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Light enters and I remember who I am: he is there.
He begins by telling me his name which is mine.
.. , in the shadows of the other kingdom, there will I be,
waiting for myself.
Entra la luz y me recuerdo: ahí está...
.... 'The Watcher'
.... Jorge Luis Borges
To A Saxon Poet.
The snowfalls of Northumbria have known
And have forgotten the imprint of your feet,
And numberless are the suns that have now set
Between your time and mine, my ghostly kinsman.
Slow in the growing shadows you would fashion
Metaphors of swords on the great seas
And of the horror lurking in the pine trees
And of the loneliness the days brought in.
Where can your features and your name be found?
These are things buried in oblivion.
Now I shall never know how it must have been
For you as a living man who walked his ground.
Exiled, you wandered through your lonely ways.
Now you live only in your iron existence.
~ Borges
Old Borges Ranch was established in 1899. Threatened with developement in the 1970's, citizens of the city of Walnut Creek moved to have nearly 3000 acres set aside to be permanently protected as open space to be enjoyed by all. The original ranch buildings are now on the National Historic Register.
The Music Box
Music of Japan. Parsimoniously
from the water clock the drops unfold
in lazy honey or ethereal gold
that over time reiterates a weave
eternal, fragile, enigmatic, bright.
I fear that every one will be the last.
They are a yesterday come from the past.
But from what shrine, from what mountain’s slight
garden, what vigils by an unknown sea,
and from what modest melancholy, from
what lost and rediscovered afternoon
do they arrive at their far future: me?
Who knows? No matter. When I hear it play
I am. I want to be. I bleed away.
by Jorge Luis Borges
1899–1986
Translated from the Spanish by Tony Barnstone
Re-shot with Hipstamatic.
"Free, crazy, enjoying life
And the best will tell you
Not only know their follies
But they live with you"
Argentina historia: Jorge Luis Borges. 1984. / Argentina History: Jorge Luis Borges. 1984. / Argentinien historisch: Dichter Jorge Luis Borges. 1984 .
© Susana Mulé
LATINphoto.org (B/W)
© Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission
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If you are interested in this picture, please contact me. Thanks.
susanamul@yahoo.com.ar.
He nacido en otra ciudad que también se llamaba Buenos Aires.
Recuerdo el ruido de los hierros de la puerta cancel.
Recuerdo los jazmines y el aljibe, cosas de la nostalgia.
Recuerdo una divisa rosada que había sido punzó.
Recuerdo la resolana y la siesta.
Recuerdo dos espadas cruzadas que habían servido en le desierto.
Recuerdo los faroles de gas y el hombre con el palo.
Recuerdo el tiempo generoso, la gente que llegaba sin anunciarse.
Recuerdo un bastón con estoque
Recuerdo lo que he visto y lo que me contaron mis padres.
Recuerdo a Macedonio, en un rincón de una confitería del Once.
Recuerdo las carretas de tierra adentro en el polvo del Once.
Recuerdo el Almacén de la figura en la calle de Tucumán.
(A la vuelta murió Estanislao del Campo.)
Recuerdo un tercer patio, que no alcancé, que era el patio de
los esclavos.
Guardo memoria del pistoletazo de Alem en un coche cerrado.
En aquel Buenos Aires, que me dejó, yo sería un extraño.
Sé que los únicos paraísos no vedados al hombre son los paraísos
perdidos.
Alguien casi idéntico a mí, alguien que no habrá leído esta página,
lamentará las torres de cemento y el talado obelisco
JORGE LUIS BORGES - Buenos Aires
Pablo Cedrón en toma previa al rodaje de su protagónico en EL JUGUETE RABIOSO dirigida por José María Paolantonio.
El poema de Borges lo copié de un post de Alberto Larrambebere en Facebook... no lo recordaba y al leerlo pensé en una imagen que lo ilustrara... Pablo, que aún no me acostumbro a la idea que ya partió, igual que el tan querido Cocho Paolantonio... en fin, para ellos este homenaje en su memoria en el poema de Jorge Luis Borges.
Copyright © Susana Mulé
© All rights reserved.
© Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission
A breach of copyright has legal consequences
If you are interested in this picture, please contact me. Thanks.
susanamul@yahoo.com.ar
Waking Up
Daylight leaks in and sluggishly I surface
from my own dreams into the common dream
and things assume again their proper places
and their accustomed shapes. Into the present
the Past intrudes, in all its dizzying range--
the centuries old habits of migration
in birds and men, the armies in their legions
all fallen to the sword, and Rome and Carthage.
The trappings of my day also come back:
my voice, my face, my nervousness, my luck.
If only Death, that other waking-up,
would grant me a time free of all memory
of my own name and all that I have been!
If only morning meant oblivion!
~Borges
For a Version of I Ching
The imminent is as immutable
as rigid yesterday. There is no matter
that rates more than a single, silent letter
in the eternal and inscrutable
writing whose book is time. He who believes
he’s left his home already has come back.
Life is a future and well-traveled track.
Nothing dismisses us. Nothing leaves.
