But Hemingways? Hemingways Abound.

So, Ernest Hemingway has been everywhere lately. Not literally, as he’s dead. Or, maybe literally, as now that he is dead physically he is everywhere? Some sort of spiritual energy surrounding us?

That is far too philosophical for a Friday. Besides, if he was everywhere we would know it by now. The place would smell like booze and we’d all have a vicious beard burn.

No. When I say Hem has been everywhere lately, I mean in my consciousness. I mean he is haunting me. For instance, in the past two days he has come up in David Kirby’s poems, and now on Examiner.com in terms of his papers.

In Kirby’s poem The Hand of Fatima, he references Hemingway killing himself:

Here I refer to the story that Hemingway tells
of how upset his son was when the matador died
because the matador was small, as are all matadors,
and so was the boy small, as are all boys.
And the boy kept saying,
“I don’t like it that he was dead,” and his papa

i.e., Pap, said, “Don’t think about it,”
and the boy said, “I don’t try to think about it,
but I wish you hadn’t told me because every time
I shut my eyes I see it,”
and at that time Hemingway’s wife
was reading aloud The Dane Curse by Dashiell Hammett,

and every time somebody got killed off,
she’d substitute the expression “umpty-umped,”
and the little boy got caught up in the silliness of the words,
and one day he said to his pap,
“You know the one who was umpty-umped
because he was so small? I don’t think about him now.”

Poor Hemingway: he umpty-umped himself
one July morning in Ketchum, Idaho.


For the record, the lining of the above quote is off; my apologies to David Kirby. Go buy the book to see it in all its splendor. But anyhow, as any blog readers likely know, Hemingway has been known to make guest appearances in my poetry and my art.

For instance, I may even have a painting titled “Ketchum, Idaho.” Or, for instance, I may have even written lines like:

And all of this was heightened by verbal abuse
and alcohol. And books about verbal abuse and alcohol. And repetition.
Which is the best companion, because it can be so dependable. Depending
on how you look at it all. Except none of this is to memorialize anything,
except myself. I’m remembering what Hemingway said; “I die.
In the rain” and you knew it had to be true. I die in the rain.
The weatherman has ruined my life.

(from Memorial Day)

or, lines like:

All of your heroes are buried
beneath uncountable fathoms
of soil in Ketchum, Idaho. In everything
you see there are trees swaying
like fishing rods caught
in a wind that has never felt the unspeakable
atrocities of the ocean. All of your
heroes are finding their way
toward a shotgun. They are drinking
too much

and making their way to a four-drink
buzz, some 8-drink
paranoia. The horror of the shakes
in any morning you are supposed to be
writing in the light of, not piecing
together the long length of your rifle.

All of your heroes are involved
in some decisions they may not understand.
In some ideas scattering across their minds
like pellets. Shiny stars on velvet black.
The meaning of being caught between two
things, which is the inescapable part of getting
lost in the middle of living. They are plotting
a scheme to uncover the bottom of their hearts,

so far below the blue-green Caribbean waves,
so far away from home. All of your heroes
were floating their souls on the principle
of the iceberg. They pushed long metal
against themselves until every mystery
was gone. All your heroes are buried

beneath the misunderstandings
of mounds of dirt and rocky ground
in Ketchum, Idaho, and the last boat to Cuba
has sunk beneath the sea.

(from Ketchum, Idaho)

What is the point of all this Hemingway rambling?

Simple: Kirby kicks my ass.

In other Hemingway news, I was reading the Examiner today and the story: Ernest Hemingway archives opened to scholars caught my eye. Basically, I was pouring through Kirby’s poems last night and he, and Papa, were kicking my ass. Then I woke up to Hemingway’s ghost.

Hemingway? Hemingway abounds.

Pic above is from http://fla-keys.com/newsletter/200505/

Ahh Ketchum, Idaho.

In other news, I got some good response today on my Examiner piece on Kara Walker, which is cool.

Happy Friday.