Money and Even If They

Argentine writer from the ition that Emecé made of his works publish until 1972, and that I was reading in digital format (the time to visit libraries is increasingly scarce, and it is not possible to buy all the books one would like). Suddenly, and browsing the torrent of information that can be found on the Internet, I came across a poem (let’s say, rather, an unhappy simulacrum of a poem) that had the name of the Argentine writer at the bottom. It was a text that circulates as “Poem to Friendship” or “Poem of Friendship.” It was not necessary to carry out an exhaustive examination of its content, since its careless and tasteless workmanship, in total contrast with the fascinating writing of the great Borges, As I later confirm, the poem in question was circulating in torrents on the Internet;

Who to Contact in

Some self-help books (which, as is usual in this subgenre, combin with their trivial content a terrible quality of writing) even includ it among their pages. I transcribe below only the first verses (providing more space to the text in question would be a crime of “against poetry”) so that the reader (assuming, of course, that he has visit Borges’ work even sporadically) can judge: I can’t give you solutions for b2b leads all of life’s problems, nor do I have answers for your doubts or fears, but I can listen to you and share it with you. I can not change your past nor your future. But when you ne me I will be with you. I can’t stop you from stumbling. I can only offer you my hand so that you can hold on and not fall.

Person So That the

Your joys, your triumphs and your successes are not mine. But I sincerely enjoy when I see you happy. I do not judge the decisions you make in life. I limit myself to supporting you, stimulating you and helping you if you ask me. These are the words that a responsible and concern father, but oblivious to any pretense of literary arrests, could address to his young son. Or, also, the message that could be transmitt, adopting a paternalistic DT Leads tone (and, again, without any hint of lyrical inspiration), to a friend torment by some existential or domestic problem. But is this poetry? Or, better (in case someone dares to give an affirmative answer), is it a text that could have been written by the one who gave life to the verses of The Maker, and conceiv those others found in

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