the battle plan.……………….God moves the player, he in turn the piece.But what god beyond God begins the roundOf dust and time and sleep and agonies? The fascination with Mirrors can be seen in these poems also as in case of his prose- one of the poems titled ‘Mirrors’ accentuated it, the documentary The Mirror Man captures Borges’ s childhood fascination with mirrors and mirror-like surfaces. “More than anything the boy feared another self reflected in the polished furniture and dark mirrors of the house.”Excerpts:I have been horrified before all mirrorsnot just before the impenetrable glass,the end and the beginning of that spaceinhabited by nothing reflections,but faced with specular water, mirroringthe other blue within its bottomless sky,incised at time by the illusory flightof inverted birds, or troubled by a ripple,or face to face with the unspeaking surfaceof ghostly ebony whose very hardnessreflects, as if within a dream, the whitenessof spectral marble or a spectral rose. The poems of ‘In Praise of Darkness’ confront encroaching blindness, old age and the possibility of ethics, reaching beyond the expectations created by Borges's mastery of the fantastic and the metaphysical. The result is poems at times as moving as Stevens's ""The Rock."Excerpts fromIn Praise of Darkness- June, 1968:The man is blind, and knows He won’t be able to decodeThe handsome volumes he is handling,And that they will never help writeThe book that will justify his life in others’ eyes;But in the afternoon that might be goldHe smiles at his curious fateAnd feels that peculiar happinessWhich comes from loved old things.Borges, as we know, kept on losing his eyesight with age however this gradually developing inability seems to worked as blessing in disguise for him- more importantly for the world, for it seemed to have developed his imagination to manifold and might have triggered his metaphorical sensibility; the poem ‘In praise of darkness’ seems to be inspired by this and in fact seems to celebrate the blindness as the title suggests. The diminishing ability, to see outward appears to instill trend to introspect himself, to use memory like his notebook. The influence of Democritus, Emerson, Dante could be seen in the poem as the poet gradually become oblivious of his surroundings and eventually reaches his origin. The idea appears to similar to the idea of enlightenment propagated by ‘Yog’ culture and Buddhism. Excerpts fromIn Praise of Darkness:Old age (the name that others give it)Can be the time of our greatest bliss.The animal has died or almost died.The man and his spirit remain.I live among vague, luminous shapesThat are not darkness yet. ………..My friends have no faces,Women are what they were so many years ago,These corners could be other corners,There are no letters on the pages of books.All this should frighten me,But it is a sweetness, a return.Of the generations of texts on earthI will have read only a few-The ones that I keep reading in my memory,Reading and transforming.……………………….These paths were echoes and footsteps,Women, men, death-throes, resurrections,Days and nights,Dreams and half wakeful dreams,Every inmost moment of yesterdayAnd all the yesterdays of the world,The Dante’s staunch sword and the Persian’s moon,The acts of the deadShared love, and words,Emerson and snow, so many things.Now I can forget them. I can reach my center,My algebra and my key,My mirror.Soon I will know who I am.These poems seem to blur the boundary between different literary genres as rightly mentioned by Mexican poet and essayist Octavio Paz :"He cultivated three genres: the essay, the poem, and the short story. The division is arbitrary. His essays read like stories, his stories are poems; and his poems make us think, as though they were essays."As, Borges himself ‘declares’ in the prologue of In Praise of DarknessExcerpts from prologue ofIn Praise of Darkness:In these pages I believe that the forms of prose and verse coexist without discord. I might invole illustrious precedents- Boethius’De philosophiae, Chaucher’s tales, The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments,but I would prefer to declare that the differences between prose and verse are slight and that I would like this book to be read as a book of poems.One of themes Borges explored in the poems is history, he seemed to be deeply impressed by the anthropological history of human kind, and to me his fascination seems to be very similar to idea of structural anthropology which modern anthropologist such as Claude Lévi- Strauss explore.Excerpts from prologue ofThe unending Rose:Literature starts out from poetry and can take centuries to arrive at the possibility of prose. After hour hundred years, the Anglo- Saxons left behind a poetry which was not just occasionally admirable and a prose which was scarcely explicit. The word must have been in the beginning a magic symbol, which the usury of time wore out. The mission of a poet should be to restore to the word, at least in a partial way, its primitive and now secret force. All verse should have tow obligations: to communicate a precise instance and to touch us physically, as the presence of the sea does. Borges can sometimes be difficult and puzzling - he read vastly across the literature of different cultures, and his work is full of allusions and references to these works - but he also has a great gift for compressed, powerful expression, evoking an entire world of thought or feeling in a few beguiling lines of verse or a two-page short story. Borges uses a lot of history in this poem, not specifically Argentine culture; but French, European, Greek, etc. He also mentions Zeno, a Greek Philosopher, and Pascal, a French philosopher. Borges talks about sacrifices made to the gods, another piece of historical information. The people sacrificed things like food, animals, and even their life for the gods to be happy with them.I highly recommend the collection right from the haunting depths of Borges’s mind.

