Prólogo ︎

Cover Image ︎
“Create More” Collage,
CreateLab 2022

Premio Ramiro Lagos, 2022
Presentation
Primer Premio | 1st Prize
Segundo Premio | 2nd Prize
Premio de traducción | Translation Prize

Imágenes | Images 
Christian Báchez, ’23
Ari Herrera, ’22
Dora Calva, ’22
Grace Hoelscher, ’22

Fotografía | Photos
Stephen DiRado (Clark University)
⟩ Bell Pond Photos
⟩ Across-the-Table Photos

Ficción | Fiction
Juan Andrés Ercoli (Argentina)
Priscila Ponce Jovel, ’22
Paige St. Lawrence, ’22
Juliana Tronsky, ’22

Reflexiones | Reflections
Diego Avalos, ’26
Borges y nosotros: 
⟩  Diana Chávez Cruz | Mallory Doyle | María Alejandra Méndez | Mario Oliva | Erin Trask

Poesía | Poetry
Tiffany Céspedes,’26
Henrry Ibáñez (Perú)
Fernanda Pérez-Álvarez, ’24
Fiona Willette, ’24

Lecturas creativas (Assumption University)
Introduction | Maryanne Leone
Victoria Freitas, ’23
Madelynn Johnson, ’22
Tasneem Mohommed, ’23
Leah Scontras, ’23

Microcuentos
Anna Dailey, ’25
Samantha Fersobe, ’22
Amy Inestroza, ’25
Ruth López Espinoza, ’25

Agradecimientos | Thanks

Equipo editorial

About us | Sobre nosotros

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Mark
Varios
Borges y nosotros

This creative writing exercise was part of SPAN 308, a course that explored Latin American literature from pre-Columbian times to the present day through the thematic lens of las fronteras — borders, boundaries, and frontiers. Throughout the spring semester of 2022, our class examined the ways in which different kinds of fronteras (linguistic, literary, racial, gender, geographic, socioeconomic, political, cultural) are constructed, resisted, dismantled and transgressed in selected readings from a variety of Latin American literary texts. Taking Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges’ self-referential short story “Borges y yo” and the Worcester Art Museum’s 2022 exhibit Us | Them | We - Race x Ethnicity x Identity (︎) as our starting points and inspiration, we discussed the concept of metafiction, the function of narrative voice and perspective, and the theme of identity in the context of externally and internally constructed limits or boundaries. Next, we deconstructed Borges’ original text by removing all of the details specific to the narrator’s experiences (names, places, actions, objects), leaving in place the underlying formal structure (paragraph length, sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, beginning and ending). Students then reflected on their personal experiences of identity formation, and wrote about their public and private selves, or their inner and outer worlds — bound only by the formal constraints of Borges’ deconstructed text. As this selection of creative responses reveals, each writer found ways to push beyond the externally imposed textual framework and express their unique voices and identities.
—Prof. Bridget Franco,
College of the Holy Cross

Read the individual creations

Chávez y yo

Doyle y yo
Méndez y yo
Oliva y yo
Trask y yo



(El texto original de Borges reza así)

Borges y yo
Al otro, a Borges, es a quien le ocurren las cosas. Yo camino por Buenos Aires y me demoro, acaso ya mecánicamente, para mirar el arco de un zaguán y la puerta cancel; de Borges tengo noticias por el correo y veo su nombre en una terna de profesores o en un diccionario biográfico. Me gustan los relojes de arena, los mapas, la tipografía del siglo XVII, las etimologías, el sabor del café y la prosa de Stevenson; el otro comparte esas preferencias, pero de un modo vanidoso que las convierte en atributos de un actor. Sería exagerado afirmar que nuestra relación es hostil; yo vivo, yo me dejo vivir para que Borges pueda tramar su literatura y esa literatura me justifica. Nada me cuesta confesar que ha logrado ciertas páginas válidas, pero esas páginas no me pueden salvar, quizá porque lo bueno ya no es de nadie, ni siquiera del otro, sino del lenguaje o la tradición. Por lo demás, yo estoy destinado a perderme, definitivamente, y solo algún instante de mí podrá sobrevivir en el otro. Poco a poco voy cediéndole todo, aunque me consta su perversa costumbre de falsear y magnificar. Spinoza entendió que todas las cosas quieren perseverar en su ser; la piedra eternamente quiere ser piedra y el tigre un tigre. Yo he de quedar en Borges, no en mí (si es que alguien soy), pero me reconozco menos en sus libros que en muchos otros o que en el laborioso rasgueo de una guitarra. Hace años yo traté de librarme de él y pasé de las mitologías del arrabal a los juegos con el tiempo y con lo infinito, pero esos juegos son de Borges ahora y tendré que idear otra cosas. Así mi vida es una fuga y todo lo pierdo y todo es del olvido, o del otro. No sé cuál de los dos escribe esta página

In English:
Borges and I
        The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate. I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary. I like hourglasses, maps, eighteenth-century typography, the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides, I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger. I shall remain in Borges, not in myself (if it is true that I am someone), but I recognize myself less in his books than in many others or in the laborious strumming of a guitar. Years ago I tried to free myself from him and went from the mythologies of the suburbs to the games with time and infinity, but those games belong to Borges now and I shall have to imagine other things. Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.
        I do not know which of us has written this page.

Translated by James E. Irby


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