Jorge Luis Borge’s poem on Spinoza

Title: Spinoza

The Jew’s translucent hands

Shape the crystals in the twilight.

And the dying evening is

all fear and chill.

(In the evenings, evenings

are the same).

His hands and the hyacinth’s space

Paling at the purview of the ghetto

Are almost inexistent for the quiet man

Walking-with-book-in-hand-Spinoza-1632-1677-the-great-outsiderDreaming a dear labyrinth.

Fame does not perturb him, that


Of dreams in another kind of


Nor the girl’s fearful love.

Free of metaphor, free of myth

He shapes a rigid crystal: the


Map of the One that is All

Its stars.

Written by Jorge Luis Borge



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