Realidades y ficciones del bingo

NERF:nerf10 Version 9. Skip to main navigation Skip to main navigation Skip to search Skip to search. Ficciones Ficciones. Borges, Jorge Luis, Borges, Jorge Luis, Title rated 4.

Rate this title Rate this. eBook , Entre los cuentos que aqui se reUnen hay algunos de corte policial como "La muerte y la brUjula", la historia de un detective que investiga el asesinato de un rabino; otros sobre libros imaginarios como "TlOn, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius", una extraordinaria reflexiOn sobre la literatura y su influencia en el mundo fisico; y muchos pertenecientes al genero fantAstico como "El Sur", acaso su mejor relato, en palabras del mismo autor.

Fascinante y sorprendente, Ficciones le brinda al lector un mundo de reflexiones sobre las convenciones de lectura y el modo de entender la realidad.

Title availability. En la biblioteca pública de la ciudad de San Cristóbal, hallé uno de sus libros Suicidios. Lo pedí en préstamo, lo leí y devolví, pero en mi mente quedaron grabados sus relatos. Durante mi carrera académica, igual leí otros autores venezolanos, todos notables poetas o narradores: Armando Rojas Guardia, Ramón Palomares, Eugenio Montejo, Denzil Romero, José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Julio Garmendia y los tachirenses Manuel Felipe Rugeles, Antonio Mora, Pablo Mora, Manuel Rojas, Segundo Medina, José Oropeza , entre otros hacedores que encenderían en mí pasión por las Letras.

Además, no olvido conversaciones literarias con José Antonio Pulido Zambrano y Eudes Alexander Moncada : las lecturas de sus poemas dieron enaltecieron mi alma. La literatura que fue llegando a mi espíritu me ayudó a comprender la «Literatura venezolana». Mi propósito de leer más a Alberto Jiménez Ure continuaba intacto, pues consideraba que su «cosmogonía literaria» era desafiante.

Las ansias de toparme con la escritura de Alberto Jiménez Ure me llevaron, por casualidades de la vida, al excelente poeta Rodolfo Quintero Noguera : a quien lo conocí una tarde en el Ateneo del Táchira. Sugirió, estimuló, a varios de mis compañeros del grupo de extensión «Ularte» para que nos acercáramos a los textos de Ure.

Pasó el tiempo y llegó el momento cuando, por fin, me encontré con varios de sus obras en internet. Basta colocar su nombre en el buscador de Google para que nos topemos con sus invenciones. Gracias a la tecnología podemos hallar cuentos, pensamientos, poemas y novelas suyas.

Ya he leído obras como Dictadura de Ultimomundano , Absurdos Antología máxima personal de sus cuentos , Aberraciones y Jiménez Ure a Contracorriente de Juan Liscano.

En las líneas anteriores, he querido contar cómo finalmente me tuve a mi alcance libros de Jiménez Ure. Intentaré desarrollar mis modestos y breves «apuntes», mi «acercamiento», a la novela Aberraciones. Tenía razón el intelectual Juan Liscano al comentar lo siguiente sobre la escritura de Jiménez Ure: «[…] En su obra hay videncia; hay intuiciones espirituales trascendentes; hay erotismo sádico-masoquista, me atrevería a decir; casi redentor, por lo purgativo; hay ciencia-ficción […]».

Aberraciones , como bien lo expresa el título, es incesto, perversión, herejía, blasfemia, horror, caos, desenfreno, oscuridad, cinismo, violación.

En el planeta Tierra se practica las cosas más horrendas y macabras. Porque el hombre es destructivo, aberrante. Basta con leer la Historia de la Humanidad para comprobar cuántos seres malvados ha engendrado la Humanidad, indiscutiblemente numerosos.

En el curso de un «chat» de Facebook, el escritor me dijo que «fue premeditada y alevosamente difamado tras la aparición de la primera edición de esa novela: lo acusaban de haber cometido lo que el personaje central de Aberraciones , actos incestuosos con una hija que no existía en ».

La Segunda Edición apareció en y la tercera, pero digital, en el año Jiménez Ure recrea «La Logia Aviesa del Mundo». Para crear el «Universo» se requiere de una reunión, u na junta, un plan de mentes diestras en la urdimbre.

Satiriza creencias religiosas, como esa según la cual María no había pensado tener a Jesús, sino que fue embarazada por la voluntad de un «Ser Supremo» que le habría anunciado que tendría un hijo suyo.

Ella recibió el mandato de concebirlo, de resguardarlo en su vientre. Otros seres nacen producto de la violación y procrean a seres con desprecio que alguna vez desarrollarán ira, malicia, crueldad.

Algunos cometerán actos deplorables por legado, diseminarán víctimas. Nuestro comienzo no es accidental, sino producto de las «ideas de una logia» que secretamente planeó nuestra aparición y desvanecimiento.

En Aberraciones hablan los personajes, caminan, respiran y experimentan con intensidad el mundo. El personaje principal, Federico Favios, tiene relaciones incestuosas con su hija Priscila.

Percibo en él al caudillo que gobierna. Ella simboliza al país manoseado, penetrado y, al mismo tiempo, excitado por las manos del gobernante. Rosana representa el individuo que está al servicio del gobierno, y hace lo que se le pide. Bobo, que así se llama el perro de Priscila, es el pueblo que obedece los dictados de su inicuo jefe: es acariciado, abusado y abofeteado cuando no se le necesita la hija del caudillo es zoófila, obsesa de la parafilia.

Los otros personajes que se mencionan en la novela también integran al grupo de ejecutores del plan e irrefutablemente están detrás de la mente creadora.

Lo que afirmo forma parte de mis sensaciones personales respecto a los mensajes «subliminales» semiocultos en Aberraciones. Pero, si alguien se sorprendiera por mi análisis, yo le preguntaría: ¿no es verdad que en cualquier lugar surgen engendros malignos?

Por lo tanto, esta novela es una obra que descarna el nacimiento de nuestra especie. El mundo fantástico que él describe es un espejo que refleja nuestras conductas aborrecibles como el ultraje, en complicidad «con el otro o la otra».

El advenimiento de la especie fue posible mediante el «Mal» que es, paradójicamente, el «Bien». Porque se necesitan dos fuerzas opuestas para engendrar, nacer, cohabitar y hasta morir.

Alberto Jiménez Ure es intuitivo, deductivo e inevitable pensador: decodifica lo que observa en su entorno para plasmarlo en sus obras. Nos transfiere, mediante sus tramas novelescas, su conocimiento de lo «oculto abominable».

El libro Aberraciones ya estaba escrito cuando Satanás se rebeló ante Dios, cuando Caín mató Abel, cuando los hijos de Adán y Eva se aparearon consumando el incesto y desparramaron la humanidad. Aberraciones siempre ha existido. El horror ya estaba consumado literatura. Es menester que engendres a Hs, mi hijo, a quien legaré conocimientos!

Luis Benítez ©. Una veintena de piezas de diversa extensión componen Pasión a la madrileña [1] , de la autora mendocina Marisa Avogadro Thomé, donde se conjugan dos órdenes —el gastronómico y el literario— o, mejor expresado todavía, la escritora aprovecha el condimento del primero para narrar historias donde las comidas parecen ocupar el primer plano, mientras que en verdad constituyen el soporte y muy atractivo de cuanto desea contarnos.

Desde los tiempos del hedónico y refinado Anacreonte y a. En el caso que nos ocupa, Pasión a la madrileña se suma con merecimiento a este ilustre y milenario recurso, con un estilo cuya sencillez expresiva no empaña sino que hace relucir todavía más el intenso sentido emocional de lo relatado.

Desde las evocaciones de infancia hasta las vivencias y reflexiones de la madurez se dan cita al trasluz de hervores, asaduras, combinaciones de sabores y aromas que impregnan de sinestesias este volumen breve, pero de sólida hondura conceptual, haciendo muy obvio el advenimiento a la memoria del efecto empleado por Marcel Proust en su clásico À la recherche du temps perdu [4] donde dedica buen número de páginas a lo que parece —engañosamente— ser la mera descripción de una madalena.

Logrados recursos y vívidas sensaciones se intercalan en esta obra de Avogadro Thomé, sin que falte el regusto agridulce de una suave nostalgia subyacente en la mayoría de sus historias, particularmente en las relacionadas con lo amoroso, que también tiene su papel en este libro.

La autora. TENER EL CUERPO PLAGADO DE MEMORIAS. Adán Echeverría ©. Cuatro secciones forman el poemario La alforja de los desprendimientos VersodestierrO, que presenta Álvaro Baltazar Chanona Yza Yucatán, México, , para mostrarnos su capacidad poética, y redescubrir, mediante el diálogo que establece con el lector, los alcances de su voz poética.

Diez poemas numerados que integran la sección Del Caribe esta cosmogonía , seguida por La alforja de los desprendimientos , que da nombre al poemario, luego Los sueños hirsutos de un navegante , y los ocho poemas que integran Entre el erial y el río.

Y dentro de las apenas 72 cuartillas uno puede navegar al vaivén de los versos, nunca en calma, sino al borde de fenecer ahogado en la materialización poética.

He ahí el discurso y la forma, los rompimientos, y los recursos. Uno se detiene al encontrarlos, al recitarlos se determina parte de la búsqueda del lenguaje, algo tiene de esa persecución de las ideas, algo como el hacernos siempre un mundo.

Ese mundo propio que es la nuestra literatura, la nuestra idea del poema, la nuestra idea de ser el vaso comunicante en el que nos es necesario dibujarnos la vida, el pensamiento, las sensaciones.

Porque uno se sabe preso de esta maldición que es el ser poeta, cuando a media noche ese alfabeto invertido nos despertamos al darnos cuenta que la frase tal, el adjetivo que pusimos, no termina de agradarnos, y entonces la noche nos maldice con el insomnio sin ojos trepado encima de nuestra nariz, con ese su olor a mediocridad con que se burla y nos insulta.

El monstruo del insomnio que va creciendo hasta apoderarse de nuestras manos, ojos, piernas, y nos impide respirar. Caminamos al ordenador, y trazamos nuestro sueño hacia vislumbrar el ojo frío del insomnio, la angustia, el desesperante principio de la creación que nos va dañando el espinazo, la columna vertebral, las nalgas, las piernas colgadas, movernos hacia un lado, quemarnos la lengua con el café caliente, y estar seguros de que tenemos que mejorar el texto.

Y nos vamos mirando el reflejo en la pantalla del ordenador, y la hoja blanca va burlándose de nuestro empeño. Buscamos descansar de este maldito oficio, y maldecimos, y tenemos que recurrir a nuestras fuentes, todos los otros poetas refugiados en los libros, y también les mentamos la madre, y decimos, que chingón el Darío, poca madre Dylan Thomas, y yo con este verso, y nos sentimos mediocres, a punto de claudicar, y sabemos que nos leemos y nos disfrutamos, porque muchos escribimos para llenar esos huecos con esa propia forma de decir las cosas, aventajar a los lugares comunes, que como perros rabiosos nos persiguen y se ríen como hienas con el hocico de sus letras junto a los ojos.

Y es lo que nos queda, envenenarnos en la ponzoña del lenguaje. Ya lo ha escrito, dicho y advertido antes Huidobro en su Arte Poética : Que el verso sea como una llave que abra mil puertas. Y el poema abre la boca y nos muestra los colmillos afilados del desprendimiento, los colmillos hartos ya del intelecto.

El poema se nos echa encima con sus fauces negras, buscándonos el cuello. El poema enseñoreado nos mira pequeños. U OMITIR A SUS AMIGOS Y ENEMIGOS.

Manuel Barbudo ©. En estos días se cumplen cincuenta años de la muerte del poeta chileno Pablo Neruda, así como del golpe de estado al gobierno de Salvador Allende.

He sentido la necesidad de recordarlo, a él, poeta integral, estudiando un aspecto de su creación poética que, hasta donde se me alcanza, está poco indagado, pese a la insistencia con que Neruda se adentró en este terreno: me refiero al hecho de incluir u omitir el nombre de personas con quien tuvo estrecha relación, para bien o para mal, o que supusieron políticamente un revulsivo o un obstáculo al avance de la sociedad, según la perspectiva del poeta temucano.

