Monday, September 7, 2015

Visiting Hemingway's Grave

As a huge admirer of Ernest Hemingway's novels, short stories and journalism, I was interested in reading Baxter Holmes' piece on visiting Hemingway's grave and his look back at the life of the late, great writer's life.

KETCHUM,IDAHO—Two pine trees bracket the grave. 
Needles and cones comfort its edges. Roots snake up 
through the earth toward the granite slab that bears 
a simple inscription: Ernest Miller Hemingway, July 21, 
1899—July 2, 1961. To the right of that text, the day I 
was there anyway, sat a clear shot glass. There was a 
bullet inside.
... My throat tightened, my eyes welled. Before, I saw 
Ernest Hemingway as the measure 
of man: a heroic, hard-drinking, big-game-hunting, 
bullfight-loving, deep-sea-fishing, 
world-traveling, womanizing war correspondent 
pugilist who—for better or worse—
defined masculinity. I came to pay respect to that man, 
one whose shadow cast eternal 
over all men who write. But being there, 
really there, I only saw pain.
You can read the rest of the piece via the below link: 

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