Texas by Jorge Luis Borges Here too. Here as at the other edge Of the hemisphere, an endless plain Where mans cry dies a lonely death. Here too the Indian, the lasso, the wild horse. Here too the bird that never shows itself, That sings for the memory of one evening Over the rumblings of history; Here too the mystic alphabet of stars Leading my pen over the page to names Not swept aside in the continual Labyrinth of days: San Jacinto And that other Thermopylae, the Alamo. Here too the never understood, Anxious, and brief affair that is life. (translated by Mark Strand)
Posted on: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 18:24:44 +0000
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