Es un terreno de una amplitud enorme debido a varias circunstancias, entre ellas la dimensión pública de Neruda, su presencia internacional tanto literaria e intelectual como política durante tres buenas partes del siglo XX, que le hizo conocer a una ingente cantidad de personas de esos y otros campos y nacionalidades; también su carácter intensamente visceral, pese a su apariencia en extremo serena, bonachona y lenta, su caminar y moverse pausados y ensimismados o el mismo volumen de la obra de Neruda, que alcanza los cuarenta y seis libros, tan solo en el campo de la poesía.

Pero sin duda la razón principal de la insistencia de Neruda en esta práctica de nombrar u omitir a las personas de su importancia hay que buscarla en el propio concepto que de la palabra poética tenía, de los efectos digamos metafísicos que para él surtía como lector recibir el nombre de una persona en un texto y especialmente el de incluirlo o no en su obra propia: en ambos casos, el poder de poner en pie la realidad designada con el nombre y que guarda relación con el mismo efecto que detectamos en la mención del resto de la realidad, naturaleza, materias, plantas, animales, mar, arena, cielo, etc.

En este artículo estudiaré de manera general, en ningún caso exhaustiva, este fenómeno presente a lo largo de toda la obra de Neruda, comentando para ello algunos poemas donde se da con intensidad y claridad particulares, tanto al ocuparse de sus amigos como de sus enemigos.

Me gustaría comenzar citando al propio poeta para que se evidencien su conciencia de lo que hacía y las consecuencias poéticas del fenómeno mismo. Enrico Mario Santí, en su edición de Canto general , Madrid, Cátedra, , cita unas declaraciones de Pablo Neruda sobre este libro, recogidas en Pablo Neruda y otros ensayos , de Alfredo Cardona Peña, México, Ediciones de Andrea, , en extremo pertinentes al respecto:.

Debo advertir que si salen muchos nombres propios, así como reseñas de actos importantes e insignificantes, esto se debe a que por una parte he querido dar la sensación de nuestras luchas continentales a través de un romanticismo revolucionario que no está en desacuerdo con el realismo a que aspira a tener el libro.

Causará extrañeza leer nombres sin ninguna importancia histórica, como los de González Videla y secuaces; lo he hecho deliberadamente para que caiga sobre ellos un estigma simbólico. Yo sé que el pueblo los castigará, pero en mi poema queda una acusación del molde humano de ellos: son diplomáticos, alcahuetes, periodistas pervertidos y sabuesos de una dictadura corrompida [ Además de la compatibilidad entre romanticismo revolucionario y realismo, que llegaría a ser casi socialista en un libro como Las uvas y el viento , de forma expresa señala las consecuencias que tiene para los mencionados, con sus «nombres propios», el quedar impresos y, en este caso, simbólicamente estigmatizados para siempre en sus libros, como en otros serán alabados sus amigos o los héroes de las guerras de independencia: queda eternizada su esencia, el «molde humano de ellos», una victoria del poeta en su propio terreno sobre los enemigos del pueblo, que le produce «una alegría embriagadora».

En la importancia que para el poeta tenía nombrar o no nombrar a amigos o enemigos igualmente a cosas o recuerdos, pues, como decimos, hacerlo suponía poner en pie, dar vida a los objetos y personas mentados , que ejemplarizaré a continuación, aun teniendo en cuenta que se trata de una recreación ficcional, mental, esta parece suponer una realidad paralela extremadamente intensa para Neruda, rescatar del olvido o de la muerte a sus amigos o condenar, por el contrario, a sus enemigos a un infierno eterno de papel, al escrutinio perpetuo de los lectores.

Empecemos por la «Oda a Federico García Lorca», de Residencia en la tierra , donde el registro de personas conocidas tanto por Neruda como por Federico cumple la doble función de situarlas en la posteridad y de completar el retrato del poeta granadino mediante las cosas y las gentes que «llegan» a su casa, es decir, tanto personas reales como todo lo que entra en la atención de Lorca —y de Neruda—, toda su percepción, que después conforma su obra —y la de Neruda.

El resultado global es una imagen frenética y verosímil de Lorca, como vista en el espejo de otro poeta y en el de sus propios versos, evidente para quien los conozca, apoyado en la anáfora:. Anterior al poema de Lorca en un año, «Alberto Rojas Giménez viene volando», también de Residencia en la tierra , es otro ejemplo de retrato de un amigo, oda fúnebre en este caso, de perfecta adecuación formal a la estrofa sáfico-adónica, que usa casi sin excepción.

Y es uno de esos en que la persona retratada monográficamente entra en la nómina nerudiana de la posteridad de tipo elegíaco, fraternal. El recuerdo del amigo y la noticia de su muerte y circunstancias cogen a Neruda en Barcelona, al poco de llegar a España como cónsul de Chile , una situación personal que queda retratada a lo largo de todo el poema:.

Los detalles de la vida de Alberto, con el que Neruda en su tiempo compartió vida bohemia y farras, y el presente, tanto del final de su vida como el de Neruda, se entrelazan entonces como una manera de unirse a él, de unir su vida a la del amigo muerto.

El recuerdo viene volando «sobre», «bajo», «junto», «entre», «mientras» Neruda hace sus cosas, o cosas que rodean la materialidad que deja atrás Alberto.

La materia de la muerte, base conceptual de la muerte para Neruda, junto al recuerdo vivo del espíritu de la persona, del amigo, vivo por la memoria de él y por la emoción que comporta el recuerdo, quedan encarnados poéticamente mediante su inclusión en el poema.

Bastantes veces el contexto en que aparece Alberto volando no se sabe si le pertenece a él, a Neruda, a ambos, al pasado o al presente. Otras sí. A Alberto pertenece:. En realidad, todo confluye en el momento de escritura. Esta primera parte es, digamos, la recepción de la noticia y los primeros recuerdos y sus efectos en Neruda, que van a tener mayor desarrollo en la segunda parte del poema, a partir de «Oh amapola marina, oh deudo mío» y con la negación de la verdad de la muerte, que resulta insoportable y hasta aquí se deducía de las cosas que Alberto sigue haciendo, ahora de forma expresa:.

Hay un aspecto que acaso permite deducir el lugar concreto en que Neruda reside al escribir el poema, o esa parte de él:. Se trata de Barcelona, aunque su contemplación ponga en pie de algún modo el constante y multiforme mar que habita al poeta.

El mar y la noche, que otra vez, en este contexto, vuelven a significar conjuntamente la muerte, lo insondable y oculto que alberga toda la muerte y a los que el poeta baja para encontrar a su amigo.

Esta segunda parte, poco a poco más serena y profunda, contiene también una alusión explícita al pasado común de los dos amigos:. Hay ron, tú y yo, y mi alma donde lloro.

Escrito en verso libre y blanco, «El general Franco en los infiernos», perteneciente a España en el corazón , luego incluido en Tercera residencia , es un poema que nos adentra en la formación poética del infierno impreso dedicado a un enemigo universal de Neruda.

Me voy a centrar en tres aspectos principales: el concepto de muerte, del futuro de los muertos, que refiere aquí a los del bando republicano, el del infierno reservado a Franco, un tanto particular, y el también particular tono que emplea para procesar los conceptos escatológicos y de tormento, relacionado con el anterior y formar así el retrato lamentable de Franco.

El estado de esta gente es, pues, de eternidad, tal como los cogió la muerte, pero también reciben el tratamiento de desaparecidos, relegados a una existencia solo en la memoria, en la escritura y desde luego en el remordimiento infernal de Franco, el cual se espera comience enseguida, si no ha comenzado ya en el momento en que escribe, primer tercio de la Guerra Civil española.

Por ello, a esa santa leche y esos senos pisoteados por los caminos acompaña. En el infierno, a Franco le espera «sólo lo humano», lo único real y capaz de torturarle:. Es un infierno del que quedan excluidos expresamente otros elementos torturantes, que el poeta supone menos feroces, menos infernales, al menos para Franco:.

Neruda es consciente de los infiernos diversos por los que puede pasar un hombre, en esta vida, y sabe que sus elementos están formados por aquellas cosas o tipo de elementos, físicos o psicológicos, mentales o espirituales, culturales o sociales, que a cada cual torturan y llenan sus pesadillas.

De hecho, entre esos elementos mencionados justo antes hay muchos que parecen pertenecer al infierno particular de Neruda, aquel del que en ese mismo tiempo estaba saliendo, gracias sobre todo al estímulo de la lucha política y al apartamiento de una contemplación obsesiva de sus propios fantasmas y de la muerte generalizada en cada acto de vida.

Como es consciente de que, para alguien como Francisco Franco, nada de eso pasa por su mente y, por tanto, no puede torturarlo en absoluto. Así pues, el infierno de Franco está colmado de los destrozos y despojos humanos de que es responsable:. Otro elemento del infierno de Franco es el de la imposibilidad de dormir, la falta de su consuelo y descanso por un insomnio eterno:.

Esa misma línea psicológica que se considera la de Franco, y que es la única que puede torturarle por los remordimientos, es la base asimismo del retrato descendente, putrefacto, del general:. Contiene el poema muchos recursos literarios y conceptuales más que merecen ser estudiados con detenimiento, entre ellos los símbolos con que Neruda estipula las condiciones del infierno para Franco, símbolos que alguna vez fueron pesadillescos para el poeta, otros que lo serán para alguien tan distinto a él, por ejemplo, los contenidos en «hoja de sal, oh perro de la tierra».

Salvo perro, los otros tres, hoja, sal y tierra han sido enormemente productivos para Neruda y en general positivos como elementos terrestres o ámbitos de su indagación. La hoja y la tierra siempre fueron queridas por el poeta, y en cuanto a la sal, normalmente ha ejemplarizado la esencia de la vida, si bien es verdad que otras lo corrosivo de ella, o ambas cosas a la vez.

En este caso, se vuelven elementos constitutivos de lo peor de Franco. El caso de perro, frecuentemente negativo, incluso en el imaginario común de entonces, es más complejo, pues puede estar relacionado con la expresión española «estar salado como los perros» y conectarse tanto a sal como a tierra en un significado unitario intensificador.

Otros son, por ejemplo, algunos habidos en el infierno particular pasado por Neruda, ya mencionado. Así, el «fuego absoluto de las cosas» y «la feroz espuma», símbolos a veces de vida, en el primer caso, y de alma, lo ligero y volátil del agua, además de estar vetados por esa misma causa en el infierno de Franco, nos hablan de la importancia que ya tenían entonces los objetos para Neruda, e incluso que ya en ese tiempo los veía como empapados de la vida de los hombres que los usaron y desgastaron, algo que desarrollará, muy por extenso en sus libros del ciclo de las Odas.

En conclusión, podemos afirmar que Neruda se ha pasado la vida y la obra hablando de lo que aparentemente empieza y lo que aparentemente acaba, así como de lo que, sin duda alguna, dura, de la duración en sí, al menos mientras esa duración es observable y rastreable hacia atrás por un observador, por un observador especialmente dotado como Neruda, partiendo de que, a fin de cuentas, toda duración es relativa: incluso la de la roca o el metal más resistente a la erosión, la oxidación o el desgaste.

Ello ha incluido, con frecuencia inferior comparativamente, el comienzo y el fin de los demás hombres y el antes y el después de ese lapso de acontecimientos que comúnmente llamamos una vida humana.

Un intento por revertir esa desaparición inevitable y lamentable de amigos y enemigos es situarlos perpetuamente en sus poemas, a los primeros para que los recordemos con amor, a los segundos para que no olvidemos sus bajezas morales y acaso, para que imitemos a unos y no a otros.

A PROPÓSITO DE FATAL DE CAROLINA UNREIN. Valeria Badano ©. Fatal , una crónica trans es el segundo libro de carácter autobiográfico de la joven escritora argentina Carolina Unrein.

Este libro se nutre de acontecimientos autobiográficos, pero también puede ser leído como una novela donde lúdicamente el yo narrativo, los sujetos y sus voces, los espacios, los hechos y las circunstancias enunciadas plantean la pluralidad subjetiva y verbal.

