Poetry in Motion: Ernest Hemingway, Drunk Sportsman (On Bullfighting, Motor Racing, and Mountain Climbing)

As literary blog subjects go, Hemingway is a loaded one. He’s fish in a barrel. Hell, he’s frozen fish sticks that someone’s already browned golden in a toaster oven on Christmas morn, then re-placed in the barrel like some woefully inept Santa. Hemingway has always existed: when you depict him, you might as well be describing the concept of “uncles”, or “varnish”, or “premature ejaculation.” He is ageless and forever. Among his many virtues, Hemingway is oft-remembered as a sports […]

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