  1. Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo, usually referred to as Jorge Luis Borges Spanish pronunciation xo xe lwis bo xes , was an Argentine writer and poet born in Buenos Aires In 1914, his family moved to Switzerland where he attended school and traveled to Spain On his return to Argentina in 1921, Borges began publishing his poems and essays in Surrealist literary journals He also worked as a librarian and public lecturer Borges was fluent in several languages He was a target of political persecution during the Peron regime and supported the military juntas that overthrew it.Due to a hereditary condition, Borges became blind in his late fifties In 1955, he was appointed director of the National Public Library Biblioteca Nacional and professor of Literature at the University of Buenos Aires In 1961, he came to international attention when he received the first International Publishers Prize Prix Formentor His work was translated and published widely in the United States and in Europe He died in Geneva, Switzerland, in 1986.J M Coetzee said of Borges He, than anyone, renovated the language of fiction and thus opened the way to a remarkable generation of Spanish American novelists.

938 Reply to “Selected Poems”

  1. I always find it difficult to review a book, for so many thoughts keep jumping around at a time in my mind but the suitable words to express those thoughts always seem to deceiving me, and even so difficult to review poetry, for I feel poetry itself is creation of refined art, it is a like something suspended in a thin air and which could be interpreted in so many ways, like a free flowing water stream which takes the color of landscapes it traverses through nevertheless I try to write somethin [...]


  2. My God, my dreamer, keep dreaming me Borges I simply adore the man Every word from his pen traces a warm euphoria through my veins If drug dealers sold books, Borges would be what you get when you ask for that dank chronic, yo The man restructures reality and imparts infinity with prose alone If you are unfamiliar with this writer, please, do yourself a massive favor and pick up a copy of Ficciones or even just find the text of Garden of the Forking Paths online here As a disclaimer, I am not re [...]


  3. God has created nights well populatedwith dreams, crowded with mirror images,so that man may feel that he is nothing than vain reflection That s what frightens us.Was it Dr Johnson who marveled over Montaigne, how could he know what I had been thinking It doesn t matter, it could have been Walter Benjamin pondering Spinoza on both of those frontiers History is mute, amused sufficiently with bumps and reversals Plagues and witch hunts pass the time It could also have been Boris Johnson, weighing [...]


  4. Sobre os poemas n o opino, j que desconfio n o ter entendido grande coisa da maioria deles J os contos s o divinais, souberam a pouco ARTE PO TICA Olhar o rio que de tempo e guaE recordar que o tempo outro rio,Saber que nos perdemos como o rioE que os rostos passam como a gua.Sentir que a vig lia outro sonoQue sonha n o sonhar e que a morteQue teme a nossa carne essa morteDe cada noite, que se chama sono.Ver no dia ou at no ano um s mboloQuer dos dias do homem quer dos anos,Converter a persegui [...]