Una vez sumergidos en la novela, el texto no solo cuenta el derrotero de esa joven trans en el proceso que la lleva al nacimiento físico y nominal de Caro sino que se sumerge en el camino de su propio nacimiento, nacimiento propio en tanto que es por ella misma gesta iona do y parida.

Nuevos colaboradores. JOSÉ LUIS DÍAZ CABALLERO. Madrid, España, es escritor y abogado. Desde hace más de veinte años, compagina con pasión ambas vocaciones. En fue galardonado con el premio Los nuevos de Alfaguara, por su relato La agonía lánguida del Santo Patrón. En se alzó con el primer premio de artículos monográficos, convocado por el Ilustre Colegio de Abogados de Madrid.

Tras cursar diversos estudios de literatura y escritura creativa, debutó en la novela con El rugido de las sombras , finalista en del Premio Onuba y del Premio Caligrama en Con su segunda novela, Sudor y lluvia tras el fin del mundo Maclein y Parker, , obtiene el segundo premio Fray Luis de León de narrativa En publica la presente Cien cruces arrastradas Velasco , posiblemente su obra más ambiciosa.

A pesar de los años, persiste en él una gran obsesión: traducir el mundo en uno de sus muchos cuadernos. jlmik me. MOISÉS CÁRDENAS CHACÓN. Actualmente radicado en Córdoba Argentina , Moisés Roberto Cárdenas Chacón nació en San Cristóbal Estado Táchira , Venezuela, el 27 de julio de Poeta, narrador, profesor y licenciado en educación - mención castellano y literatura.

Egresado de la ULA-Táchira. Ha publicado en antologías de Venezuela, Argentina, España, Italia y Estados Unidos. Entre sus obras encontramos: Relatos de cualquier tipo narrativa, Editorial Solaris de Uruguay, ; En el jardín de tu cuerpo poemario, Sultana del Lago Editores, Venezuela, ; Los ojos de un exilio novela de género testimonial, Editorial Avant, Barcelona, España, ; Obra poética y narrativa publicación digital, Biblioteca de Autores y Temas Tachirenses, volumen , BAT.

San Cristóbal, Táchira, Venezuela, ; Mis primeros poemas poemario infantil, Ediciones Ecoval, Córdoba, Argentina, año ; Poemas a la Intemperie poemario, Editorial Symbólicus, Córdoba, Argentina, ; Duerme Sulam poemario, Editorial Cecilio Acosta, Museo de Barinas, Venezuela, ; El silencio en su propio olvido poemario, Ministerio de Educación — IPASME, Caracas, Venezuela, Ha colaborado con artículos literarios en la revista Digital Incomunidade, Oporto-Portugal.

En el Diario Digital Identidad Latina Multimedia de Hartford, Estados Unidos, y desde este número con Realidades y Ficciones — Revista Literaria, de Buenos Aires, Argentina. viajesideral2 yahoo.

MANUEL BARBUDO. Rafael Manuel Barbudo González es madrileño, canario de adopción y crianza, y reside en Tenerife, Islas Canarias, España.

Ha sido editor en Grupo libres de varias de sus editoriales y director de la librería virtual Ociohispano , en Madrid. Licenciado en filología hispánica, actualmente doctorando en literatura hispanoamericana por la Universidad de La Laguna con una tesis sobre el poeta Pablo Neruda.

Es también poeta, cuentista y novelista. Como poeta ha publicado el poemario Tiempo caído , en Ediciones Ondina, Madrid, que recibió un generoso comentario por parte de Francisco J.

Castañón, director de la revista Entreletras , y poemas en la antología colectiva Voces para el futuro , Ediciones Ondina. Como narrador ha escrito varias novelas y participado en el libro colectivo Relatos del Prado , Ediciones Ondina.

alu ull. VALERIA BADANO.

Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente

Realidades y Ficciones

Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Fascinante y sorprendente, Ficciones le brinda al lector un mundo de reflexiones sobre las convenciones de lectura y el modo de entender la realidad. Read more: Realidades y ficciones del bingo
















Ser un ganador no es muy instruida Reaalidades tiene el don Realidaes Realidades y ficciones del bingo fcciones Juegos de Azar de Películas Reaildades por instinto. Pues bien, nuestro objeto consiste en encontrarlos y escribirlos todos. Subjects English Language Arts. E che fidciones se alcuni racconti non li ho capiti, se ci sono riferimenti filosofici a Platone, Kant, Leibniz, Schopenhauer,Berckeley i cui nomi sono vaghe ombre nella mia mente, ricordo degli anni di liceo e nulla più, che importa se ci sono richiami ad autori stranieri che ignoro! He runs from the station, down the road, into the next, he keeps running until he is sure I cannot catch him. Había promovido dudosas peleas de boxeo y aún más dudosos juegos de azar. The South might well be one of the longest, at only eight pages while The End is one of the shortest at a mere four pages, and is an example of Borges's ability, when he so chooses, to make every word count: the setting, the timing, the oblique view of the action are precise and perfect. Ella comprende, da una mano y siempre es capaz de perdonar y de olvidar. How does he know my address? En el centro está el tiempo medido en el pasaje del sol sobre el mar desde la madrugada hasta la noche, y todo se desarrolla como si sucediera en un solo día aunque la historia abarca las vidas desde los días del colegio hasta prácticamente la muerte. El subrayado es nuestro. Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Fascinante y sorprendente, Ficciones le brinda al lector un mundo de reflexiones sobre las convenciones de lectura y el modo de entender la realidad. Read more Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Bingo game with ONLINE PLAYING OPTION. This Bingo game includes 40 different large 5x5 Bingo boards (1 to a page) along with a set of calling cards Bingo game with ONLINE PLAYING OPTION. This Bingo game includes 40 different large 5x5 Bingo boards (1 to a page) along with a set of calling cards Missing Sus íntimos lo conocían como Battler Thompson, y como tal su reputación no dejaba de ser sorprendentemente grande Realidades y ficciones del bingo
To enter the worlds in Ficciones is fidciones enter Trucos para ganar en el póker progresivo mind of Jorge Juegos de Azar de Películas Borges, wherein lies Realidadees, Hell, and everything else in between. American sign language. At Lessing, Juegos de Azar de Películas Novalis, at Kafka, at Hesse, at Kierkegaard, binggo Se dl la mano por la frente, estaba húmeda de un sudor frío. وتنطلق الكتابة متخطية التوقع، جارفة المألوف لعجائبية نسقها هو نفسه نسق المألوف الحق اقول لك أنا أفضل ماريو بارغس يوسا لأنه يأخذنا معه لحياة الناس في شوارع ليما وأنت تحب بورخيس يا برشومي صوت رضا الذي سمعته في أجمل لحظات الواقع وهي واقفة في المكان نفسه تتغير الأزياء Ficciones tells stories about stories: each story is about the perspective of mankind, the symbols this species clings to, the metaphors they attempt to turn into living, breathing reality. Ella comprende, da una mano y siempre es capaz de perdonar y de olvidar. Leí "El viejo" y su análisis It is long and meandering, and I cannot work out what it is all about. Or even just the way that you read it. Por aquellos años el país daba la sensación de crecer vertiginosamente. Una técnica como para que el otro, el vivillo, caiga en la trampa por propia cuenta por no poder controlar su curiosidad, su ansiedad. Foreign Language. This is a collection of 17 of his "best" short stories, held together merely by the thread that they are like nothing else you've ever read or even thought about. Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Sus íntimos lo conocían como Battler Thompson, y como tal su reputación no dejaba de ser sorprendentemente grande Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Realidades y Ficciones. Para enviar COLABORACIONES a esta revista literaria REALIDADES Y FICCIONES —Revista Literaria— Nº 56 – Diciembre de – Año XIV Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Realidades y ficciones del bingo
Muchas de sus manifestaciones son Realjdades. At dinner Arkadiusz Juhász described the binyo in his mind. Grades PreK. Debería haberlo Realivades. De esta manera, Carolina Unrein determina las maneras en que su voz se va a plantear y, así, decirse: la narración es de un yo situado en esos tiempos en los que ese yo va siendo: un sujeto hecho de números, de días, de años. Math test prep. He became completely blind by the age of Occupational therapy. The house is another Victorian terrace like my own. Se acentúa la trascendencia del instante. No puedo mas que concluir que Borges sólo escribe para aquellos que pueden entenderlo. Their failures and their attempts to transcend their fates! Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Historias en las que las líneas de tiempo parecen fundirse, en que los sueños se vuelven realidad, las bibliotecas son infinitas y laberínticas, los más simples Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente Missing Historias en las que las líneas de tiempo parecen fundirse, en que los sueños se vuelven realidad, las bibliotecas son infinitas y laberínticas, los más simples Fascinante y sorprendente, Ficciones le brinda al lector un mundo de reflexiones sobre las convenciones de lectura y el modo de entender la realidad. Read more Realidades y Ficciones. Para enviar COLABORACIONES a esta revista literaria REALIDADES Y FICCIONES —Revista Literaria— Nº 56 – Diciembre de – Año XIV Realidades y ficciones del bingo
La fecha se repetía Reallidades cada página Mañana los poetas cantarán un divino. On June 22nd, I receive a letter. Get newsletter. Log In Join. Teacher manuals.

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20 Eventos Misteriosos Que Te Harán Cuestionar La Realidad

Realidades y ficciones del bingo - Sus íntimos lo conocían como Battler Thompson, y como tal su reputación no dejaba de ser sorprendentemente grande Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente

Borges had the internet in his head. I never really know how to review collections of short stories without the reviews becoming ponderously long.

I decided to share a few quotes from the stories that I find to be interesting. My notes from reading this book are vast and easily could have led to a dissertation many times longer than the original source material. I desisted. I struggled as well. I had to read and reread sections of the story to make sure that I captured more of what Borges meant.

I am positive, many times, that I failed to completely comprehend all that he intended for me to glean from his writing. My advice is to forge ahead, keep swimming from island to island of wonderfully written passages.

Do not become overly anxious. I do not want you to get a cramp and drown in the Borges Sea. Though mirrors have been associated with sex probably from the moment the inventor of mirrors first hung a shard on the ceiling over his bed fanciful supposition. It reasons that the present is undefined, that the future has no other reality than as present hope, that the past is no more than present memory.

I can remember pondering the concept of time as a child and wondering why we are so obsessed with it when it constantly reminds us of the quick passage of our lives.

We would be perpetually as young as we think ourselves to be. Poe, so ignored by his own country for most of his life. Thank goodness the Europeans and one Argentinian European in particular saw his merit. Ideas used to travel so slowly.

It is almost as if Borges is anticipating the internet. Of course, as I stated earlier in this review, people must still have a wide base of knowledge in their own head to fully appreciate or apply the brilliant ideas of others.

This would explain a lot. Whoever is dreaming me needs to drink less alcohol or shoot less heroin because I could really use a more coherent path forward. The problem, of course, is that rarely do lent volumes return to us.

The rule, clearly, for readers and especially collectors is to never lend a book that you expect to get back. If they were really serious about saving readers as a species, they would have us behind bars in book filled zoos, encouraging us to reproduce with one another. There was a time I would have agreed with Borges.

It is a nice thought that our libraries would exist beyond us, but with the current rate of libraries going extinct, especially in the United States, I would have to say that our species, or some devolved illiterate form of it, may outlive our libraries.

Of course, when the internet goes black and the electrical grid goes dark, guess who will still have books to read…. Candlelight was good enough for Honest Abe. It is certainly good enough for me.

I could have used this advice several times over the course of my business career, when I sold pieces of my soul. To imagine that the act is already done would have eased the moment when the loss is weighed, measured, and excised.

I was thinking as I read this how useful it would be to run simulations of several choices that could show me the outcomes, not only of the first decision but the rippling effects of that decision over the next ten years. The interesting thing in watching how people make decisions is that, even if they have the percentages before them of potential success, they will still go with those fabled gut instincts, even though the simulation shows a much lower potential for success.

We are a baffling species, naturally distrustful of knowledge. The capacity for greatness or horror exists in all of us. To celebrate one is to celebrate all. To condemn one for an act is really, in many ways, condemning us all. If only Clint Eastwood was still making Dirty Harry movies.

