A porcupine skin,
Stiff with bad tanning,
It must have ended somewhere.
Stuffed horned owl
Pompous
Yellow eyed;
Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twig
Sooted with dust.
Piles of old magazines,
Drawers of boy's letters
And the line of love
They must have ended somewhere.
Yesterday's Tribune is gone
Along with youth
And the canoe that went to pieces on the beach
The year of the big storm
When the hotel burned down
At Seney, Michigan.
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Comments
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It seems to me as if Hemmingway is taking inventory of the things that he has lost as he has grown older; both tangible items and intangible memories.
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It's interesting how he's playing with images. I like the lines "Yesterday's Tribune is gone/ Along with youth especially.
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Excellent. Hemingway is as unsentimental with his poetry as with his prose.
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excelent
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