If I could be anyone,
I would be
Ernest
the expatriate, the disillusioned.
Talking jazz like a hopscotch kid.
The Génération du Feu,
Fitgerald’s "Winter Dreams,”
Crisp francs
and France’s horse-lipped whores;
I’d keep on
sucking that winesack.
I would write to Lady Duff Twysden,
knowing her pseudonyms
in the way that a man should know a woman.
The bull and the red, red cape.
And when I couldn’t I’d blame the war.
Troppo vecchi, pop,
who said
he’s got a lingering talent for death.
But unlike Ernest
I wouldn’t try to even the score.
I’ve not been one to condemn the ampersand
so my story goes on
and on.
No,
I would brood and pace on the terrace
cuff my rumpled khakis
as the sun came up,
as the sun never changed.
I would count the women shot in Milan
who gave me reasons
to come and to go.
Author notes
for specific allusions, or questions thus-related, message me
A contest entry
- Algebra and Fire by Nicole Hanna.
700 points, ended March 11, 2008, 10 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I just love this!
and I HATED ERNIE!
As a Zelda Fitzgerald fan, and an opponent of wife-beating, {regardless of jealousy} I read this as a tongue-in-cheek piece, frankly, better than Hemmingway's overcompensating artiface. A subtle, image ridden romp of a read.
Congrats on a well-deserved award.
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Though you invite me to ask for definitions and meanings of some of your imagery, I love that it's open to my own interpretation. Basically, as long as I can make my own kind of sense of it all, then it's good. This was some fantastic writing, and might very well make this contest one of the most difficult I've had to judge in a long time.
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i saw that contest; it seems very rough!
but i really have faith in you; you did so well!
brilliant; just absoultley brilliant.
♥
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