We can only hope, right? I hope Borges accomplished most of what he wanted before the final swing of the glittering scythe. I do want to encourage everyone that, if there is something you know you should be doing, you should get to it.

If you have been putting off asking the libidinous hope springs eternal librarian out on a date, do it. If you are supposed to be painting, writing, or starting your own business, move the time table up.

The sand in the hour glass is flowing faster than you think, and there will be times when it inexplicably speeds up. Carpe Diem! Vit Babenco. To me Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges is the ultimate anthology of short stories… I find in it everything I ever want to find in literature: reality and surreality, rationality and irrationality, fables and parables, legends and myths, mysticism and philosophy, history and fantasy and an endless enigma of existence.

I owe the discovery of Uqbar to the conjunction of a mirror and an encyclopedia. The mirror troubled the far end of a hallway in a large country house on Calle Gaona, in Ramos Mejia; the encyclopedia is misleadingly titled The Anglo-American Cyclopaedia New York, , and is a literal though also laggardly reprint of the Encyclopœdia Britannica.

The event took place about five years ago. Yes, use expertly a combination of mirrors, labyrinths and books and you too will be capable to live an adventurous, fabulous and mysterious life whenever you wish… With one quick look, you and I perceive three wineglasses on a table; Funes perceived every grape that had been pressed into the wine and all the stalks and tendrils of its vineyard.

He knew the forms of the clouds in the southern sky on the morning of April 30, , and he could compare them in his memory with the veins in the marbled binding of a book he had seen only once, or with the feathers of spray lifted by an oar on the Rio Negro on the eve of the Battle of Quebracho.

Nor were those memories simple — every visual image was linked to muscular sensations, thermal sensations, and so on. He was able to reconstruct every dream, every daydream he had ever had.

A perfect memory and ability of perfect vision turns into a curse and we understand that our capability to forget is actually a divine gift. And Death and the Compass is an utmost detective story, an utter post-noir modernistic tale to me.

I believe that this elaborate maze of misconceptions, false steps and deception was a main influence on Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco. Reading Borges is always a challenge. When you read his stories, it seems you are reading everyone else's. There is a lot of references in his work, and if you want to truly kind of understand it or begin to , you have to do some research.

He ends up being an invaluable teacher. Labyrinths, mirrors, libraries, dreams, fantasy, religion, philosophy, epistemology. My love for philosophical literature began with this author. My all-time favorite story is "Las Ruinas Circulares" The Circular Ruins ; the power of thoughts.

Con alivio, con humillación, con terror, comprendió que él también era una apariencia, que otro estaba soñándolo.

A magnificent line to end a story. Being able to read JLB in Spanish is a privilege. I also enjoyed "La lotería de Babilonia" The Lottery in Babylon , "El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan" The Garden of Forking Paths , "Funes el memorioso" Funes, His Memory , "La biblioteca de Babel" The Library of Babel , and I should stop here.

Honestly, I loved every utterly beautiful and unfathomably deep short story included in this book. In that sense, this is a pointless, too subjective review because I'm absolutely enamored with Borges' writing. Despite the fact he makes me feel plain ignorant, most of the times.

Though that's how we learn. JLB and his blindness—an apt oxymoron. He saw things beyond the ordinary human eye. He created universes, troubled authors, perfectly plausible fake books, never-ending labyrinths and a unique writing style to talk about everything and more.

He is one of those great writers who makes you feel like everything has already been written. Los cuentos y relatos aquí son brillantes, redondos y… perfectos. Nuevamente debo utilizar ese término.

Naturalmente en Borges, nos encontraremos con lo que lo apasionaba y obsesionaba: laberintos, espejos, libros, metafísica, filosofía, tiempo, espacio, Dios, sus autores predilectos y el infinito.

Todos estos componentes forman el inmenso universo narrativo borgeano y aunque por momentos y con total lógica, nos sintamos desconcertados ante lo que estamos leyendo, por otro lado nos rendimos ante la sabiduría infinita de Jorge Luis Borges.

سيد نصر برشومي. في صالة منزلنا القديم تستند رضا إلى الباب الموارب وتقول لي تحيرني قصص بورخس يا صديقي لا تمنحك شيئا تستند إليه تأخذك لقلب متاهة مغناطيسية وحيدا في عالم مغلق بلا أبواب لا يراه غيره يدور بورخس معه مكتبته العابرة للقارات أفكاره التي لا يلتقطها القارئ وإن شعر بها تزن في المجال المحيط براسه تجريد تموت فيه حدوتة الإنسان وتنطلق الكتابة متخطية التوقع، جارفة المألوف لعجائبية نسقها هو نفسه نسق المألوف الحق اقول لك أنا أفضل ماريو بارغس يوسا لأنه يأخذنا معه لحياة الناس في شوارع ليما وأنت تحب بورخيس يا برشومي صوت رضا الذي سمعته في أجمل لحظات الواقع وهي واقفة في المكان نفسه تتغير الأزياء مرة بزي مدرسة ثانوي الكحلي والقميص الأبيض مرة بالفستان الأخضر في العيد مرة بالكاجوال وهي في طريقها للجامعة ملامحها لم تتغير ونغمة صوتها تتردد في موجات نفسي في الحلم في الصمت في رائحة الكتب وحفيف الورق وحنين الصفحات لنظرة ترى سطورها مع ذلك لا أكاد أميز بين صوتها القيثاري الضاحك وصوت بثينة المشحون بنغمة الكلارنيت الشبيهة بالجاكت العاجي الذي تكتفي بحمله على يدها في عز برد يناير مع ان بثينة تناديني نصر فقط ولم تقل لي برشومي أبدا صوت رضا يتردد في نفسي مع الناس وفي وحدتي التي أكاد أرى فيها كل ما قرأناه معا في صالتنا التي لم اذهب إليها من زمان وهناك حيث كنت واكون بمشاعري الآن كلما ذهبت لحدبقة الأسماك في تلك الغابة التي أمضيت فيها إجازات الطفولة ذبذبات صوتها تلون مياه الحوض بالأخضر الفستقي تسبح المعاني في موجة الود الصامت لا أذكر أنني ذهبت لحديقة الأسماك من سنين الآن نحن هناك معنا بورخيس يقول إنه رأى هذه السمكة نفسها في حوض ناقد أدبي ببيونس أيرس كافكا ينظر إليها بتوجس ويقول إنها نفسها الناقد الأدبي ذاته بثينة هي التي حكت لي عن الحوض الفستقي والسمكة النمر الوحيدة التي أسمتها بثينة سورمينا على اسم بطلة رواية ساحرات جيتكوفا لم تحب رضا كتابة بورخيس رضا لا تحب المتاهات لا تحب الطرق المتشابهة التي تستهلك وقت الحلم..

الطرق المتكررة والمتعرجة والمتشعبة تظنها بداية جديدة فتجد نفسك تعود معها للمكان نفسه مثل شوارع جاردن سيتي الدائرية وشوارع الزمالك المتشابهة واهما تستيقظ من حلم فتدخل في حلم آخر تظن انك في يوتوبيا وأنت في الحارة لم تغادرها وأنت لم تر يوتوبيا لم تر إلا رضا ربما هي لم ترك سترى نفسك في النهر الذي لم تنزله سترى حدائق وكواكب وصفحات لم تنشر من قاموس لَم يكتب هذه هي الدقاىق الأخيرة من العام ستقول لي إنه بدأ في مكان آخر ستقول لي بعض الأعوام تعود بالإنسانية للخلف ستقول لي رضا هي نفسها بثينة وأن حديقة الأسماك مسافة رائعة ظهرت بطريق الخطأ عندما لمست مفتاحا ضائعا من لوحة لاب قديم.

رضا لم تحب بورخيس لأنه لم يحقق لها واقعا تمنته ولا فتح لها أبواب يوتوبيا خيالية بكلمة حب مجانية لقد تركها في منتصف المسافة تبكي حلما بعين وتتابع دروس الأولاد الذين سيهاجرون ويتركونها بالعين الأخري.

لا يحب بورخيس إلا السارحون في دهاليز الوقت الضائع تطردهم الكواكب من مجرات الخيال التي تشبه تلك المجرة التي لم تبرح طفولتنا العجوز. Jim Fonseca. The author is a master of mixing fantasy and philosophy. He has been credited as a pioneer in magical realism in Latin American literature.

In this classic collection, most stories are almost as much essays as they are short stories. Recurring themes are non-existent and ancient books. Imaginary worlds. Memory and mnemonics. Infinity in books, libraries and labyrinths. All possible outcomes, like infinite universes in which every act and its result are mirrored by the opposite act and the opposite result.

Or maybe the opposite act and the same result. lol Here are a few examples of the 17 stories: The Library of Babel, perhaps his best-known story combines almost all of the list in the previous paragraph. The library is God or the universe. Every book is mirrored by one with all the opposite conclusions.

Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius is a story that gives us imaginary countries and worlds that get into encyclopedias and take on a life of their own. This week for example in Feb. In The Garden of Forking Paths, a Chinese spy for the Germans against the British can only pass on his secret information by killing someone.

Meanwhile we hear speculation on the garden: is it a true labyrinth or a book about the labyrinth? In The Secret Miracle a man is condemned to the firing squad basically for being an erudite Jew. He tries to stop his execution by attempting to foresee all the details of the endless possibilities of the execution -- number of soldiers firing, how far away they stand, where it will take place, etc.

He prays for a year to finish the book he is working on. He is granted that wish to finish the book in his head in the suspension of time between bullets leaving the guns and their impact on his body. But maybe the betrayal was necessary for God to prove his divinity.

Perhaps because the stories are starting to show their age. Maybe we need a new translation — the edition I read was translated in Illustration of the Library of Babel from americandigest.

org Photo of the Borges Labyrinth in Venice planted on the 25th anniversary of his death. From oddviser. Are there fictional tales with such philosophical significance somewhere in all of literature? At Lessing, at Novalis, at Kafka, at Hesse, at Kierkegaard, perhaps?

In any case, we swim in these waters in excellent company! The stories arise from all kinds of horizons mystical, fantastic, erudition, news stories, etc. to spread with authority and confidence before the fascinated mind of the reader I am.

The ideas and the perspectives employed have taken me to all spiritual and philosophical depths while entertaining me with high efficiency. I also enjoyed the struggle for freedom expressed in several novels, Tlön, Orbis Tertius, and The Lottery in Babylon. How often have I come across an evocation of news from this collection?

I cannot say! Probably as often as on invocations of Aesop's Fables or Andersen's Tales! A reader needs to know certain precise information to grasp the meaning of what is expressed and the impression that must emanate from it, and it is to the word that Borges always delivers the right measure to him.

It is possible that the message does not get through to some, but every chance will have been made available to it to keep its attention and interest to their maximum levels.

Yes, for me, Borges writes what he wants with uncompromising elegance. They have become essential in the history of Western thought, and he will have had the chance to know them during his lifetime.

What a beautiful collection of philosophical novels! What could be said about a book which is in itself many books in a book or many authors in one, for are you capable enough to said anything? What genre could encapsulate the breadth of this gem, which has been shining through the vagaries and austerity of time and space, of literature?

What so called forms- which could have been defined by whatever produced, known and understood of literature for we are one and one is all - could best describe it, be it novel, poetry, non-novel, short story or essay, philosophy, memoir and others for that matter.

For it surpasses all the known or created formal or informal forms of literature. The abovementioned questions come up from the vague recesses of our consciousness and challenge our so called knowledge and understanding of literature as we have known it.

These questions tremble our shallow buildings of self- appeasing knowledge and send great discomfort for us to realize that we have absolutely no idea about literature, for our mind has been tied to the strings of dogmas, references for as human beings we need them which we have been telling ourselves since the very inception of literature.

A sense of shame creeps up for us to recognize that we are quite mediocre in our so called progress, for we have kept beating around the bush. But then, suddenly, a sense of solace find its way to our heart and we come to discern that we are not Borges, for there had been only one, there would may be only one, for his style is inimitable.

There have been very few authors in the history of literature who could produce such impact of originality and Borges is certainly right up there.

There are many men adept in those diverse disciplines, but few capable of imagination- fewer will capable of subordinating imagination to rigorous and systematic plan. The plan is so vast that the contribution of each writer is infinitesimal.