  5. the justa man who cultivates his garden, as voltaire wished.he who is grateful for the existence of music.he who takes pleasure in tracing an etymologyo workmen playing, in a cafe in the south, a silent game of chesse potter, contemplating a color and a forme typographer who sets this page well, though it may not please him.a woman and a man, who read the last tercets of a certain canto.he who strokes a sleeping animal.he who justifies, or wishes to, a wrong done him.he who is grateful for the e [...]


  6. I am posting this, and giving it three stars primarily because of my anger and frustration at his estate and relevant publishers for refusing to let the incredible translations done by Barnes and Mezey be published If you do not know the story you can read here borges.pitt sites defThis, for example, is a translation I love deeply and is far superior to that in this collection RainEvening, a sudden clearing of the mist,For now a fine, soft rain is freshening.It falls and it did fall Rain is a t [...]


  7. This hefty collection draws from fourteen cycles of Borges poetry, spanning over 60 years so I m expecting to be reading it for a while The plan is to review sections as I go alongFervor de Buenos Aires 5 5These poems are intimate, mystical, and exquisitely beautiful If Neruda s preferred time is twilight, Borges is 4 00am, outside on the streets of Buenos Aires, when those who are dreaming the world are few and only the ones who have been up all night retain, ashen and barely outlined, the imag [...]


  8. Borges poetry is written with the same fierce intelligence, austere passion, and Escheresque creativity with which he fashions his brilliant fictions and essays and the same cerebral steeliness that occasionally mars his stories rarely shows to the same effect here This bilingual edition is a treasure chest, a compendium of the life s work in verse by perhaps South America s best poet after Neruda The Spanish originals are absolutely magnificent rich and fluid, with all the latin sired nobility [...]


  9. Ars PoeticaTo look at the river made of time and waterAnd remember that time is another river,To know that we are lost like the riverAnd that faces dissolve like water.To be aware that waking dreams it is not asleepWhile it is another dream, and that the deathThat our flesh goes in fear of is that deathWhich comes every night and is called sleep.To see in the day or in the year a symbolOf the days of man and of his years,To transmute the outrage of the yearsinto a music, a murmur of voices, and [...]


  10. JLB states All verse should have two obligations to communicate precise instance and to touch us physically, as the presence of the sea does and reading this thick selection of poems I start to feel that although satisfying and sometimes even truly startling, mostly his poetry doesn t touch me He s an undeniable tower of wisdom in literature, but you don t experience the same enviable dizziness in his verse Whoever reads my words is inventing them , he says and immediately leaves space to interp [...]


  11. Lost in Translation That s my experience with this book Overall, I still enjoy Borges writing He puts you into a dream like state I just don t think poetry is his strong point Maybe it s the translators to some of these poems The times Borges talks about his homeland or the people he knew, I had no idea what he was talking about I blame the publication not giving enough footnotes and explanation One thing I like a lot with this publication though is they had the poems in English and in Spanish K [...]


  12. Depois dos jogadores se terem ido,Depois do tempo os ter consumido,Decerto n o ter cessado o rito.No oriente incendiou se esta guerraCujo anfiteatro hoje a terra.Como o outro, este jogo infinito Xadrez, Jorge Lu s Borges



  13. Shinto When misfortune confounds usin an instant we are savedby the humblest actionsof memory or attention the taste of fruit, the taste of water,that face returned to us in dream,the first jasmine flowers of November,the infinite yearning of the compass,a book we thought forever lost,the pulsing of a hexameter,the little key that opens a house,the smell of sandalwood or library,the ancient name of a street,the colourations of a map,an unforeseen etymology,the smoothness of a filed fingernail,th [...]


