Osvaldo Lamborghini (Buenos Aires, – Barcelona, ) is one of the great With only three books published in his lifetime – El fiord (), Sebregondi. El Fiord: OSVALDO LAMBORGHINI: Books – Get this from a library! El fiord.. [Osvaldo Lamborghini; Leopoldo Fernández].

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Read the original in Spanish.

Librería La Lengua Absuelta: Osvaldo Lamborghini, El Fiord

Read the French translation. In addition to working as a translator, he has published novels, as well as short stories, essays and plays. However, his work has only recently reached a broader and international audience. Adrian West is a writer and translator as well as a contributing editor at Asymptote.

She was born in Germany and has lived in Scotland, England, and France.


She translates philosophical and historical monographs as readily as experimental oosvaldo poetry. She lives in Brussels, a city as fragmentary and layered as she. Osvaldo Lamborghini and His Work. The first publication of Osvaldo Lamborghini Buenos Aires — Barcelonashortly after his thirtieth birthday, was El fiord ; it appeared inbut had been written several years before. It was a thin book, and for a long time it was sold in a single bookstore in Buenos Aires via the discreet method of asking for it from the salesperson.

Though it was never republished, it traveled over a long road and fulfilled the mission of great books: It lamborgnini, and continues to propose, something extraordinarily new.

It anticipated the whole of the political literature of the seventies, but transcended it, rendering it useless. It incorporated the entirety of the Argentine literary tradition, but gave it a new and very distinct nuance.

It seemed to bridge two puerilities: Soon we iford that even Borges, very much in the English vein, had limited himself to literature “for young people. But unlike them, Osvaldo did not take up the problem of immaturity; he seemed to have been born adult.

Secret, but not ignored nobody could ignore himthe author knew glory without ever having the least glimmer of fame. From the very beginning, he was read lamborghoni a master. Inhis second book appeared, Sebregondi kamborghinia novel fikrd had originally been a book of poems. The cover had the same emblem as that of El fiord: It sold a thousand-odd copies, and Osvaldo commented philosophically: Borges sold sixty-four copies of his first book.

For some reason, his poems made a more emphatic impression of genius than his prose. For the remainder of the decade, his publications were happenstance when not truly outlandish his two great poems, “Los Tadeys” and “Die Verneinung” appeared in journals in North America.

A few stories, the odd osva,do, and scant manuscripts passed around among his numerous admirers. InPoemashis third and last book, appeared.

El fiord | Open Library

Soon after that he left for Barcelona, returning, ill, in Convalescing in Mar de Plata, he wrote a novel, Las hijas de Lamborghoniwithout bothering about its publication he didn’t even take the trouble to type it. And he went back to Barcelona, where he died in at forty-five years of age.

Those last three years, which he passed in almost complete reclusion, were remarkably fecund. Something those of us who were his friends did not expect, as we had only received from him the manuscript of a single novelette, La causa justa. I believe there is an outer reach of aesthetic quality—past the simulacrum of perfection—that may shine through in good prose. In Osvaldo there riord allusion to true perfection, which eludes labor.


It is rather facility, a kind of automatic writing. Amid his papers, there is not a single rough draft, there are no corrected versions; in fact, hardly anything is crossed out.

Everything came out right from the beginning. There were no birth pangs. Or osvalvo must have been, but they no longer remained in evidence.

I have osvqldo to explain it to myself, working from the posthumous discovery of the verse original of Sebregondi retrocedeas an oscillation-translation. That veneer of perfection so very his could be explained perhaps as the effect of a virtual translation: There is a poetic archeology in the prose, and vice-versa; a double inversion, the trace of which is to be found in what many have seen as the most characteristic aspect of Osvaldo’s style: But then, he himself has said: We see denuded here the exquisitely limpid mechanism of the phrases; we attend the birth of the words.

Who had really noticed, for example, the hidden word “all” before reading the phrase “. A Sebregondi with money is a Sobregondi with-al.

Fluidity and fixity combine, and they do so shimmeringly. Lamhorghini of Osvaldo’s writing is dominated by the sign of the lamborghino less by water than by alcohol, whose sheen and fluency pass into the mind, and from there transform the world; and at the same time produce the repetitive fixity of habit.

