Monday, January 31, 2005 -- 8:02 AM
Some of Hemingway's Poetry
As it is generally known, Hemingway considered himself first and foremost a poet, and only secondly a writer of prose. Anyone who is familiar with A Farewell to Arms will not question this. As poetry is structured upon emotion, so this novel of war and love shows not so much a story of a man as his emotions and his emotional response to the situations he finds himself in. Hemingway prided himself in, and boasted considerably of his ability to write truly with the effect of poetry, continually editing and whittling away the unnecessary bits until he was left with only the bare gem of a story, encased in an emotional journey.
In spite of his success and fame as a writer of novels, Hemingway did write some poetry, based mainly on his war experiences: his time spent among soldiers and his one near death experience on a battlefield in Italy. All of this poetry was written much later when he was in the United States, or very much later while living in Paris.
[All armies are the same...]
All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies have always drawn flies
Paris 1922
Killed Piave-July 8-1918
Desire and
All the sweet pulsing aches
And gentle hurtings
That were you,
Are gone into the sullen dark.
Now in the night you come unsmiling
To lie with me
A dull, cold, rigid bayonet
On my hot-swollen, throbbing soul
Chicago 1921
Friday, January 28, 2005 -- 2:19 PM
Man Peed Way out of Avalanche
Never underestimate the power of beer.
Thursday, January 27, 2005 -- 10:45 AM
So, just as quickly as I became a finishing carpenter, I am a finishing carpenter no more. Life is still good, though.
Monday, January 24, 2005 -- 8:26 PM
A Tale of the Ocean
The ocean rests on her bed of sand
and me beside her.
Her icy breath reaches my feet
just barely, and cools them
as we look up at the stars.
She talks to me in a whisper
telling me of her sorrows and rages.
She almost touched the stars once, she says.
She reached, reached, reached,
and nearly touched a star,
so nearly that she felt it's warmth.
But she fell down so long and so hard,
back, back, back, away into the cold
and as she fell she screamed in rage.
And in her rage she killed a man.
She smothered him and crushed him
and watched the bodiless funeral the next week,
whimpering in shame
she watched the widow curse her
still she couldn't bear to give up the corpse.
No amount of guilt can make her forget her failures.
Far away the stars will only smile and wink
in their sly and lazy siesta way,
pretending to ignore her
while taking a keen and secret intrest
in her failings.
One day she will reach the stars, she says,
and then it will be as if she had never killed the man,
or any of the others.
Saturday, January 22, 2005 -- 9:12 PM
Turns out, Beth made it onto my blog. It isn't that hard once you know how.
-- 7:03 PM
"Theses six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: A proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are swift in running to evil, a false witness who speaks lies, and one who sows discord among brethren." ( Prov. 6:16-19).
Wednesday, January 19, 2005 -- 4:44 PM
Tiny salmon, swimming in a stream.
Tiny salmon chasing that impossible dream.
The myna bird says, "Caw...ca-ah."
The chimpanzee says, "Ee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee."
The friendly owl says, "Hoo-hu-hoo."
But the salmon can only say.... "boodle-loo-doo-loo-doo, boodle-loo-doo-loo-doo, boodle-loo-doo, boodle-loo-doo, boodle-loo-doo."
And it's sad.
Saturday, January 15, 2005 -- 9:53 PM
A Day In the Life:
TALKED TO BETH ON THE PHONE. LIKE FOR REAL.
Sunday, January 09, 2005 -- 4:03 PM
I am Jack's false sense of security
Well, Christmas appears to be over, and as such my blog has been reverted back to it's old and reassuring self. My mind is quite the proverbial empty slate. I really need something to get me going again, and I hope that work will do that. I start work tomorrow, and I've also purposed to start writing again. I guess you could call it a New Year's resolution, though it's a complete coincidence, since I've been planning to start writing for a couple of months. Officially, my New Year's resolutions are to drink and smoke more, and eat and exercise less.
Since we're on the subject of New Years, I spent it playing a board game at my aunt and uncle's. I heard the loud countdown chanted from my little cousins in the basement, and each of us playing Acquire murmured an unfazed and uninterrupted, "Happy new year." If I bothered to try and remember any of my other eighteen New Years countdowns, I might just decide that I liked this one the best, but only because I've never had a girl to kiss as the countdown ended.
But it's 2005 now, and that's something. It feels funny to think about all that time passing, and when I really do think about it, I hardly even remember the nineties, at least not like I thought I'd remember them. That is to say, I remember various events and experiences from the nineties, but nothing very solid, not like I thought I'd remember them. Damn it, I'm eighteen years old and when my littlest brother goes to college I'll be twenty-five. Actually, that doesn't sound quite as bad as I thought it would. "In seven years I'll be twenty five." Yeah, that's actually alright. How about, "In three years I'll be twenty-one"? That's fine too. It's even better if I say, "In three years I'll be twenty-one and will be legally allowed to buy alchohol in the United States." Now I'm feeling pretty good. I feel like maybe I can wrap this post up on a pretty good note.
Saturday, January 01, 2005 -- 1:57 PM
"Here's to the start of a new year. To late nights and early mornings in this place that holds so much of my family and heritage that it feels like I am breathing it with the cold into my lungs; pure and clear and slightly menacing. And not"
I wrote that a few days ago at my brother's house, and then I was interrupted with I forget what. As you may have already guessed, I'm back home now. It was a fun two weeks and several days, and I'm glad to be back now. While I was there, I engaged in the following activities, which may or may not prove noteworthy:
A: Applied at the University of Manitoba. It was so cold that day that my still shower dampened hair solidified from the ten to fifteen minute walk from the car to the warmth, and I want to spend at least one full winter there? Damn!
B: Spent Christmas. Santa gave me a sweet-ass dartboard, an Asterix book, U2's new CD, and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. Evidently I was a good boy this year.
C: Drank. John, in his house, has a special cabinet devoted entirely to liquor. A "liquor cabinet" if you will.
D: Survived the Worst Snowstorm in Winnipeg's Recent History. It was fucking insane. And it got so fucking cold there, like minus fucking 40.
E: Got my little car back! Actually it wouldn't start on the day before we left and we had to boost it, but it made it all the way home, despite mom's naysayings.
F: Saw 25th Hour. With Edward Norton. I wasn't sure I liked it at first, but now I want to see it again, because I'm almost positive its hardcore. Like me, I'm hardcore. Hard core.
G: I am Hardcore. And now I'm homecore.
