Of the infinite intonations
Submitted by no_exit on Tue, 01/12/2010 - 7:14pm.
Everything. Even Borges's pen.
Only in the sharpened act of reading writing lives.
I won't guess why in this infinite moment I'm so perplexed
By these words that I've barely eaten.
The library at the center of time, its absurd
Shelves of perpetual books resolved
Into polyglot palettes of ink and spine. Into a book
Of sand strokes his pen - undecoded.
The metaphysical pen. Its eyes have been smudged out,
And of the blinded hand whose meticulous
Pleasure was to write, nothing remains
But some bones and the shifting labyrinth
Of a fearful sphere. Can words that drift and mutate
Imagine this name: Jorge Luis Borges?
infinite intonations
ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
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The library at the center of time, its absurd
i like that line.
very dense overall. tight. compact.
don't cry for argentina...
thanks. have you ever read
thanks. have you ever read Borges?
no...
not yet.
well, his poetry is kind of
well, his poetry is kind of formal, but interesting - I modeled this poem on one of them. his short stories are wonderful. but what I really recommend is his essay - "The fearful sphere of Pascal" (or something like that.) Despite being unsure of its exact title, I think its one of the most fascinating essays I've ever read.