jueves, 25 de noviembre de 2010

Dos Poemas Ingleses (poema II A Beatriz Bibiloni Webster de Bullrich) Jorge Luis Borges

What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of ragged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in marble: my father’s father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow; my mother’s grandfather –just twenty four-heading a charged of three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on vanished horses.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, whatever man-liness or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.
I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow –the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

lunes, 22 de noviembre de 2010

La revolución es un sueño eterno. Andrés Rivera

¿Qué nos faltó para que la utopía venciera a la realidad? ¿Qué derrotó a la utopía? ¿Por qué, con la suficiencia pedante de los conversos, muchos de los que estuvieron de nuestro lado, en los días de mayo, traicionan la utopía? ¿Escribo de causas o escribo de efectos? ¿Escribo de efectos y no describo las causas? ¿Escribo de causas y no describo los efectos?
Escribo la historia de una carencia, no la carencia de una historia.