  14. Borges apparently always fancied himself a poet than a novelist or literary theorist which I found intriguing as his work in prose is some of the most ingenuous and magical writing ever committed to paper Needless to say I was interested to see what Borges could conjure in his poetry I was not disappointed, the man was simply brilliant I can t recommend him, and this collection of his poetry in particular, highly enough



  15. A very nice selection of the poetry of Borges with both Spanish texts and translations by a variety of translators, the book includes the poet s prologues, inscriptions, and epilogues to the various volumes from which the selections came It s all here, labyrinths, tigers, knives and swords, mirrors, dreams, death, blindness, libraries, books, Saxons, Norse mythology, Homer, Virgil, Dante, Cervantes, Milton, Poe, the Bible, and Buenos Aires, and all transformed by the genius of Borges into sublim [...]


  16. Interesting to read this after 10 years Clearly I was just a little concerned by death.I m going to compare this to When Harry Met Sally yeah, it s weird Harry Do you ever think about death Sally Yes Harry Sure you do, a fleeting thought that jumps in and out of the transient of your mind I spend hours, I spend days Sally And you think that makes you a better person Harry Look, when the shit comes down I m gonna be prepared and you re not that s all I m saying Nuff said.




  17. Somewhere in this large, uneven volume of bilingual facing pages, Borges writes there is no poet, however mediocre, who has not written the best line in literature, but also the most miserable ones Beauty is not the privilege of a few illustrious names It would be rare if this book did not contain one single secret line worthy of staying with you to the end And he s right Most of the work here isn t memorable of 200 poems, only a few have that vertiginous, shocking effect that his best short sto [...]


  18. Garcia Lorca seems to me quite a minor poetHis poetry iscorative, not entirely serious, said Borges of Lorca, in a criticism that applies much better to his own poetry than to any of Federico s Borges s poetry, especially of the later years, becomes repetitive, relatively emotionless, and quite prose y What is compelling about his essays and stories becomes, in my humble opinion, convoluted in the form of verse Clauses pile up and up and up, and the image becomes almost completely lost To those [...]


  19. I just fail to understand why so many people love this book Is this considered poetry nowadays In short, his style is ridiculous When readint To a cat, I couldn t help laughing out loud Mirrors are not silentnor the creeping dawn secretive in the moonlight, you are that pantherwe catch sight of from afar.By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,we look for you in vain More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,yours is the solitude, yours the secret.Your haunch allows the linger [...]


  20. Borges is simply my favorite poet of the Twentieth Century More than Frost or Neruda or Eliot or any of the other heavyweights, he speaks to me Therefore, I loved this book with most of the best poems from throughout his career.I know just enough Espanol to get the gist of usually and enjoy the language of these poems in their original form but having the English translations on facing pages is quite helpful These translations are generally pretty decent and some quite excellent.Borges is better [...]



  21. Daylight leaks in, and sluggishly I surfacefrom my own dreams into the common dreamand things assume again their proper placesand their accustomed shapes Into this presentthe Past intrudes, in all its dizzying range the centuries old habits of migrationin birds and men, the armies in their legionsall fallen to the sword, and Rome and Carthage.The trappings of my day also come back my voice, my face, my nervousness, my luck.If only Death, that other waking up,would grant me a time free of all mem [...]


  22. Borges was a remarkable poet, a remarkable writer in every sense He could bring together in his poems so many disparate elements history, metaphysics, biography, personal observation and weave it all into a powerfully sympathetic view of the human condition He was someone deeply inspired by ideas Though one sees this easily in his prose, it is not absent in his poetry But what makes him truly great, deserving of the multiple Nobel Prize nominations he received, is that he is not simply writing [...]



  23. Borges s words are mystical and lovely and deep They encompass the wisdom of a life lived and not lived At times, his words are labyrinthine and complex and other times a simple three word sentence leaves you in pieces I absolutely love this collection I think everyone should read it at least once And he was an advocate of libraries


  24. pretty good i enjoyed having the spanish version and english version across the page from each other like that i don t really know much spanish, but i read the spanish lines after the english lines anyway just to see.


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