IN THE REVIEW

James Joyce

In a man’s single day are all the days
of time from that unimaginable

first day, when a terrible God marked out

the days and agonies, to that other,

when the ubiquitous flow of earthly

time goes back to its source, Eternity,

and flickers out in the present, the past,

and the future—what now belongs to me.

Between dawn and dark lies the history

of the world. From the vault of night I see

at my feet the wanderings of the Jew,

Carthage put to the sword, Heaven and Hell.

Grant me, O Lord, the courage and the joy

to ascend to the summit of this day.

Borges on Borges

Kipling’s last stories were no less tormented and mazelike than those of Kafka or Henry James, which they doubtless surpass; but in 1885, in Lahore, the young Kipling began a series of brief tales, written in a straightforward manner, that he was to collect in 1890. Several of them—“In the …

Pedro Salvadores

I want to leave a written record (perhaps the first to be attempted) of one of the strangest and grimmest happenings in Argentine history. To meddle as little as possible in the telling, to abstain from picturesque details or personal conjectures is, it seems to me, the only way to …

Elvira De Alvear

She once had everything but one by one Each thing abandoned her. We saw her armed With beauty. The morning and the hard light Of noon from their pinnacle revealed to her The glorious kingdoms of the world. Evening Wiped them away. The luck of …