Fictions introduced entirely new voice into world literature. As we say one overdoes something until one perfects it, Borges has developed a much serene, subtler prose from the baroque style employing strained and startling metaphors from his early days, and mind you that quieter style has beauty of undertones which may take you to so many avenues in so little words.

He became so adept at his style in 40s that it got a particular name- Borgesian- like those of Dickensian and Kafkaesque. But there was more than just the style, the unclassificability and originality of these stories were among the most prominent factors which led uncomfortable but curious stir among readers and writers of that time, probably still continues to do in modern world.

The prose style of Borges may come across as intellectual with its allusion to literature which may be both existent or non- existent , philosophy, religion, theology, myth, culture, history of Latin America He deftly used parallelism, chiasmus, subtle repetitions-with-variations to shock the reader in a pleasant way.

He combined literary and extraliterary genres in order to create a dynamic, electric genre. The ingenious playing with the boundaries of genre was underlined by playfulness, cleverly though, in both prose style and attitude. Borges was having real fun with these stories.

We find that such spontaneous and playful attitude existed even in the most serious of his stories and readers unaccustomed to such techniques were constantly being made to feel just bit off balance. The characters are not being developed like in traditional fiction, the role of the characters is just to create effect, which comes up on the surface of the story, and then to dissolve in nothingness to convey the greater theme of the story.

Borges considered and discarded seemingly all the previously known forms of literature and philosophy, creates a world ex nihilo- for there was nothing to write and nothing be written.

Yet minutely studied, Borges, like Kafka, under close scrutiny reveals subtle affinities with other forms of literature, exhibits an unmistakable existential angst. This new wave of literature reintroduced irony, angst, existential dilemma, a knowing worldliness which was overshadowed by seriousness and realism of previous age.

There have been ingenious authors in past too but it had taken them hundreds of pages and the invention of an entirely new language to communicate what Borges has done in sparingly three or four pages.

He has managed to turn language upon itself to reverse himself time after time with a sentence or a paragraph with relentless logic so that it comes up as a pleasant surprise.

The universe is based on all possible probabilities which in turn give rise to infinite successive possibilities which give birth to infinite universes co-existing together in a labyrinth, which is surreal, does not have clear demarcation between physics and metaphysics; real and unreal; right and wrong; myth and belief; the rules are, of course, different than that in our universe.

The language and things derived from the language- religion, literature, metaphysics, myth- presuppose idealism. These universes are congenitally, idealistic. There is only one discipline which is psychology to which all others are subordinate.

The fiction has only one plot, with every imaginable permutation; the works of philosophy invariably contains both thesis and antithesis.

There is a library or universe itself which contains all possible books of entire universe or rather multiverses in it; all books, however different from one another they might be, consist of identical elements: the space, the period, the comma and letters of alphabet; so the library has all the possible combinations of all letters of the alphabet.

He can even reconstruct an entire day and he had never erred. Several people count the same quantity come to the same result is an example of association of ideas or of memorization, for subject knowledge is one and eternal there. There are paths which fork from themselves and lead unto themselves.

These universes are built upon various possibilities of a tussle between chance and self -determinism. These parallel or successive universes repeats themselves as a hand of card does after multiple runs.

While we sleep in one universe, we are awake somewhere else, so every men is in fact many men, all men are one and one is all men. There is no concept of time there, for present is undefined and indefinite, the future has no reality except as present hope, and the past has no reality except as present recollection.

It is believed that time passes differently for everyone for it is not uniform, depends upon medium and perceiver. Perhaps all the time has already passed, so that our life is but the crepuscular memory, or crepuscular reflection, doubtlessly distorted and mutilated, of an irrecoverable process.

I recall him though I have no right to speak that sacred verb- only one man on earth did, and the man is dead holding a dark passionflower in his hand, seeing it as it has never been seen, even had it been stared at from the first light of dawn till the last light of evening for an entire lifetime.

The stories of the collection co-exist in the same labyrinth wherein the reader may move one to another through strings of probabilities, intertextuality for some of the stories refer to other and narrator in one stories talks about creation of another one.

The boundaries between fact and fiction, between essay and short story are being expertly blended and the border between genres too is obliterated quite adeptly. In fact, he created three genres- the essay, the poem and the short story as mentioned by Octavio Paz but the division is arbitrary: his essays read like stories, his stories are poems and his poems are essays.

Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius, The Library of Babel, The Lottery in Babylon, The Circular Ruins, The Secret Miracle and The South seem to belong science fiction or fantasy, although in their treatment of their major themes, they are more erudite and philosophical in nature.

The themes of chance versus determination, conception and writing of our history, ideation and transmission of philosophical and mathematical systems; existence of various levels of realities could be explored in these stories of the collection. Funes, His Memory, The Garden of Forking Paths and The Shape of the Sword could be said as imaginative fiction where fictions-about-fictions anticipated metafictional concerns of postmodernism.

We find traits of detective fiction too in The Garden of Forking Paths, Death and the Compass and The Theme of the Traitor amd the Hero on the other hand The Circular Ruins, The Lottery of Babylon and The Cult of the Phoenix were told in a style that recalled myth and were set in distant times and places that made them seem parables, both ageless and perfectly contemporary.

But all the stories are common in a sense that we may find an existential angst in all of them wherein either characters or narrators or the story itself struggles to define its existence in the unique world of Borges. It is one of those unforgettable experiences which one may come across once in a lifetime but every word of this gem is worth it.

In his essay on Borges, Perez wrote that he has created his own type of post-avant-grade literature- which shows the process of critical self- examination that reveals the moment in which literature becomes a reflection of itself, distanced from life- on order to reveal the formal and intellectual density involved in writing.

I am something of a connoisseur of mazes: not for nothing am I the great-grandson of that Ts-ui Pen who power in order to write a novel containing more characters than the Hung Lu Meng and construct a labyrinth in which all men would lose their way. mark monday.

Borges looked inside the swirling mind of man and made a maze of it. A glorious maze! The maze that is Ficciones is a maze built of mazes, one opening unto another, circling around and looping back, an infinity of mazes, small as the smallest of small minds, large as the universe can be imagined.

Its architecture is delicate and refined; the wry wit of its creator is apparent in every twist and turn. Borges' maze gently mocks yet empathizes with the self-important, the self-absorbed, and the self-denying. He understands the foibles of man and his maze offers diverse commentaries on such things.

But there are darker things lurking beneath that amiable surface; Ficciones is more than an academician's cleverly constructed playground. Beware the prickly thorns of this maze! There is anger there, under the charm and the playful games; anger at the systems of man and the futility of certain behaviors, at the machinery of government.

There is sadness there too, at the thought of those who would treat such mazes as homes, at the machinations of fate. Like every writer, he measured the virtues of other writers by their performance, and asked that they measure him by what he conjectured or planned.

An ironic dig, but that phrase is more than a shot fired. Borges is fascinated by the concept that if something has been thought about, has acquired meaning through that contemplation, then that something has become real. Thought creates its own reality, and reality is composed of varied systems of being and behavior; thought becomes the way that reality is interpreted - and therefore enacted.

Ficciones tells stories about stories: each story is about the perspective of mankind, the symbols this species clings to, the metaphors they attempt to turn into living, breathing reality. Ficciones is an imaginarium; it is a weird and haunted carnival of games and sideshows come to life.

It is a dazzling display of comic, sometimes cosmic gems and each gem includes a seam of tragedy, fractures that can sometimes be seen on the surface but are most often buried within its heart.

Oh the mysterious fallibility and hypocrisy of the human kind! Their failures and their attempts to transcend their fates!

The mazes and fictions that they create - and then proceed to live in! each story title is a link to something that that story made me think about Part One: THE GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius The Approach to Al-Mu'tasim Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote discard the download The Circular Ruins The Babylon Lottery An Examination of the Work of Herbert Quain The Library of Babel The Garden of Forking Paths Part Two: ARTIFICES Funes, the Memorious The Form of the Sword Theme of the Traitor and Hero Death and the Compass The Secret Miracle Three Versions of Judas The End The Sect of the Phoenix The South.

I've just finished the seventeenth and final story in this volume. My symmetry-loving self is pleased to note that I've been reading and rereading these seventeen Borges' stories for exactly seventeen days.

Incidentally, Borges says reality favours symmetries. Another symmetry which strikes me is that the seventeenth story mirrors the fifteenth story which is called The End though we might expect the seventeenth story to be called The End instead. In any case, the seventeenth story is packed with many of the elements I had noticed in the earlier stories which makes it the perfect one to end the volume as well as to use as a launch pad for my thoughts on this first Borges reading experience.

The South , for that is the name of the seventeenth story, begins in a typical as I now realise Borges manner with a factual sounding paragraph that could be straight out of an essay or a history book.

Precise dates and place names and other historical references add weight to this impression, and the reader might feel overwhelmed by the amount of detail packed into that first paragraph.

Which details will be useful ones to remember later, I wondered, as my mind reeled from the concentration of facts. The dates themselves destabilised me because one minute the story seemed to be set in and the next in Borges often uses numbers, shapes, places and compass points in his stories, and that numerical, spatial, geometrical and temporal data, combined with uncertainty about whether the 'facts' are historical or fictional, made me feel as if the ground was shifting beneath my feet, as in the twelfth story, Death and the Compass : …the second crime occurred on the night of the third of January and the letter prophesied that on the third of March there would not be a fourth crime.

But just when I might abandon a story in confusion as you might abandon this review , Borges offers an axiom that has the effect of a strong coffee, setting me back on solid ground, able to pay complete attention and avoid being slapped in the face by any further red herrings: destiny can be ruthless at one's slightest distraction.

This is the stage when the story proper begins, or perhaps continues, since Borges likes to drop us into the middle of a story from time to time.

Or indeed the 'story' might not 'begin' at all leaving the narrative to continue in the mode of an essay. That's only one of the games Borges likes to play with his readers, and when I understood how playful his writing could be, I enjoyed his stories much more.

I also learned to look out for the signs that I shouldn't take everything literally as in the story called The Sect of the Phoenix which seems to be about a secret activity known only to an obscure group but instead turns out to be about something we all do instinctively and without which life couldn't go on.

The story is very funny especially as Borges inserts corks and sealing wax into the scenario! However humour is generally not so apparent in Borges's writing, and certainly not in the ninth story about Ireneo Funes who is cursed with a phenomenal memory, not only of every word he had read but every transient pattern on water or in the sky, every scrap of dream he ever had.

The oddest thing about that odd story is that, as I read it, I remembered reading it before though I had been certain that this volume of stories was my first experience of reading Borges! Unfortunately, unlike Ireneo, I cannot recollect where or when I read Funes, the Memorious , just that I did.

By stressing the weightiness of Borges's stories, and the red herrings that distracted me sometimes, I may have given the impression that the stories are long. The opposite is true. The South might well be one of the longest, at only eight pages while The End is one of the shortest at a mere four pages, and is an example of Borges's ability, when he so chooses, to make every word count: the setting, the timing, the oblique view of the action are precise and perfect.

As I said earlier, those two stories are mirror images of each other, and, what's more, The South is divided into two halves which are mirror images of themselves. Orbis terrarum est speculum Ludi: The world is mirror to the game , says Borges in the thirteenth story, quoting a sixteenth century Latinist.

Indeed mirrors and symmetry seem to be as much a part of his writing tools as games themselves are. As I began each new story, I never knew where it was going to be situated, south or north, west or east. And I was pleasantly surprised to find that several stories were set in my native country, or at least had characters who came from there.

They weren't the most heroic of characters perhaps but I have no illusions about my countrymen so I wasn't perturbed. In any case, the countries Borges described became entirely new territories for me, places I have never visited or could never visit. He has created his own Orbis Terrarum with its own compass points, and as I read, I felt like an explorer, going where no one has ever gone before.

I felt I'd discovered the planet Borges. A series of laconic, fantastical tales that provoke thought at every turn. The work invites rereading. Ok, I'd tried to read Labyrinths years ago and found it dry and dull.

I thought that perhaps I just wasn't in the proper state of mind, or perhaps wasn't well read enough to get it. I'd also come off of a Calvino kick, so Borges felt boring. Fast forward to me thinking that I really should commit to Borges and give him a real chance. I have to say that hard a hard time with this book.

