I would suspect that Hemingway, for a bit under two-thirds of my two-score years, has been in my psyche – though in varying degrees --from the active idolizing to the [oxymoronic!] sub-conscious influence. Hemingway is certainly among the few people who have caputuredmy imagination somewhat early in life, and he has remained in my consciousness ever since. Not so much because I have read him so voraciously [he has written too much for my lazy self-indulgent reading]; but because of the series of reveries that he has triggered with every passage that I ever read either written by or of him. In these reveries, I often played the hero[es] whom I probably wanted to emulate.
Re-reading the preceding (complex!) sentences, I really think that is closest description of why I got that flutter within when I read anything by/of him or heard anything about him. This is the same reason why I experience a similar flutter when I cross the paths of a few other people. This is perhaps why people have idols in the first place. Not that I have shown any worthwhile discipline and purpose to hone any little talent that I have to live up to my narcissism – in this context that is immaterial though. To put it in a nutshell, Hemingway’s means and words have been a source of inspiration and thrill.
So when I got to know that Hemingway spent a meaningful few years of his life in Ketchum/Hailey, I was of course, tickled with excitement. A score of years earlier, such an opportunity would have given me goose bumps. At this stage of life however, the incorrigibly non-compulsive and non-effusive guy that I am, I didn’t jump out of my seat; but I felt the same inner joy of sharing the climes and co-ordinates with Hemingway--Or maybe perhaps an inexplicable [self-congratulatory] sense of connectedness and chemistry pervaded my consciousness.
I somehow have a feeling this proximity will not just get lost as a bragging point. Just one blog and a self-pat. I really hope that 10 years from now, when I walk down memory lane, I can pin-point this as one almost innocuous subtle events which would stir in me the urge to get into active / purposeful writing. The others of course being the initiation to regularity in blogging, phase in life – that my feeling prepared with the due experiences and thought streams, and most-most significantly, the life-partnership with L [the most voracious reader and the most ambitious aspiring amateur writer I have come across]. I am really fortunate that she urges me to write and gives me the confidence to become a writer through her incisive comments and precise edits. I am also fortunate to have a de-cluttered mind, and more self-assurance now than I have ever had, and that would help too.
My tryst with Hemingway at his memorial [thanks to Patty and the GSE team – for the memorable visit and the photo ops] was a mix of a broad smile and big surprise. A feeling of pinching myself to make sure that I was really there. That was a trigger. But the tryst continued. A couple of days later I listened to my instincts and bunked a GSE session, rented a bike [a comparable Indian expression would be ‘hired a cycle’] and cycled my way to pay true obeisance to an old hero. No, no promises made and no resolutions undertaken. Just an opportunity to be wrapped up in the vibrations of the place and the moment – with due realization that many a writing talent and legend would have also partook of the air around, and would have left behind and part of themselves and their vibrations. The tryst has continued further today, as I have woken up in the wee hours to mingle myself with the opening pages of the reproduced ‘The Moveable Feast’. And, also let myself meander along another one of my endearing reveries.
In this mood and reverie, I think to myself ‘what prevents one from becoming a writer,’ I guess there are multiple layers of distance. The first in which a person is happy to appreciate great writing and enjoy the thrill – not ever realizing that she/he getting the thrill is a testimony that she/he can produce a similar piece of art. The first layer of distance – is the lack of loftiness. The second layer, the one the plagues a large mass – including yours truly—is the layer of lack of persuasion. The instinct to sacrifice the opportunity of self-emancipation by the self-defeating perception, that one has to pander to the needs of survival. The third layer, is the lack of self-perception [and concomitantly a repository of experience], the ability to perceive the subtleties of self. Experience is not endowed onlywith the extra-ordinarily lucky ones. Each one of us has experienced life enough to write insightfully and uniquely about even the most trite of subjects. But then lack of self-knowledge precludes their self-articulation and capacity to store this knowledge in the sub-conscious for future use. The fourth layer, is the distance of lack of tools and technique--or again, as much the perception as the reality. This is simply about reading quality expression and meandering along one’s thought streams - and feeling confident that when one starts to write, one can write readable material.
So that has been my tryst with Hemingway thus far, since my sojourn to Sun Valley and Ketchum. Let us wait and watch it unfold.
