Hemingway’s relationship to Ezra Pound intrigues me deeply. You see, I can tell that Hemingway has a certain amount for Pound — for his writing, his efforts and his personality in general.
I get the sense that Pound is similar to Sylvia Beach in some way. They are both extremely kind, and do their best to help others — whether or not they are their peers. I also think that Hemingway loves people like this. He holds them in his heart. But I mean, who wouldn’t?
There’s something incredibly enchanting about a person who has a big heart and only wants to do good for others. I know that that’s one of my favorite character traits in my friends.
Not to say that Hemingway isn’t a nice guy, or that he’s a dick, but I get the sense that he isn’t as affable as his friends Pound and Beach. And I can see why that would make him appreciate the two even more. As humans, we tend to appreciate and love the aspects of other people that we don’t obtain. I wouldn’t suggest you quote me on that, but I can imagine the words to be somewhat true.
Calling Pound a saint, Hemingway is clearly expressing his true opinion of him. By definition, a saint is a very holy or virtuous person. However, I think when someone calls another person a saint they simply mean that the specified person is a good person — someone who has no bad intentions.
I can see that being very true, when I read about Pound’s “Bel Espirit”. A fellow writer to Hemingway and Pound was T.S. Eliot. In the chapter we read for this blog post in the “Additional Sketches” section of A Moveable Feast, I learned that Eliot was working as a banker in order to make sufficient funds to live. This work at the bank didn’t leave him much time to work on his writing. In order to help Eliot out, Pound got a group of writer friends together and started to save money up for Eliot so that he wouldn’t have to work at the bank anymore.
This act of solely wanting to help out a fellow writer and a friend, shows a lot about character. Even Hemingway admits that at times he didn’t necessarily want to put his money into this fund, but I have an idea that he was willing to just because Pound was the one who started it.
When Hemingway spoke about Ernest Walsh, a poet who Pound was friends with, it was just another instance in which it became clear to me how much Hemingway truly cared about Pound. You see, Walsh was a conman, and was insistent on conning writers into being a part of his new magazine by promising them an award. He promised both Hemingway and Joyce the same award, and they kept this a secret from Pound. From what I gather, their reasoning behind this secret was to protect Pound from thinking his friend Walsh wasn’t actually as great and kind as he thought.
I don’t know if I’m making up too much in my head regarding Hemingway’s relationship with Pound, but this just seems to make the most sense to me.
As I mentioned earlier, I think it’s common for people to love personality traits that we don’t actually have. It’s clear to me that Hemingway wasn’t as blatantly kind and giving as Pound was. Doesn’t make him any lesser or more than Pound, just different.
As A Moveable Feast comes to an end, I have a bittersweet feeling. This wasn’t the first time I read Hemingway’s memoir, however, it was the first time I read it so deeply and closely. I feel as though I was able to really get up in Hemingway’s head, into his thoughts. I feel like reading it now, 4 years later, 4 years older and 4 years wiser, I can actually compare and contrast my own thoughts/feelings with those of Hemingway.
I think that if I was around during the time of the Lost Generation in Paris, and I knew all of these writers and artists alike, I would be a Pound or Beach like person. I would be the one to want to help out as many people as possible. I also think I would have a certain disliking for Gertrude Stein — for different reasons, though. I got the sense that Stein and Hemingway’s friendship diminished because he couldn’t handle the fact that she was lesbian. The reason I wouldn’t continue a friendship with Stein is because she is too stuck up and gives herself too much credit. But hey, that’s just me.
Hemingway is truly an interesting guy, and I don’t think I or anyone else can really, fully understand him unless we actually knew him. I guess its just that reading his words, it almost feels like I do…
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