I only really like one story The Babylonian Lottery. The Circular Ruins, The Library of Babel, The Garden of Forking Paths and The Secret Miracle being alright and scant few others like An Examination of Herbert Quain and The End only fair.

Most of the time I feel like I'm stuck as some shitty academic after-party listening to the drunken rambling of a self-indulgent lit professor trying to make himself believe that he is the smartest guy in the room. I get the references, but most of this just isn't that interesting.

It all comes across as clinical, with a tone of little Jack Horner self satisfaction staring at his thumb saying "What a good boy am I. I met Arkadiusz Juhász when he threw a crust of bread at my head and laughed in that way that he does.

At the time, I was simultaneously reading De Natura Deorum, Hasidic Kabbalah, and Discours de Métaphysique. At dinner Arkadiusz Juhász described the labyrinth in his mind. He had an experience the likes of which you will never have.

Jews are mysterious. He solved a puzzle that he created for himself and figured out that he is Shakespeare and everyone wrote Henry V for it has always existed. There is a long history of naming a thing, but in reality everything is the same.

Arkadiusz Juhász felt disjointed from the world and wandered and time passed with little result. Perhaps he was in a sanitarium with black circling walls. Arkadiusz Juhász has written a collection of essays to describe the effect of his travels. Here is the list: Darkest Jungles ; The Diminishing Return ; Checkers and the Vanishing Point ; The Breadbox ; The Unhappy Happenstance unfinished ; Ur Nuts ; Life in a Ziggurat never actually written ; The Aching Feather ; Critical Analysis of Being Spanish writen in Portugese and German.

Arkadiusz Juhász confessed to me that he was really a war criminal. But, I later found out that he may not have been. Arkadiusz Juhász died of a brain hemorrhage in I read and then reread several of these stories some of them for a third time while I was writing my final review for Fantasy Literature , and they keep impressing me more for the most part.

My literary friends will be so proud of me! Ficciones is a classic collection of seventeen short stories by acclaimed Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges, originally published in the s in Spanish, and winner of the International Publishers Prize.

These stories and mock essays are a challenging mixture of philosophy, magical realism, fantasy, ruminations on the nature of life, perception and more. There are layers of meaning and frequent allusions to historic figures, other literary works, and philosophical ideas, not readily discernable at first read.

Reading Ficciones, and trying to grasp the concepts in it, was definitely the major mental workout of the year for me. My brain nearly overloaded several times, but reading some critical analyses of these works helped tremendously with my understanding and appreciation of these works … well, at least most of them.

The stories in Ficciones are divided into two parts: The first part, The Garden of Forking Paths El Jardín de senderos que se bifurcan was originally published in The first six stories in Part Two, Artifices , were added in , and the collection was named Ficciones at that time.

Borges added the final three stories to Ficciones in the edition. A brief taste: The nations of that planet [Tlön] are congenitally idealist. For them, the world is not a concurrence of objects in space, but a heterogeneous series of independent acts. It is serial and temporal, but not spatial.

There are no nouns in the hypothetical Ursprache of Tlön, which is the source of the living language and the dialects; there are impersonal verbs qualified by monosyllabic suffixes or prefixes which have the force of adverbs.

Heady stuff! This twenty page story the longest in the book is so abstruse and heavily laden with philosophical ideas and allusions that I found it almost completely impenetrable. Title availability. Details Publication. Nueva York : Vintage Español, Full details Full details of this title, opens an overlay.

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Realidades y ficciones del bingo - Sus íntimos lo conocían como Battler Thompson, y como tal su reputación no dejaba de ser sorprendentemente grande Observaciones, pensamientos e ideas a propósito de los números, desde el 00 al Sucesos históricos, supersticiones, la actualidad, la política, el mundo Ficciones. Home /; Ficciones /; Bingo. Compartir. Bingo. Arte de Tapa: Daniel García. ISBN: Año: Páginas: Precio: $ Comprar. Bingo Bingo. Los ricos tienen de Papa al pobre perfecto. ¿Y? ¿Dónde aplican las efectividades conducentes de ese patrimonio de clase, cultural, presuntamente

each story title is a link to something that that story made me think about Part One: THE GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius The Approach to Al-Mu'tasim Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote discard the download The Circular Ruins The Babylon Lottery An Examination of the Work of Herbert Quain The Library of Babel The Garden of Forking Paths Part Two: ARTIFICES Funes, the Memorious The Form of the Sword Theme of the Traitor and Hero Death and the Compass The Secret Miracle Three Versions of Judas The End The Sect of the Phoenix The South.

I've just finished the seventeenth and final story in this volume. My symmetry-loving self is pleased to note that I've been reading and rereading these seventeen Borges' stories for exactly seventeen days.

Incidentally, Borges says reality favours symmetries. Another symmetry which strikes me is that the seventeenth story mirrors the fifteenth story which is called The End though we might expect the seventeenth story to be called The End instead. In any case, the seventeenth story is packed with many of the elements I had noticed in the earlier stories which makes it the perfect one to end the volume as well as to use as a launch pad for my thoughts on this first Borges reading experience.

The South , for that is the name of the seventeenth story, begins in a typical as I now realise Borges manner with a factual sounding paragraph that could be straight out of an essay or a history book. Precise dates and place names and other historical references add weight to this impression, and the reader might feel overwhelmed by the amount of detail packed into that first paragraph.

Which details will be useful ones to remember later, I wondered, as my mind reeled from the concentration of facts. The dates themselves destabilised me because one minute the story seemed to be set in and the next in Borges often uses numbers, shapes, places and compass points in his stories, and that numerical, spatial, geometrical and temporal data, combined with uncertainty about whether the 'facts' are historical or fictional, made me feel as if the ground was shifting beneath my feet, as in the twelfth story, Death and the Compass : …the second crime occurred on the night of the third of January and the letter prophesied that on the third of March there would not be a fourth crime.

But just when I might abandon a story in confusion as you might abandon this review , Borges offers an axiom that has the effect of a strong coffee, setting me back on solid ground, able to pay complete attention and avoid being slapped in the face by any further red herrings: destiny can be ruthless at one's slightest distraction.

This is the stage when the story proper begins, or perhaps continues, since Borges likes to drop us into the middle of a story from time to time.

Or indeed the 'story' might not 'begin' at all leaving the narrative to continue in the mode of an essay. That's only one of the games Borges likes to play with his readers, and when I understood how playful his writing could be, I enjoyed his stories much more.

I also learned to look out for the signs that I shouldn't take everything literally as in the story called The Sect of the Phoenix which seems to be about a secret activity known only to an obscure group but instead turns out to be about something we all do instinctively and without which life couldn't go on.

The story is very funny especially as Borges inserts corks and sealing wax into the scenario! However humour is generally not so apparent in Borges's writing, and certainly not in the ninth story about Ireneo Funes who is cursed with a phenomenal memory, not only of every word he had read but every transient pattern on water or in the sky, every scrap of dream he ever had.

The oddest thing about that odd story is that, as I read it, I remembered reading it before though I had been certain that this volume of stories was my first experience of reading Borges!

Unfortunately, unlike Ireneo, I cannot recollect where or when I read Funes, the Memorious , just that I did. By stressing the weightiness of Borges's stories, and the red herrings that distracted me sometimes, I may have given the impression that the stories are long.

The opposite is true. The South might well be one of the longest, at only eight pages while The End is one of the shortest at a mere four pages, and is an example of Borges's ability, when he so chooses, to make every word count: the setting, the timing, the oblique view of the action are precise and perfect.

As I said earlier, those two stories are mirror images of each other, and, what's more, The South is divided into two halves which are mirror images of themselves.

Orbis terrarum est speculum Ludi: The world is mirror to the game , says Borges in the thirteenth story, quoting a sixteenth century Latinist.

Indeed mirrors and symmetry seem to be as much a part of his writing tools as games themselves are. As I began each new story, I never knew where it was going to be situated, south or north, west or east. And I was pleasantly surprised to find that several stories were set in my native country, or at least had characters who came from there.

They weren't the most heroic of characters perhaps but I have no illusions about my countrymen so I wasn't perturbed. In any case, the countries Borges described became entirely new territories for me, places I have never visited or could never visit.

He has created his own Orbis Terrarum with its own compass points, and as I read, I felt like an explorer, going where no one has ever gone before. I felt I'd discovered the planet Borges. A series of laconic, fantastical tales that provoke thought at every turn.

The work invites rereading. Ok, I'd tried to read Labyrinths years ago and found it dry and dull. I thought that perhaps I just wasn't in the proper state of mind, or perhaps wasn't well read enough to get it. I'd also come off of a Calvino kick, so Borges felt boring.

Fast forward to me thinking that I really should commit to Borges and give him a real chance. I have to say that hard a hard time with this book.

I only really like one story The Babylonian Lottery. The Circular Ruins, The Library of Babel, The Garden of Forking Paths and The Secret Miracle being alright and scant few others like An Examination of Herbert Quain and The End only fair.

Most of the time I feel like I'm stuck as some shitty academic after-party listening to the drunken rambling of a self-indulgent lit professor trying to make himself believe that he is the smartest guy in the room.

I get the references, but most of this just isn't that interesting. It all comes across as clinical, with a tone of little Jack Horner self satisfaction staring at his thumb saying "What a good boy am I.

I met Arkadiusz Juhász when he threw a crust of bread at my head and laughed in that way that he does. At the time, I was simultaneously reading De Natura Deorum, Hasidic Kabbalah, and Discours de Métaphysique. At dinner Arkadiusz Juhász described the labyrinth in his mind.

He had an experience the likes of which you will never have. Jews are mysterious. He solved a puzzle that he created for himself and figured out that he is Shakespeare and everyone wrote Henry V for it has always existed. There is a long history of naming a thing, but in reality everything is the same.

Arkadiusz Juhász felt disjointed from the world and wandered and time passed with little result. Perhaps he was in a sanitarium with black circling walls. Arkadiusz Juhász has written a collection of essays to describe the effect of his travels. Here is the list: Darkest Jungles ; The Diminishing Return ; Checkers and the Vanishing Point ; The Breadbox ; The Unhappy Happenstance unfinished ; Ur Nuts ; Life in a Ziggurat never actually written ; The Aching Feather ; Critical Analysis of Being Spanish writen in Portugese and German.

Arkadiusz Juhász confessed to me that he was really a war criminal. But, I later found out that he may not have been. Arkadiusz Juhász died of a brain hemorrhage in I read and then reread several of these stories some of them for a third time while I was writing my final review for Fantasy Literature , and they keep impressing me more for the most part.

My literary friends will be so proud of me! Ficciones is a classic collection of seventeen short stories by acclaimed Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges, originally published in the s in Spanish, and winner of the International Publishers Prize.

These stories and mock essays are a challenging mixture of philosophy, magical realism, fantasy, ruminations on the nature of life, perception and more. There are layers of meaning and frequent allusions to historic figures, other literary works, and philosophical ideas, not readily discernable at first read.

Reading Ficciones, and trying to grasp the concepts in it, was definitely the major mental workout of the year for me. My brain nearly overloaded several times, but reading some critical analyses of these works helped tremendously with my understanding and appreciation of these works … well, at least most of them.

The stories in Ficciones are divided into two parts: The first part, The Garden of Forking Paths El Jardín de senderos que se bifurcan was originally published in The first six stories in Part Two, Artifices , were added in , and the collection was named Ficciones at that time.

Borges added the final three stories to Ficciones in the edition. A brief taste: The nations of that planet [Tlön] are congenitally idealist. For them, the world is not a concurrence of objects in space, but a heterogeneous series of independent acts.

It is serial and temporal, but not spatial. There are no nouns in the hypothetical Ursprache of Tlön, which is the source of the living language and the dialects; there are impersonal verbs qualified by monosyllabic suffixes or prefixes which have the force of adverbs.

Heady stuff! This twenty page story the longest in the book is so abstruse and heavily laden with philosophical ideas and allusions that I found it almost completely impenetrable. Brain cell verdict: no response. They totally shorted out on this one. When he perceives a note of tenderness and clarity in one of these vile men, he concludes that it is the reflection of a perfect man who exists somewhere.