Bhubaneswar
June 12, 2011
Re-reading the preceding (complex!) sentences, I really think that is closest description of why I got that flutter within when I read anything by/of him or heard anything about him. This is the same reason why I experience a similar flutter when I cross the paths of a few other people. This is perhaps why people have idols in the first place. Not that I have shown any worthwhile discipline and purpose to hone any little talent that I have to live up to my narcissism – in this context that is immaterial though. To put it in a nutshell, Hemingway’s means and words have been a source of inspiration and thrill.
So when I got to know that Hemingway spent a meaningful few years of his life in Ketchum/Hailey, I was of course, tickled with excitement. A score of years earlier, such an opportunity would have given me goose bumps. At this stage of life however, the incorrigibly non-compulsive and non-effusive guy that I am, I didn’t jump out of my seat; but I felt the same inner joy of sharing the climes and co-ordinates with Hemingway--Or maybe perhaps an inexplicable [self-congratulatory] sense of connectedness and chemistry pervaded my consciousness.
I somehow have a feeling this proximity will not just get lost as a bragging point. Just one blog and a self-pat. I really hope that 10 years from now, when I walk down memory lane, I can pin-point this as one almost innocuous subtle events which would stir in me the urge to get into active / purposeful writing. The others of course being the initiation to regularity in blogging, phase in life – that my feeling prepared with the due experiences and thought streams, and most-most significantly, the life-partnership with L [the most voracious reader and the most ambitious aspiring amateur writer I have come across]. I am really fortunate that she urges me to write and gives me the confidence to become a writer through her incisive comments and precise edits. I am also fortunate to have a de-cluttered mind, and more self-assurance now than I have ever had, and that would help too.
My tryst with Hemingway at his memorial [thanks to Patty and the GSE team – for the memorable visit and the photo ops] was a mix of a broad smile and big surprise. A feeling of pinching myself to make sure that I was really there. That was a trigger. But the tryst continued. A couple of days later I listened to my instincts and bunked a GSE session, rented a bike [a comparable Indian expression would be ‘hired a cycle’] and cycled my way to pay true obeisance to an old hero. No, no promises made and no resolutions undertaken. Just an opportunity to be wrapped up in the vibrations of the place and the moment – with due realization that many a writing talent and legend would have also partook of the air around, and would have left behind and part of themselves and their vibrations. The tryst has continued further today, as I have woken up in the wee hours to mingle myself with the opening pages of the reproduced ‘The Moveable Feast’. And, also let myself meander along another one of my endearing reveries.
In this mood and reverie, I think to myself ‘what prevents one from becoming a writer,’ I guess there are multiple layers of distance. The first in which a person is happy to appreciate great writing and enjoy the thrill – not ever realizing that she/he getting the thrill is a testimony that she/he can produce a similar piece of art. The first layer of distance – is the lack of loftiness. The second layer, the one the plagues a large mass – including yours truly—is the layer of lack of persuasion. The instinct to sacrifice the opportunity of self-emancipation by the self-defeating perception, that one has to pander to the needs of survival. The third layer, is the lack of self-perception [and concomitantly a repository of experience], the ability to perceive the subtleties of self. Experience is not endowed onlywith the extra-ordinarily lucky ones. Each one of us has experienced life enough to write insightfully and uniquely about even the most trite of subjects. But then lack of self-knowledge precludes their self-articulation and capacity to store this knowledge in the sub-conscious for future use. The fourth layer, is the distance of lack of tools and technique--or again, as much the perception as the reality. This is simply about reading quality expression and meandering along one’s thought streams - and feeling confident that when one starts to write, one can write readable material.
So that has been my tryst with Hemingway thus far, since my sojourn to Sun Valley and Ketchum. Let us wait and watch it unfold.
Bhubaneswar
June 12, 2011
lovely article - hv to reread Hemingway - never read him really meaningfully. where is Ketchum/Hailey? U seem to have had a wonderful time the past few months! When is the book coming?
ReplyDeletedo u forget old man n the sea in +2....that was the first of my hemingway series....
ReplyDeleteketchum/hailey...in a place called sun valley...whr hemingway spent the last few yrs of his life...it is in the state of idaho...which i visited...north west usa...
yah had a good time...a couple of more usa articles to come..