Do not give up. The prison is bereft
of light, its fabric is incessant iron,
but in some corner of your mean environs
you might discover a mistake, a cleft.
The road is fatal as an arrow’s flight
but God is watching in the narrowest light.
~Borges
Para una versión del I King
El porvenir es tan irrevocable
Como el rígido ayer. No hay una cosa
Que no sea una letra silenciosa
De la eternal escritura indescrifrable
Cuyo libro es el tiempo. Quien se aleja
De su casa ya ha vuelto. Nuestra vida
Es la senda futura y recorrida.
Nada nos dice adiós. Nada nos deja.
No te rindas. La ergástula es oscura,
La firme trama es de incesante hierro,
Pero en algún recodo de tu encierro
Puede haber un descuido, una hendidura,
El camino es fatal como la flecha
Pero en las grietas está Dios, que acecha.
In Venice, whose maze-like topography used to fascinate the great Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, a garden-labyrinth honors his memory since 2011. Inspired by his famous narration The Garden of Forking Paths, it mirrors a project previously realized in Argentina.
The design was conceived in 1979 by the English diplomat and maze architect Randoll Coate following a dream. As he describes in a letter to Susana Bombal, the Argentinean friend who introduced the writer to him in Buenos Aires in the 1950s, in his dream both agreed that a monument to honor Borges could not be anything other than a labyrinth. After Bombal's death, the letter was found by her nephew, Camilo Aldao, who decided to travel to England to meet the architect. This is how he obtained the design and his agreement to carry it out. With the support of Maria Kodama, he finally managed to create a first Borges Labyrinth in 2003 at Susana Bombal's finca in "Los Alamos", in the province of Mendoza.
The Venetian Labyrinth of Borges is located in the ancient monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore, on the island of the same name in front of St. Marcus' Square. It was inaugurated on 14 June 2011, on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the writer's death, as a project of the Fondazione Cini and the Jorge Luis Borges International Foundation.
The monastic buildings adjacent to the famous Basilica of Andrea Palladio were recovered and restored by the Giorgio Cini Foundation from 1950 onwards. They now house the foundation's headqurters and its cultural centre, with a library specialized in art history - one of the richest in Italy -, research institutes, and spaces for exhibitions, concerts, conferences and meetings.
As a tribute to Borges and following Randoll Coate's design, the Foundation created the labyrinth behind the Palladian Cloister and the Cypress Cloister, forming a kind of third cloister in an area of 2,300 m2. More than three thousand buxus sempervirens bushes of about 90 cm height form an intricate vegetal labyrinth whose design has the shape of a book and includes references to Borges (his name duplicated and mirrored), his age when he died (86 years), his walking stick, hourglasses, the sign of infinity and the question mark, as well as the initials of his widow, Maria Kodama.
In addition to a visit as part of a guided tour of the Cini Foundation, the Labyrinth of Borges can be seen from the privileged height of the San Giorgio Campanile, from which the encrypted universe of its symbolic figures can be guessed, and the magnificent view of the lagoon and the cityscape of Venice can be enjoyed.
© Text: Universes in Universe
…of the wind – VI
The undistinguishable road
But I am alone and want oblivion
To restore your fleeting shade to the days
~ J. L. Borges, To a Minor Poet of 1899
Astor Piazzolla. Año 1989.Argentina historia: Jorge Luis Borges. 1984. / Argentina History: Jorge Luis Borges. 1984. / Argentinien historisch: Dichter
Jorge Luis Borges. 1984 . Retrato del gran escritor argentino obtenido en su domicilio, en Buenos Aires,
Argentina, 1984.
Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges (Buenos Aires, 24 de agosto de 1899 – Ginebra, 14 de junio de 1986, fue un escritor argentino, uno de los autores más destacados de la literatura del siglo XX. Publicó ensayos breves, cuentos y poemas. Su obra, fundamental en la literatura y en el pensamiento humano, ha sido objeto de minuciosos análisis y de múltiples interpretaciones. Trasciende cualquier clasificación y excluye cualquier tipo de dogmatismo.
Fuente Wilkipedia.
Copyright © Susana Mulé
© All rights reserved.
© Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission
A breach of copyright has legal consequences
If you are interested in this picture, please contact me. Thanks.
susanamul@yahoo.com.ar
© Susana Mule/LATINphoto.org (B/W)
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to travel to the Kootenays and meet 7 very wonderful, genuine and inspirational Photographer! It was most definitely one the best weekends of my life! I have plenty of photos to post within the next few days so you all best be prepared!
This was taken while waiting for the fairy to arrive after missing it by a couple mins! Well worth the wait!
I imagined a labyrinth of labyrinths, a maze of mazes, a twisting, turning, ever-widening labyrinth that contained both past and future and somehow implied the stars. Absorbed in those illusory imaginings, I forgot that I was a pursued man; I felt myself, for an indefinite while, the abstract perceiver of the world. The vague, living countryside, the moon, the remains of the day did their work in me; so did the gently downward road, which forestalled all possibility of weariness. The evening was near, yet infinite.”
Jorge Luis Borges, Ficciones