We have met the divine and it is us. My brain cells concluded that, although some of the allusions are obscure, this tale is far more readily grasped than the first one.

There is hope! The brain cells were getting restive again. A lucky drawing might lead you to be elevated to the council of wizards or reunite you with a long-lost love; a losing ticket might land you in jail, or get your tongue burned, or lead to infamy or death.

The ubiquitous lottery seems to be a symbol of the capriciousness of chance in life and the story in general seems to be taking an ironic view of the questionable role of deity in human life. The brain cells were quite amused. Borges playfully explores the labyrinth concept in different ways in each of these works.

Each book contains pages, with 40 lines of 80 letters each. There are 25 letters and punctuation marks in the alphabet.

The Library contains every possible combination of those letters. But life for the people dwelling in this library is profoundly frustrating, even depressing, since only a vanishingly small percentage of the books make any sense at all. Borges explores the ways that people react to this, with several nods to religion and philosophy.

Yu Tsun, a Chinese professor of English, is living in Great Britain during WWI. Yu discovers that an MI5 agent, Richard Madden an Irishman who also has equivocal feelings about the nation he is serving, due to his nationality has captured another German spy and is on the verge of finding him.

Yu goes on the run. The plot is thickened by the fact that Dr. Yu has just found out the location of a new British artillery park. This is the first story in this book that has a substantial plot to go along with the play of ideas; hence, I enjoyed reading it more than the previous tales.

The concepts in it are not as mentally challenging, although the labyrinth imagery and philosophical conjectures resurface toward the end.

When Borges returns to this village three years later, Funes is now crippled from being thrown by a wild horse, but his mind is unimpaired. The narrator realizes that Funes also now has an infallible memory, with perfect recall. To think is to forget a difference, to generalize, to abstract.

In the overly replete world of Funes there were nothing but details, almost contiguous details. This tale was, again, a little too opaque and short on plot for me to really enjoy.

The brain cells were grumbling a little. The Irishman tells a story of his involvement in the battle for Irish independence, and his dealings with a disagreeable, cowardly man named John Vincent Moon.

Lönnrot foresees a final murder, but can he prevent it? As Lönnrot explores the house where he has deduced the final murder is to occur, once again we have maze-like imagery: On the second floor, on the top story, the house seemed to be infinite and growing.

The house is not this large, he thought. It is only made larger by the penumbra, the symmetry, the mirrors, the years, my ignorance, the solitude. All he wants is the ability to finish up a play he has been working on, his masterpiece.

A divine voice tells him that he will be granted the time to do this — even though he is set to die the next day. Borges-as-Runeberg recasts the character and nature of Judas in three different, heretical ways, including as a righteous man who knowingly accepted his role as the person who would force Jesus to declare his divinity, and even as another incarnation of God Himself.

He challenges our comfortable religious views. Their conversation makes it clear that the black man has been waiting seven years for this meeting. In a famous scene in the poem, Fierro crudely provokes a black man and then kills him in the resulting knife fight.

Several years later, in this story, Fierro is an aging man with some regrets for the life he has lived, and whose free and lawless gaucho way of life is passing. Once I really grasped the connection between the poem and this story, it became one of my favorites in this collection.

Is it sexual intercourse? Or perhaps more particularly, homosexual sex? The main character is Juan Dahlmann, a mixture of German and Spanish ancestry, whose life is mundane but who dreams vaguely of a more romantic life, inspired by the Flores side of his heritage and the Flores ranch in the South that he owns but has never visited.

One day Dahlmann brushes his forehead against something in a dark stairway and realizes afterwards that he is bleeding. He develops a life-threatening infection and is taken to a sanitarium for treatment.

After many excruciatingly painful and feverish days, he recovers, and decides that he will take a trip to his ranch to convalesce. He travels out of the city on a train, feeling as though he is traveling into the past, and has an unexpected confrontation as he nears his final destination.

Or does he? Repeated labyrinth imagery, scenes of deception, and challenges to our perceptions of what is real echo throughout the stories of Ficciones. Even the lightest stories have several layers and hidden meanings to unpack. The English translation by Anthony Kerrigan and other translators is excellent.

Steven Godin. Or even just the way that you read it. This is one of those very occasion where I will undoubtedly benefit reading again.

It's clear to see why Jorge Luis Borges is regarded as one of the 20th century's most inventive writers, and Ficciones is a collection of small stories that are on a grand scale, but my overall problem was going through three or four at a time and finding them hard to digest, jumping from one to another just didn't work for me.

And only read the last few days apart giving me a chance to fully think about about them, this worked so much better, but still left me feeling a bit dumbfounded. Also was not reading the best translated version, so that didn't help either. Borges never compromised himself by writing a novel but instead left a whole library of delicately structured maze-like speculations.

Each one is like the Tardis — little time-machines of the imagination and far bigger within than they appear on the outside, and there is certainly plenty to keep one occupied: writers, dreamers, heretics, young men with impossible memories, other worlds revealed by secret encyclopedias, traitors transformed by betrayal, conspirators that plot their own downfall: 17 pieces, none longer than 25 pages; none shorter than a lifetime.

It's difficult to pick a favourite but 'Death and the Compass' and 'The Sect of the Phoenix' were two that I read twice. I am sure this collection will grow on me, and multiple readings built up over time will no doubt chance my perception from reading the first time, into something very special indeed!

There is no logically understanding the mazes Borges creates, but that is what fantastical-realism is all about. Ficciones is a labyrinth, beautiful and witty, of ideas and feelings that mock and conquers the reader. Borges can speak for himself, who am I to explain his brilliance and imagination?

All men felt themselves to be the masters of an intact and secret treasure. There was no personal or world problem whose eloquent solution did not exist in some hexagon.

The universe was justified, the universe suddenly usurped the unlimited dimensions of hope. At that time a great deal was said about the Vindications: books of apology and prophecy which vindicated for all time the acts of every man in the universe and retained prodigious arcana for his future.

Thousands of the greedy abandoned their sweet native hexagons and rushed up the stairways, urged on by the vain intention of finding their Vindication.

These pilgrims disputed in the narrow corridors, proffered dark curses, strangled each other on the divine stairways, flung the deceptive books into the air shafts, met their death cast down in a similar fashion by the inhabitants of remote regions. Others went mad The Vindications exist I have seen two which refer to persons of the future, to persons who are perhaps not imaginary but the searchers did not remember that the possibility of a man's finding his Vindication, or some treacherous variation thereof, can be computed as zero.

Comprehension somehow boosts us to a higher plane. The ultimate in advancement, if it can be imagined, is the universal infinitude of all experience. And the more grounded me answers, yes. However, I contend that Borges himself, if asked, might have said the same thing though surely more artfully.

For him, I think, it was the mind-bending absurdity of the questions he posed rather than some metaphysical and unattainable truth of the matter that excited him. If we take as a given that time is infinite, then every possible set of realities would have a chance to play out.

If in one iteration I typed an O here, I could in another type an X, with all else being the same. Every single permutation imaginable could occur as each Big Bang and collapse in infinite time came to fruition.

Imagine the implications! Borges did, at least in a way. In one story he imagined a near infinite library containing books with every possible letter combination. In such a place, a man could conceivably find the story of his life, though practically speaking, and without Google, it would be damned difficult.

Borges also considered a single book that could contain all knowledge, made possible by pages that were infinitesimally thin.

To Borges, a labyrinth is a similar metaphor of life. Each person has a complex set of turns in a ridiculously intricate path that I think represents every decision we face — right, left, X, O, date, dump — whatever. For instance, his philological references exposed me for the literary dilettante that I am.

He could also come across as a bit too academic for my taste, and at times even tedious. I will not challenge its status as a classic, though. In fact, I truly enjoyed the quasi-logical extremes he went to in pursuit of intellectual entertainment, imaginative possibilities and hard won ah-ha moments.

So I need to choose my words and sentences in a careful way so nothing will be misunderstood in this review: I think this is one of the Latin American masterpieces.

However, it is not easy to read it or to understand it, or in which way to understand it. Borges reminds me so much of Kafka in the way he writes and what he writes about. Also, it is not possible for me to read Borges' books only once, since I needed to re-read the stories twice or three times if necessary.

The meaning behind his stories and messages are so strong that you need to stop reading for few minutes and "digest" what you have just read, which is what happened to me after reading Kafka, for example.

I think this is the most difficult rating since I have been active on Goodreads, because it definitely does not deserve 3 out of 5 stars, but for now I will give it 3 because I feel I am not able to digest this whole book yet.

I will take some time, I will read it once again in the next few weeks and most likely I will change the rating of this book. I just need time to assimilate all the meaning in this masterpiece and then I will be able to change the number of stars in this review.

No tengo idea de cómo demonios se puede reseñar a un genio. Los relatos en este libro me hicieron pensar, a tal grado que llegué a darme cuenta de que no era una buena opción leerlos antes de irme a dormir porque me quedaba dándoles vueltas por un buen rato.

Leer a Borges tiene el curioso efecto de hacerme sentir ignorante, inculta. Un autor que derrocha referencias a otras obras literarías, filosóficas, matemáticas, que constantemente usa palabras en otros idiomas y todo con perfecta naturalidad.

Aunque entiendo que para algunos puede ser frustrante, a mí me provoca una admiración tremenda. Historias en las que las líneas de tiempo parecen fundirse, en que los sueños se vuelven realidad, las bibliotecas son infinitas y laberínticas, los más simples misterios ocultan mucho más de lo que jamás uno puede imaginar Sin duda cada uno de los cuentos de este volumen merecen ser leídos más de una sola vez y poniendo mucha atención.

Directo a mi pila de libros que volveré a leer. The peer pressure from my intellectually superior friends finally shamed me into reading this as I had no Borges under my belt. Obviously from the 5 stars, I'm glad I caved in.

This is a collection of 17 of his "best" short stories, held together merely by the thread that they are like nothing else you've ever read or even thought about.

Not every story is perfection, but all are surprising, irritating, challenging and somehow rewarding. Standouts are "Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote" - a man who dedicates much of his life to the recreation of Don Quixote word for word, a stunningly insightful satire.

Also, "The Circular Ruins" which challenges the reality of religion and even self-awareness. Borges uses very direct, sparse but extremely detailed language.

His characters are full baked from the beginning, so he wastes no time on development - it's all about the idea, the innovation, not the plot. If you read one of these tales out of context you might mistake it for a non-fictional essay, albeit with quirks.

Anyway, I'm recommending this to anyone who doesn't mind risking confusion and discomfort in the the pursuit of something truly unique and intellectually delicious.

Jacob Overmark. A dream within a dream It was a fascinating first-acquaintance with Borges, an author who has been staying with me for a long time, a house-ghost, a little of this and a little of that, a glimpse into my subconscious and all legends and myths in one place.

Cleverly wrought essays on Swedish scholars and secret societies planting false information and a lot of babble — I clearly get the impression that Borges never minded hearing himself speak, and being spoken of.

The best short stories are the ones set free of time and space, stories that easily could weave into each other if they were allowed to, they are dreamlike labyrinths of the mind. Rounded up to 4 stars. Matthew Ted. My copy of Ficciones arrives on June 11th through the letterbox.

It is raining, and the light is silvery in the house. This is a photograph of my parcel the way I found it. Perhaps, the Sellotape came away of its own accord. Perhaps, someone opened it, hoping for something worth more than a book; its general shape could have been a DVD or a video game.

In any case, I consider a fictional scenario where the box arrives empty. That my copy of Ficciones had been stolen on its way to me. His name is George — he is somewhere between twenty and thirty years old. He has never heard of Jorge Luis Borges; he is not a thief, nor does he consider himself to be one.

Fate means little to him and nor does chance, for now. Though, principally, the reason he decided to steal the book from the parcel he was hoping for a new video game or Blu-ray to sell on was because Jorge was very close to his own name.

This does not occur to him as being anything to do with Fate. At best, it is a coincidence. Later that night, he lies down in bed beside his girlfriend and wonders who he has stolen the book from.

He imagines someone his own age I am younger than George , a professor of some sort untrue , a man who reads books that George would never himself decide to read probably true.

