July 21 by Jim BenzIf Ernest Hemingway were not dead but instead a vagrant at Justin Herman Plaza
hed be wearing a dirty red shirt and filthy jeans a fishing cap and scowls for his bench mate (who bears a striking resemblance to Lionel Moise and talks like William Faulkner about the dope boys and city hall cops all bought off) and he wouldnt even have 2 bits from Rexroth in his pocket for spite or spit as he sits around the varied corners down the streets from City Lights and porn shops beside financial districts smoking on his cheap straight pipe and bad tobacco
and he doesnt have a Bloody Mary on this sunny afternoon still undreamt from somewhere else, unconscious
and this San Francisco not of Cuba is instead a hangover writ by London and his Barleycorn drunk from parks and too much sitting
if he did not have this ample hesitation and a risk of growing older this personal tragedy tangled in his unkempt beard if he were not unhid from sight and hurting like hell forgotten like an immoral problem or a strangled pigeon if he were not rotting a last mismanaged panacea of terrible depression and he sat here caught in his Artists reward
his motion might be mistaken for action but not defeat broken by the world but not stronger
might quote Bukowski It takes special talent to be a drunk. It takes endurance. Endurance is more important than truth. might quote himself Always do sober what you said youd do drunk. If Hemingway were not dead hed be here chasing pigeons in Justin Herman Plaza throwing his cap with a deadly aim and cursing with his little words 08/16/2005 Posted on 08/16/2005 Copyright © 2024 Jim Benz
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Ashley Lane on 07/04/07 at 07:34 PM Based on what I know about Hemingway, I could easily picture him being like this. I especially like the stanza beginning with "his motion." |
Posted by H.M Stevens on 09/30/09 at 01:46 AM This is like a spoken diorama of sorts. I picture a smaller Hemmingway, and scenes you depict vividly. I enjoyed this very much.
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