Impressions Upon a Muse- a.k.a Ernest M. Hemingway

The Great Ernest Hemingway clenched the Pulitzer Prize (1953) and Nobel Prize in Literature (1954). These crossed his productive literary life pitting fame with Europe’s grand harvest in the masters Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, Andre Gide, and the “stream of consciousness” (as opposed to Hemingway’s play with words- a flow that digs into the deeper recesses of conscious realism) pro, James Joyce.

Forging the genes of a literary wizard
He was in the best company. Blame that to the great poet Sherwood Anderson. With a letter, he jumped straight into the group of writers, exacerbating thirst for his first generation of emerging creative genes. He was born to a physician father and a mother who sang in church. None of his childhood steered to a writer origin. He clutched the fishing pole and a cello as a childhood gift. Nothing blew an imprint except fishing that soon became a subject that bestowed him the literature seal and fame.

The muse hounds the master
He was with his clout of the most creative alliances in his days- their days were at their bests. A captive of the literary muse, he designed masterpieces that bypassed the realm of studies amongst the literary patrons. Hemingway’s fame was an envy of anyone. Despite the tragedy that closed the life of the Papa, his house in the Florida Keys trails a life that is never short of the literary muse that hounded his writings.
Love connection to the Keywest
From England, he married Pauline from a wealthy clan. For nine years, the Florida Keywest was home to the exceptional literary pieces he has ever written. People whom he fished with, joined the boxing arena bouts, split a table for a beer, wrestled lines for a bullfight and the notable FL Keywest landmarks were permanent features of the literature he modeled. They grew bigger than life in his writings.

Common writing pursuits
The allegorical symbols, the strength of a character, the anonymity in the day to day struggles crawled out from the local people, and neighborhood scions became the mark of his literary acts. They carried an intense creative production as he chased the muse to his artistic craft.
The common artistic liaisons
He was never wanting in inspiration. He loves the wild of the sea, the symbolism there is in the desert that which bunked the Kilimanjaro mountains, and a fitting display of the remnant of a hard fight there is in war witnessed as a volunteer paramedic driver. The rounds with alcoholism were downplayed publicly ( in his creative lifetime at least) more than his love for fishing, boxing, bullfighting, and guns. In fact, he is known for a drink or two as he writes and never more.The name game of bar studio evening revelries appeared to add up to the rich additives operating the characters in the stories that came until the muse leaves a blank space in his struggle for more.
The writer exalts the opposite
Married to one from wealthy beginnings, none of his books spoke of the grandeur of the well off. None of his books spoke the frills of the moneyed and the society that could have been a world-class expertise. Instead, he chose a fisherman, a soldier, a boxer, the character leads (some of) in his best-selling stories. He did not paint the huge house with women moneyed and privileged. He chose to live in a street named Whitehead. A contrast to the well known Duval or Flemming streets, his house is a stone throw to the Florida lighthouse, a big impressive town structure he could have exalted in another masterpiece but he did not.

An adoptive hometown descends
Surmise the story For Whom the Bell Tolls. The tolling of the bells could have been inspired by the activity in the lighthouse as ships came by. The rows of the big houses, summer abodes to wealthy Europeans and Northerners, were never a significant feature in his obra maestras. One could imagine whether the great writer was deliberately shifting images to fashion a life inimical to what is real or otherwise.

Key west whispers
Yes, the muse held him hearted to the natural lashes of life in the waters of the Gulf to the west and the Atlantic Ocean to the east. One could argue why he chose to stay in the USA’s southernmost frontier. Note that it was by a circumstance that the visit to the Keywest was forged. The Ford car to shuttle him and wife Pauline home as a wedding gift got delayed in transit. The turn became a break. He pitched a love for the area. He filled nine years crafting the best-written pieces of his lifetime in the Keywest.

Where have all the women gone?
His life speaks of women. Don’t look far but, he was good looking. The masculine bearing is clearcut. His physique he made smarter by the beard he so loves growing. There were four women in his lifetime. One came three hours after his divorce, the third one. Why were women never a locus of his writings? In short, it was always the male figure he seems so fixed.? Of course, life is the genuine imitation. After the tragedy, it is not short to relate that the characters he fashioned were speaking of the great artist’s strains in life as he fashioned his written pieces.

No lost trail of a master
Today, the literary mansion turned museum still speaks of the air the master breathed. There are huge mansions in the area that in his time stood noted. His house, though not comparable in structure to those more imposing ones is a Hemmingway Mansion. It stands on the second highest elevation in the area and notably more prominent in space as the houses built close to it.

It’s at ease
A visit to his home speaks of his love for tropical plants and foliage. Extraordinary that while the rest have front decks serving as balconies, his strangely is a wrap around balcony that permits for a stroll around the second deck of the house that overlooks the ocean. A trail of clean painted dwellings now blocks the ocean view that he must have enjoyed gazing.

The writing desk
Mounted back of his mansion is his creative den, the solo edifice that staircases to a second level. Dedicated solely to his sit downs in the early hours with his old-fashioned typewriter, it gives the writing tasks free from restraints. Surmise silence but the swinging of the trees and leaves, the birds chirping and yes, the wind whispers as the waves make whiplash at the ocean wall nearby.

Space speaks to the master
The artist’s enclave spells a simplicity that of an old-fashioned typewriter, lounging chair, aquarium pieces. No frills to display nor something sort of a priced possession. Instead, period furniture and porcelain accessories, travel photos and the people he brushed elbows and exchanged pleasantries with come on strongly as art exhibits.

Looking at the Hemingway Mansion makes one wonder. How has the muse of his literary pursuits drawn this creative space so beholden? The muse was indeed lucky. Papa’s zest for the best of life’s impressions keyed into an old fashioned typewriter wins. The key strikes rhythm to none. The current high-tech velocity endures.

The animated video was culled from a youtube post:

 

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