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10 Jorge Luis Borges, “An Autobiographical Essay,” in The Aleph and Other 16 Jorge Luis Borges, “Fragmentos de un evangelio apocrifo,” in Elogio de la. Jorge Luis Borges’s Elogio de la sombra PDF. By Jorge Luis Borges como asimismo «Heráclito», «Fragmentos de un evangelio apócrifo» es un intento de. Jose Luis Borges, ‘From an Apocryphal Gospel” When does social forgetting y el único perdón’; Jorge Luis Borges, Fragmentos de un Evangelio apócrifo (no.

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Nos buscamos los dos. We look for each other. I wish this was the last day of waiting.

Jorge Luis Borges “His Last Prologue”

I kept walking, without knowing where to go, what to look for. Blinded by the incommensurable amount of knowledge, delighted by a music that came from afar. A captivating music that I did not trust at first, like a mariner resisting the spellbinding voice of the enigmatic sea. Do you hear me, unseen friend, do you hear me Through those unfathomable things That are the seas and death? I have absorbed it all. Time, rhetoric, algebra, magic. A haunting past, the forgotten present, the despair of things to come.

Dreams that become nightmares and then switch back in order to soothe the secret dreamer. The echoes fragmentls eternity. I do not speak about vengeance nor forgiveness; forgetting is the only revenge and the only forgiveness.

An ode to gauchos, to their bravery, their hospitality, their values, evzngelio mate. A song to the books that have built his world. The mastered art of the written word; a gift from unknown gods, or mere humanity. Memories, death, heavens, punishment; redemption. Nostalgic Buenos Aires, the language of courage and sadness. The borfes in his eyes.

The genius I see; the evsngelio he considered himself to be. A man standing in the growing dark trying evangeilo discern forms; reminiscing faces, friends, women, streets. The guardian of books. He sees the sweetness of returning to what is essential.

Melancholic steps that evoke a conflicted Theseus unwilling to leave but forced to.

Frases de jorge luis borges sobre el olvido –

The nature of time might be eternal, but my existence is certainly not. So we parted ways.

I look back and I see his reflection on a thousand mirrors. I keep walking with his book on my hands. And I feel at home. View all 29 comments.

This collection includes poems and short tales from the modern master of the fantastic, Argentina’s Jorge Luis Borges at a time in his life after he completely lost his sight. Below are my comments along with quotes from the tales. I read this book translated by Norman Thomas di Giovanni years ago, ,uis my quotes are from the translation by Andrew Hurley, which is available online via the following link: How would our experience of life be altered if we were forced by circumstances to live years in darkness, either the darkness of a subterranean cavern or due to our loss of sight?


Cain asks Able to forgive him. I, too, will try to forget. In time, that fear prevailed; it came between him and the page he was supposed to write, the books fragmentow tried to read. Letters would crawl about on the page like ants; faces, familiar faces, gradually blurred and faded, objects and people slowly abandoned him.

His mind seized upon those changing shapes in a frenzy of tenacity. However odd it luus seem, he never suspected the truth; it was burst upon him suddenly. He realized that he was unable to remember the shapes, sounds, and colors of his dreams, there were no shapes, colors or sounds, nor were the dreams dreams. They were his reality, a reality beyond silence and sight, and therefore beyond memory. The realization threw him into even greater consternation than the fact that from the hour of his death he had been struggling in a whirlwind of senseless images.

Jorge Luis Borges “His Last Prologue” – Graphic Arts

Somehow he sensed that it was his duty to leave all these things behind; now he belonged to this new world, removed from past, present, and future. Little by little this new world surrounded him. He suffered many agonies, journeyed fragmetnos realms of desperation and loneliness — appalling peregrinations, for they transcended all his previous perceptions, memories, and hopes. All horror lay in their newness and their splendor.

He had evanggelio grace — he had earned it; every second since the moment of his death, he had been in heaven. Is dealing with our fears the key? Or, stated another way, without fear, do jorgf lose their grip on us? Are there any aspects of our current earthly life we would like to continue without end? If so, how are those aspects connected with our sense of sight?

Since he has been soaked in dread, fear and trepidation all frsgmentos, is such a statement ridiculous? View all 7 comments. Evangleio Afraid of Darkness When the poet started to go blind, he was worried that he would lose both his memory and his imagination.

However, it proved otherwise. At first, blindness descended on his eyes like a light fog rather than a dark curtain. Of course, this only happened with respect to new objects that he observed. Memories of old images remained the same, as did any new images his imagination conjured up Not Afraid of Darkness When the poet started to go blind, he was worried that he would bortes both his memory and his imagination.


Memories of old images remained the same, as did any new images his imagination conjured up. The darkness remained outside, as luuis he were confined or trapped in an underground cellar, like his grandfather’s friend had been. Inside his mind was lightness, as if he was the source of his own illumination, vision and inspiration. In the absence of new apicrifo, he began to access his stored memories, as if his mind was a massive library. He was determined to catalogue its contents, so that he could gain access to them efficiently when he wanted to.

He was trying to make more room for his imagination to work. After six years or so, he could no longer see well fragmebtos to read or write. He could not read what other people, other writers had written.

Now, he had to rely on his own imagination. Sometimes he would hold two or three pages that he had composed in his mind, until he could give them to someone else. This seemed to be the optimum amount. Any more would overburden his imagination and memory. As the poet got older, he found that it was less his eyesight than his memory that deteriorated.

He had grown less dependent on his vision and more dependent on his memory to process the fruit of his imagination. As his memory failed, he found that the extent of his imagination diminished.

He ceased to create what he could not memorise. It was as if he could no longer apocrkfo what he had dreamed in his sleep.

He dreaded waking up to find there was nothing there. It pained him that a mind that was once comfortable with the thought of the infinite was now troubled by the infinitesimal. Still, he continued to imagine until puis day on which he died. George Harrison – “Beware Of Darkness” https: Leon Russell – “Beware of Darkness” https: Joe Cocker – “Beware of Darkness” https: Non evangeio esperto di poesia per giudicare con competenza il valore stilistico ed estetico di queste pagine, che mi sono sembrate comunque molto vicine ad una prosa, assolutamente intelligibili e chiare, quasi nitide come una lama di spada.

Stetti fra loro con stupore e tenerezza. Per opera di un incantesimo nacqui stranamente da un ventre. Il timore conobbi e la speranza, questi due volti del dubbio luiz.

Fui amato, compreso, esaltato e sospeso a una croce. Bevvi il calice fino alla feccia. Gli occhi Miei videro quel che ignoravano: