1998
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Learn about the life and achievements of Jorge Luis Borges, a pioneer of postmodernist literature and a master of metafiction, essays, and poetry. Explore his influences, style, themes, and legacy in this comprehensive biography.
Many of his poems explore metaphysical and existential themes, drawing inspiration from sources as diverse as ancient mythology, medieval literature, and modern philosophy. Borges' work has had a profound influence on subsequent generations of writers, inspiring authors such as Italo Calvino, Gabriel García Márquez, and Umberto Eco.
Biography and the most beautiful poems by Jorge Luis Borges in English: Adam Cast Forth, Shinto, A Wolf, On His Blindness, I Ask Myself
- Argentina
- Buenos Aires
- Susana Soca
- The Other Tiger
- Shinto
- Adam Cast Forth
- Browning Decides to Be A Poet
- To A Cat
- Remorse For Any Death
- That One
- History of The Night
- Elegy
With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly To lose herself in the complex melody Or in the cunous life to be found in verse. lt was not the primal red but rather grays That spun the fine thread of her destiny, For the nicest distinctions and all spent In waverings, ambiguities, delays. Lacking the nerve to...
A tiger comes to mind. The twilight here Exalts the vast and busy Library And seems to set the bookshelves back in gloom; Innocent, ruthless, bloodstained, sleek It wanders through its forest and its day Printing a track along the muddy banks Of sluggish streams whose names it does not know (In its world there are no names or past Or time to come, ...
When sorrow lays us low for a second we are saved by humble windfalls of 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 we thought was lost, the throb of a hexameter, the slight key that opens a house to us, the sm...
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 period Over which this Adam, wretched now, once reigned supreme, Might not have been just a magical illusion Of that God I dreamed. Already it’s imprecise In my memory, the clear Paradise, But I know it exis...
in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen the strangest of all callings, save that, in its way, any calling is strange. Like the alchemist who sought the philosopher’s stone in quicksilver, I shall make everyday words– the gambler’s marked cards, the common coin– give off the magic that was their when Thor was both the god and the...
Mirrors are not more silent nor the creeping dawn more secretive; in the moonlight, you are that panther we 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 lingering caress of my han...
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 absence of the world. We rob him of everything, we leave him not so much as a color or syllable: here, the c...
Oh days devoted to the useless burden of putting out of mind the biography of a minor poet of the Southem Hemisphere, to whom the fates or perhaps the stars have given a body which will leave behind no child, and blindness, which is semi-darkness and jail, and old age, which is the dawn of death, and fame, which absolutely nobody deserves, and the ...
Throughout the course of the generations men constructed the night. At first she was blindness; thorns raking bare feet, fear of wolves. We shall never know who forged the word for the interval of shadow dividing the two twilights; we shall never know in what age it came to mean the starry hours. Others created the myth. They made her the mother of...
Oh destiny of Borges to have sailed across the diverse seas of the world or across that single and solitary sea of diverse names, to have been a part of Edinburgh, of Zurich, of the two Cordobas, of Colombia and of Texas, to have returned at the end of changing generations to the ancient lands of his forebears, to Andalucia, to Portugal and to thos...
1. Rain. Evening, For now aa fine, sudden clearing of the mist, It it did soft rain is freshening. That no doubt always fall. happens Rain is a in thing the past. Hearing Back to ait To the child blessèd fall, the senses will be led a flower called disclosed And an extraordinary color, the rose.
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They’re dust. like you; the universe is Proteus. Shadow, you’ll travel to what waits ahead, the fatal shadow waiting at the rim. Know this: in some way you’re already dead. Notes: Read the translator's notes on this poem. Source: Poetry (March 2012) You are invulnerable.
Jorge Luis Borges Poetry - Poem Analysis. Comes the Dawn. Borges’ ‘Comes the Dawn’ teaches self-love and learning from relationships, emphasizing the importance of living in the present. Home » Jorge Luis Borges Poems. Jorge Luis Borges was a Spanish philosopher and fantasy author.
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