Borges, Jorge Luis: Spinoza
Spinoza (Spanish)Las traslúcidas manos del judío
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Spinoza (English)Here in the twilight the translucent hands Of the Jew polishing the crystal glass. The dying afternoon is cold with bands Of fear. Each day the afternoons all pass The same. The hands and space of hyacinth Paling in the confines of the ghetto walls Barely exists for the quiet man who stalls There, dreaming up a brilliant labyrinth. Fame doesn’t trouble him (that reflection of Dreams in the dream of another mirror), nor love, The timid love women. Gone the bars, He’s free, from metaphor and myth, to sit Polishing a stubborn lens: the infinite Map of the One who now is all His stars.
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