Jorge Luis Borges

Jorge Luis Borges

Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo (24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986) was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, and a key figure in Spanish-languageБольше
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#адам2 мин. чтения

Adam Cast Forth

Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream
Amid the fleeting light,
I have slowed myself and queried,
Almost for consolation, if the bygone

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#instants2 мин. чтения

Instants

If I could live again my life,
In the next - I'll try,- to make more mistakes,
I won't try to be so perfect,
I'll be more relaxed,

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#that one2 мин. чтения

That One

Oh days devoted to the useless burdenof putting out of mind the biography of a minor poet of the Southem Hemisphere, to whom the fates or perhaps the stars have givena body which will leave behind no child, and blindness, which is semi-darkness an...

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#elegy2 мин. чтения

Elegy

Oh destiny of Borgesto have sailed across the diverse seas of the worldor across that single and solitary sea of diversenames, to have been a part of Edinburgh, of Zurich, of thetwo Cordobas, of Colombia and of Texas, to have returned at the end o...

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#when2 мин. чтения

When sorrow lays us low

When sorrow lays us lowfor a second we are savedby humble windfallsof the mindfulness or memory:the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,that face given back to us by a dream,the first jasmine of November,the endless yearning of the compass,a book...

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#the2 мин. чтения

The Other Tiger

A tiger comes to mind
The twilight
Exalts the vast and busy
And seems to set the bookshelves back in gloom;

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#remorse1 мин. чтения

Remorse For Any Death

Free of memory and of hope,limitless, abstract, almost future,the dead man is not a dead man: he is death
Like the God of the mystics,of Whom anything that could be said must be denied,the dead one, alien everywhere,is but the ruin and absenc...

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#are1 мин. чтения

We Are The Time We Are The Famous

We are the time
We are the famousmetaphor from Heraclitus the Obscure
We are the water, not the hard diamond,the one that is lost, not the one that stands still
We are the river and we are that greekthat looks himself into the river

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#history2 мин. чтения

History Of The Night

Throughout 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 shadow dividing the two twilights;we shall ne...

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#susana soca1 мин. чтения

Susana Soca

With lingering love she gazed at the
Colors of dusk
It pleased her
To lose herself in the complex

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#browning2 мин. чтения

Browning Decides To Be A Poet

In these red labyrinths of LondonI find that I have chosenthe strangest of all callings,save that, in its way, any calling is strange
Like the alchemistwho sought the philosopher's stonein quicksilver,
I shall make everyday words—the gam...

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#limits2 мин. чтения

Limits

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which,
I am not sure)That I by now have walked for the last
Without guessing it, the pawn of that

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