Monday, June 17, 2013

thesis tidbit

Working on wrapping up this thesis, thought this bit was worth sharing...

Another good example, linking Nick Adams the character to Hemingway the author is the description of Nick Adams provided in the short story Fathers and Sons. The description is a spot on personification of Clarence Hemingway. Nick begins recalling his father while thinking about him teaching him to hunt quail as a boy. Nick notes the fine quality of his father’s eyes and characterizes him as having, “a big frame, the quick movements, the wide shoulders, the hooked, hawk nose, the beard that covered the weak chin.” (Shorts, 370.)  Still, Hemingway, channeled through Nick, comes back to the eyes, “they were the great gift his father had, his father saw as a big horn ram, or as an eagle sees, literally.” (Shorts, 370) Nick continues in a longer passage:
Like all men with a faculty that surpasses human requirements, his father was very nervous. Then too, he was sentimental, and, like most sentimental people, he was both cruel and abused. Also, he had much bad luck, and it was not all of it his own. He had died in a trap that he had helped only a little to set, and they had all betrayed him in their various ways before he died. All sentimental people are betrayed so many times. Nick could not write about him yet, although he would later, but the quail country made him remember him as he was when Nick was a boy and he was very greatful to him for two things: fishing and shooting. (Shorts, 370.)

The absolute authenticity of the autobiographical subject matter Hemingway so often wove into his artistic work is questionable, however, this particular rendering of Clarence Hemingway rings true, showing again a clear linkage between author and man. Shortly after the descriptive passage Nick continues to ponder the dilemma of his father, stating that “If he wrote it, he could get rid of it. He had gotten rid of many things by writing them.” (Shorts, 371.) This shows, aside form social conditioning, a young man wrestling with the past that shaped him and using his creative output for catharsis, further strengthening the link between Hemingway’s work, characters, and himself. (Shorts, 371.)

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Terrible Fathers Day Cards...

Every time I am confronted with a holiday involving cards I find myself the victim of a terrible dillema, shittily written cards that this culture expects you to purchase and present to your loved ones. This is particularly terrible for Mothers and Fathers day. I despise these cards. There is no "I am sorry you are slowly dying of liver disease card." I am opting out. The idea of a hack copy writer presenting something to my family makes me want to vomit, bitch please I am a published poet, and quite frankly your vapid words leave the taste of ash and shit in my mouth.
I could write said card, but I am choosing not to. I am gonna watch a fight with my Dad instead and try to be happy, or at least seem like I am.
There really is not another option.

Poem. (I don't think I posted this before)

Desolate Leaf
The last leaf, desolate on an autumn
Tree, shaken by the wind, all
Things precious to it taken.
No fellow leaves, no sunlight.

I am this leaf, the world is my
Tree, my sunlight is far away. Life is the
Wind that has rendered me thus.

You will not know sorrow until
You have held your sobbing mother
In your arms as she realizes that the person
She loves most in this world will die
Before they can share old age together.

There is a rage so dark, deep, and black
Within me that I cannot fathom it. It is beyond
Comprehension, measurement, estimation.
It cleaves stone from the granite slab of my soul.

It makes me breath smoke.