Hemingway Dream Poem by Richard Wlodarski
Hemingway Dream
I speak to
Hemingway
This cold night
Lucid dream
So lonely
And depressed
Makes me cry
Reenacted
Bullet to head
Communicated
Damned suffering death:
Repeated blows to my head
Couldn't handle road ahead
It all started in Italy
World War One so fuckin' ugly
Dead face of brother in arms
Another's legs blown off
Years later in lovers' Paris
Lost my bearing accidentally
Pulled skylight cord way too hard
Had to piss so damn badly
Thought it was toilet flusher
At least Ezra got pound
Of my damn rotting flesh
My ass flying through skylight
Fuckin' World War One again
London calling
In Blitz blackout
Car accident
Blow to my head
Fishing for ideas
Damn hard on my poor head
Fishin' for the big fish
Crashing the damn plane
In East Africa
Such exotica
So many damn blows
To my such tough head
No more bull by the horns
My life's too many thorns
Woke up in cold sweat
Dying once again
A great, fascinating poem, Richard. Hemingway suffered so much trauma (multiple concussions) as well as emotional blows. Each of your lines addresses a possible issue that may have plagued the great writer. What I find interesting, and it is sublime in your verse, is the whole issue of art as therapy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 10:47:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
We are often told that art is therapeutic. The serious converts to the belief may advocate that it is a type of cure. I think Hemingway and his life demonstrated the limitations. A profound work, Richard.
M.J., I'm a strong believer of art as therapy. And a type of cure! Had this not been the case with Hemingway, he probably would've committed suicide much earlier. So tragic that depression is hereditary in their lineage.