Notes On A Suicide by Hemingway – A.G. Diedericks

The cosmos misplaced me
left me to meteor into this zeitgeist
of insipid distractions
Where i roam as an anachronism
under the city of lights
in pursuit of remnants from Lutetia
with nothing but a pen & piece
of paper to live on

Problem is I’m not a poet
Let me tell you how i know it:
I kill a reader
every time i get published
I drag ’em out
to the Battle of Normandy
and en garde my quill
up against their arsenal;
I tread belligerently
over land mines, unarmored
until there’s nothing left
of me to spill

Because who am i
without these lacerations
cut on truth
cut to the left
cut with avant garde

I look on as they flee for shelter
in colloquial boats
Washed up on the shores
of contrived obeisance

I write myself out
and into pastiche
Where i can marvel at all the
that has since been decimated
by phosphorescent eyes

In this solitary hamlet
away from the hullabaloo
of small voices;
I swim naked in a cesspool
of regret & excuses;
The past is a rope that pulls me up
from the quagmire of my present;
The ghost of Hemingway smirks
at my attempted suicide
as he steals all the bullets from
my plagiarized shotgun

Leaving me tied to the
of his sagacious notes,

“Your abstract is redundant. The expatriates weren’t lost in an archaic era. We Roared the 20’s with the clamour of our own literature. How is the reader supposed to find any emotive resonance in this? Your soul is still buried underneath the words, and it will only come to life once you’ve unearthed your own voice. I suggest you go and pick a fight with a bull in the streets of Pamplona; You’ll find everything you need there.”

28 thoughts on “Notes On A Suicide by Hemingway – A.G. Diedericks

  1. A.G.,

    Very interesting piece! I loved it! It made me think a lot about THE great writer.

    Like many tormented souls using writing, as Chris says, as a way to exorcise their demons or reveal themselves as a therapeutic exercise and confessional ritual, this poem reminds me that we are always in the process of releasing and recreating ourselves. It is words, and words alone, which can allow this transmutation to permeate itself (until we morph again)…
    This man, conflicted as he was, unsure of what he was, having a Freudian relationship with his mother (love/hate relationship), heavy drinker, met his end his own way,,,by taking the act into his own hands, he regained some form of control (which he felt eluded him throughout his troubled life). He was now in charge, he wouldn’t let life ravage his body or cause him further pain.
    By taking his own life, he secured himself a place amidst the beauty
    of nature, which he most cherished:

    Here is a eulogy Hemingway wrote for a friend, several decades before his own death:

    Best of all he loved the fall
    the leaves yellow on cottonwoods
    leaves floating on trout streams
    and above the hills
    the high blue windless skies
    …Now he will be a part of them forever.

    Full circle, he fulfilled the destiny of his own words and by so doing, he immortalized his soul. His spirit lives on – like his writing style, using “the theory of omission” – in the whispers of the wind, the falling of the leaves, the atmospheric pressure, not known explicitly, but felt implicitly.

    Great writing!

    Liked by 5 people

  2. Wilde your comment upstaged my piece. Lol. Thank you so much for your incredible insight! You just taught me a lot more about him. And if I should ever go first, then you’ll know what I want for my eulogy, we’ll make the circle bigger!

    Liked by 5 people

    • Nah! Not upstaged, just added to, the sprinkling on top ; )
      Yes, but sadly, he killed himself to “be a part of them forever”,….
      one need not take it to that point, for if we could only see,
      and know, that we are already a part of them forever and they, us.
      The circle is alive and well. You have a bit of Hemingway in your bones and your blood….let it live on, not die out!

      Liked by 6 people

  3. Yes A.G.,
    to spend an entire death
    following ernest advice,
    is the heming way.
    Fishing for that one marlin.
    Against the fascists marching.
    Fighting with the Brigade
    International, in an alliance
    of convenience with anarchists.
    Roaring in the glamour of
    poetic clamour.
    Gored in Pamplona,
    with only a pen and paper
    for armour.
    Down and out, in a policy of isolation, leading to the beaches of Normandy.
    Thanks A.G.,
    your poem left me
    gored by glory.

    Liked by 6 people

  4. As Mia said “the restless moments of unrest” – ties in with what I see as things spoken in the silences between words.
    This complexity of flavours and aromas can’t be swallowed whole but must be allowed to linger on the palate lest we miss subtle high notes of umami flavour.
    And like others I’ll revisit time and time again to peel off layers and indulge in the revelation beneath.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Maggie all of your comments teaches me something new about my work, and about writing in general. For me, art can only be measured by time, so for you to want to revisit it, tells me that I wrote something worthwhile. You have my gratitude. Thank you ever so much! 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  5. Your writing is transporting, pulls me in with language that makes me stagger. I want to be eloquent, I can’t be. I want to say something wise, profound….I can’t. I can say that this is GOOD; it is so GOOD and I am envious of what you can do and I will read this again and again to keep learning from your exquisite treatment of language.

    Liked by 4 people

  6. “The ghost of Hemingway smirks
    at my attempted suicide
    as he steals all the bullets from
    my plagiarized shotgun”
    I must agree with all of the previous commenters – this is an absolutely incredible piece. The way you were able to express yourself about how it feels impossible to do so has such an impressive subverting quality – it is absolutely profound.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. When I read whatever you write, I learn. Hemingway has long been one of my favorite writers and the more I read him the more I enjoy his work. It’s becoming the same with your writing. “with nothing but a pen & piece of paper to live on. Problem is I’m not a poet ” are such wonderful lines, and you sir, are indeed a poet. Thank you for giving all of these talented writers the exposure they deserve. I’m just an old poet, wuth an old fashioned style, and I love them all.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I can understand the need for tradition just as much as i do understand the need for avant garde. All the writers here bring his and her own style to the forum. I’m honored by your compliment and to have them share their work here on Morality Park. They are a special bunch

      Liked by 2 people

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