He would never benefit, lamborgghini said, from that superstition: As is to be expected, it had a false bottom. I remember something he told me after a period he had spent in his parents’ house. He had taken up and read again the books from his childhood, Dickens among them. David Copperfield he had liked as much as before, but with an exception an exception that he had already made note of in his first reading, thirty years ffiord But the boy is looking at the freckled arms of the woman and he marvels that they don’t prefer to peck there.

That passage enchanted him. Moreover, osvldo found that the novel was made redundant by that scene alone. He didn’t regret that Dickens had written it, of course. It was good that it existed, it couldn’t be otherwise; but on its own, it was like the countless grains thrown to the hens so that they could reach or not reach, it makes no difference the epiphany that would lead them to go peck at the true point, at the representation. He was no Dickens. What Osvaldo fiorv is difficult to say.

He had a theory about long novels: He gave as an example Crime and Punishment: He conveyed that what mattered to him was that phrase, without the novel itself. But what was at stake was not the result, but the very matter of the novel as such.

He osva,do that all of the great novels were run through with a slight melody, a “little jingle. It is the paradoxical passage from verse to prose. It is probably to this then, in Sebregondi retrocedethat we can attribute the inclusion of Porchia, who serves an enchanting function: I remember, incidentally, Osvaldo had a method for writing when, for some reason, “he couldn’t write”: El fiordlike Leibniz’s monad, reflects the entire Lamborghinian universe; the same can be said for any other of his works.

I suppose he insisted on the monadic aspects of this germinal text for osvalso sake, because it happened to be the first. And perhaps for other reasons as well.


The interpretations that have been woven around El fiord for example, the one that considers it a “fractal object” and then applies that idea to the rest of his work as lineal fragmentation, the infinite periphery of a sense, the “illusion of the perfect bigthing [ sic ]” with which Sebregondi retrocede begins do nothing more than highlight its literary density, its indecipherable character. But the keys to interpretation are highly visible, almost too much so. There are those initials that punctuate the narration: El fiord is an allegory, but much more than that, it is the solution to the literary enigma that allegory poses, one that intrigued Borges.

The solution Osvaldo offers, subtle as it is—for me, at least, it is nearly ungraspable—consists of dislodging allegorical meaning from its vertical, paradigmatic position and prolonging it throughout a continuum in which it ceases to be the same this is the case of meaning, all meaning, of the abandonment of one term for another and afterwards returns to such, indefinitely.

He was tireless in the invention of continua; I remember one, by chance, in the story “Matinales,” which he himself would tell with great laughter he considered it a trouvaille: All of Sebregondi can be considered a treatise on the continuum.

Naturally the same can be said of Las hijas de Hegelin which new elements appear as well. The novella is a curious Aufhebung in process.

The first and third parts, dated around the seventeenth of October, central ephemeral moments for the Argentine working class, are written each in its own notebook; the second, dated a bit earlier and written with the phrase-by-phrase procedure, in a small pocket journal. Here the continuum is resolved in simultaneity but of what?

If a hundred people he knew were asked, ninety-nine would define Osvaldo by his love for women. There, and only there, did he seem to transcend literature. Not that he was a feminist he joked about this in a lapidary declaration of principles: His love for women shined with the same light as his intelligence; one blended almost entirely into the other.

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Of course, he was sincere about that, and his biography is the most authoritative testimony. Quite unlike Hegel, Osvaldo felt that reality reached its culmination in women and in the working class. But there, on that summit, representation began. And that representation had a name: For this reason, Argentina was “Albania! Faced with a traveler singing the praises of the shameless and perfect beauty of Brazilian women, Osvaldo offered his maxim, “But Argentina has a great power of representation.

I, though, believe it corresponded to his complex formal system. Lamborghini’s Argentina is the country of representation. Peronism was the historical emergence of representation. Peronist Argentina is literature. The worker is the man who creates his own literature when he allows himself to be represented by the syndicalist. Hence the recurrence of the figure of Vandor in whose death he saw, with utter coherence, “the symbolic murder of the Argentine working class” from his earliest to his last writings.