He had smuggled the book under his coat and slid it into his bedside table at home along with tissues, crinkly likes leaves, condoms, mints, and other random tack that belonged nowhere else.

Presently, he imagines me with steel-rimmed glasses, clumsy-footed, maybe married, he cannot decide, but above all, rather irritated by his missing book.

Only the latter of these imaginings are true. George falls asleep creating me in his mind. Elsewhere, I am falling asleep, creating George in my own mind.

We are two spiders spinning our own respective webs, unaware that we are in the same corner, and our threads are tangling.

The rain continues for several days. I ring the Post Office a number of times about my missing parcel, or rather, the book missing from my parcel, but the lady on the phone is uninterested.

I call a final time, hoping to catch a more cooperative answerer, but it is only her again, droning into the phone. I give up. George is across town, watching his girlfriend get dressed for the day, scratching his head, itching to open the book in his bedside table.

My book. She leaves. He has the day off. George makes himself a cup of instant coffee, sits down at the kitchen table, and he begins reading Ficciones. The reading is heavy, but George persists. It is unlike anything he has ever read before.

Steam rises from his mug in front of the book, obscuring some words, spinning others through a haze. Meanwhile, I watch the rain and wonder about my book. I have other things to keep me company; I read Sebald. I make a cup of coffee, and unknowingly, George and I sit drinking coffee at the same time.

To be dreamed by another. He puts it aside, looking at it as if it were some unpredictable animal. He runs from the station, down the road, into the next, he keeps running until he is sure I cannot catch him. Of course, my body travels so far, but my mind travels further — he knows this.

In his office he slips Ficciones into his desk drawer and wishes he could lock it. He continually has the sensation that I am stood behind him, that my hand is reaching over his shoulder, prising at the drawer. By this point, I have bought a new copy of Ficciones , and read it with thoughts of George in the back of my mind.

On June 22nd, I receive a letter. The handwriting is unfamiliar to me, and so is the name of the sender. It is long and meandering, and I cannot work out what it is all about. These facts mean nothing to me, nor do they correlate to one another. In the conclusion of the letter it informs me that a certain man named George, who lives in my town of W.

It is signed without a surname, only the forename: Louis. Of course, I cannot fathom a number of things. Who is Louis? How does he know my address? And above all, how is the imaginary man I invented as the book thief, now real, living, and across town?

The house is another Victorian terrace like my own. White bay windows, dark tea coloured walls. He lets me in. We, as if old friends, discuss the book over coffee. So, at his kitchen table, we sit side by side and read "The South. Awkwardly, at the door, I tell him that I thought I imagined him, until a random man sent me a letter saying where he lived.

This distresses George. He also received a letter from a Louis, saying that the man he had stolen the book from was very much real, and not how he had imagined. The end of the letter told him that his address had been leaked.

We are both aware of how Borges-like our days have become. I put my coat on and stand on the porch. I tell him that I am not sure if I existed before I bought the book.

Before that is certainly hazy. Neither of us know who Louis is, either. Back at home, I open my new copy and find it has changed.

It is the same book, but inside is a story about a character named George, who steals a book, written by a writer named Louis. Across town, George is investigating his own changed copy of Ficciones.

His is now about a character called Matthew who has a book stolen from him, also written by a Louis. Both men are satisfied, for they believe that the other does not exist, and that they do. Axl Oswaldo. No cabe la menor duda de que Borges era un genio de las letras, y uno de los mejores escritores en habla hispana que ha habido; de hecho, si alguien me preguntara hoy día si me siento orgulloso de ser hablante nativo del español, mi respuesta sería muy clara y concisa: "s��, entre otras cosas, porque puedo leer a García Márquez, a Rulfo y a Borges en su idioma original".

Dicho lo anterior, y dejando un poco de lado la parte objetiva, esta recopilación de cuentos me ha parecido algo muy diferente a lo que suelo leer, y la sorpresa que me llevé no fue la más grata en términos generales. Esto, sin embargo, no es algo extraño que suceda ante una recopilación donde habrá cuentos que se convertirán en tus favoritos, y otros que no serán para nada de tu agrado.

Más o menos, esto fue lo que me sucedió aquí. De los 16 cuentos que encontramos en Ficciones —siendo honesto no sé si la definición de cuento sea la más próxima a lo que hallamos en este libro: más pareciera ser una serie de ideas o pensamientos que nos llevan o aproximan hacia algo , donde uno puede encontrarse con elementos de carácter científico, filosófico, sociológico, cultural, humanístico, entre otros.

Las ideas se entrelazan o unen a través de un hilo conductor, dando como resultado un todo , que tampoco me atrevo a definir, pero donde la experiencia lectora es de lo más enriquecedora—, solo hay tres de ellos que me fascinaron: La biblioteca de Babel , Funes el memorioso y El sur.

Hablando de El sur , mi cuento favorito del autor por mucho, fue una experiencia tan cercana con mi yo del pasado que vive en Buenos Aires. Me recordó a aquellos días en que tomaba el subte hacia Constitución con el fin de tomar posteriormente el tren en dirección hacia el sur, principalmente para dirigirme a La Plata a visitar a algún amigo o simplemente para pasar un agradable fin de semana.

Otra memoria insustancial debo admitirlo vino a mi mente mientras lo leía: recuerdo una ocasión en la que le dije a una amiga la ubicación de la calle donde vivía en Buenos Aires, y ella —recuerdo muy bien sus palabras—, ella me dijo: "vivís a dos calles del sur", a lo que yo pregunté, "¿qué significa eso del sur?

No sé si ella había leído el cuento de Borges, o es que en definitiva el sur de la ciudad comienza a partir de la emblemática Rivadavia, pero el recuerdo nadie me lo quita; trivial, puede ser, pero el hecho de que este cuento me haya hecho volver a vivir en una ciudad a la que quiero tanto como lo es Buenos Aires, para mí ya tiene su lugar asegurado entre lo mejor que he leído en la vida.

Es una pena que aquí tenga que valorar la experiencia de todo en su conjunto, y es que hubo cuentos que me parecieron confusos, interesantes sí, pero donde me sentía agobiado por tanta información y hechos mencionados. Borges, como he dicho antes, se nota que era un genio al momento de tomar su pluma y escribir, ya que sus ideas van más allá de lo tradicional, de una lectura convencional; se nota que le pide un esfuerzo extra al lector y uno debe ceder ante ello o perderse en el camino.

Quizá en mi caso, me perdía en el camino y volvía, para enseguida volverme a perder. Ahora mismo recuerdo uno de los cuentos, El milagro secreto , del que no entendí casi nada, pero de verdad, nada. Lo tuve que leer dos veces, y no sé si ya estaba agotado o fue demasiado para mí, pero quedé exactamente igual si alguien fuera amable de explicármelo, agradecido estaré.

No me gustaría decir que Borges no es para todos, Borges es de hecho para todos los lectores, para quien quiera aproximarse a su literatura y encontrarse ante una experiencia única y singular. Leer a Borges es una experiencia que debemos vivir al menos una vez en la vida; yo había leído una mínima parte de su poesía, pero ahora que me acerco a su narrativa no me arrepiento de nada.

Quizá la respuesta es simple: no fue mi momento. Estoy dispuesto a esperar lo que tenga que esperar para reencontrarme con el autor en el futuro, y que esta vez sí, habiendo leído más a otros autores y teniendo un criterio más amplio, pueda disfrutar de su obra como debe de ser.

Jorge Luis Borges es sin lugar a dudas uno de los autores que más respeto me suscita. Su pluma, endiabladamente compleja e intelectualmente estimulante, siempre nos garantiza un enorme disfrute estético pero también un desafiante ejercicio de inteligencia.

Leer a Borges requiere compromiso, atención y a veces paciencia porque el esmero con que construye los textos y la profundidad de la que los dota no son para tomarse a la ligera ni para comprenderse con una lectura superflua.

Ficciones es un extraordinario exponente de su capacidad literaria y de lo abrumadora y magnánima que era su mente. Es una sucesión de relatos que, aunque breves, contienen tanta belleza y tantos ocultos significados que uno tiene la sensación de haber leído un centenar de páginas y de necesitar, urgente e irremediablemente, volver a ellas hasta que todos los caminos que se bifurcan desnuden su verdad.

Leí por primera vez Ficciones en el instituto, con 15 ó 16 años. La impresión que aquella lectura causó en mí aún perdura: asombro, perplejidad, afán de saber, felicidad. Quedé tan maravillado de que se pudiera escribir de la manera que lo hace Borges, que desde entonces he sabido he creído saber que mi aspiración en la vida es convertirme en escritor.

Hoy, diez años después de aquella experiencia, vuelvo a Ficciones para comprobar que, si bien la sensación de súbita sorpresa que me produjo en un primer momento ha desaparecido como no podía ser de otra manera , todo lo que en su día encontré y me fascinó sigue ahí, intacto.

Recordándome de lo que es capaz la literatura. Vesna on hiatus. I recall Borges as my literary idol in my college days, reading incessantly one story after another then moving on to his essays and parables, all of which placed him among a few of my all-time favorites. Because of this vagueness a couple of years ago I decided to break my rule and revisit one of my all-time favorite books, Ficciones , and the result was disappointing.

What was then different? Well, I had to admit, the reader, I was not the same as my younger self. To my relief and excitement, I loved, loved, loved it! Immediately dropping my reading plans for this month the plans I always change anyway , I reached for my copy of Ficciones and felt as if I read it in one breath though it took me three days.

Most of the stories I read more than once, just about when finishing it, returning to it again and sometimes still again, each time uncovering another angle for he was a wizard in layering his stories with manifold dimensions and subplots.

I found it fits each of these takes. Presumptuous of me to think I would. I was also deceived by the apparent simplicity of the tales which turned out to be complex, condensed and thought provoking meditations about philosophical and existential issues.

It seems this proved to be too much of a strenuous task for my ignorant self. Later, after the man accomplishes his goal, much to my astonishment, he discovers that he in turn is being dreamt by someone else. The tittle, which also notes the mythical temple where the man appears out of nowhere maybe time travel?

Like the act of this neverending regression of dreaming and creating process presented in the story. We are introduced to a Library whose cataloguing system consists of hexagonal and identical galleries to classify the infinite books it contains.

The inhabitants of this Library know the answers to all their questions lay somewhere, among the books, although the probability of being able to find those answers is close to impossible. The central conflict of the individual intellect and the physical manifestation of the infinite chaos is portrayed with negative connotations, pointing out the futility of trying to establish order in a chaotic universe, which reminds me of the insignificance of human beings.

Here again there seems to appear the issue of trying to put order in a fragmented, indecipherable universe ruled by randomness. I found the way Borges manages to portray the subjectivity of time simply brilliant, especially in the scene where Hladík is being executed.

Everything seems to end in a second for the rest of world except for Hladík whose prayer is answered in the form of a precious year in which everything becomes paralysed so that he can mentally finish the last act of his half-written play.

I even feel strongly attracted to the notion that reality can be seen as a mere convention and that the true nature of things is vacuous, existing only in conditional relationship with other things.

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Also included in: Realidades 1 Auténtico 1 Capítulo 5 Bundle. Realidades 1 Auténtico 1 Capítulo 6A: Spanish Bingo Game El dormitorio Created by. The bingo cards feature pictures of 28 vocabulary words, including words for bedroom furniture, colors and the directions "to the left of" and "to the right of".

The vocabulary words align with Auténtico 1 and Realidades 1 Capítulo 6A. Realidades 1 Auténtico 1 Capítulo 3B: La comida Bingo Spanish food Created by. This is a fast moving bingo game since all cards have the same items on them--just in a different order on each card. The vocabulary words align with Realidades 1 Capítulo 3B and Auténtico 1 Capítulo 3B.

Are you a 1 : 1 scho. Realidades 1 Auténtico 1 Capítulo 8A: Vacaciones Spanish Bingo Game Created by. The bingo cards feature pictures of 27 vocabulary words, nouns and verbs. The vocabulary words align with Auténtico 1 and Realidades 1 Capítulo 8A, including words to talk about places, things to see, things to do, and ways to travel w.

Spanish 1 Bingo game Realidades 1 unit 5A family Created by. This is a bingo game.

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