Ernest Hemingway

Riparto D’Assalto

Drummed their boots on the camion floor,Hob-nailed boots on the camion floor.Sergeants stiff,Corporals sore.Lieutenant thought of a Mestre whore –Warm and soft and sleepy whore,Cozy, warm and lovely whore;Damned cold, bitter, rotten ride,Winding road up the Grappa side.Arditi on benches stiff and cold,Pride of their country stiff and cold,Bristly faces, dirty hides –Infantry marches, Arditi…

A porcupine skin,

It must have ended somewhere.Stuffed horned owlPompousYellow eyed;Chuck-wills-widow on a biased twigSooted with dust.Piles of old magazines,Drawers of boy’s lettersAnd the line of loveThey must have ended somewhere.Yesterday’s Tribune is goneAlong with youthAnd the canoe that went to pieces on the beachThe year of the big stormWhen the hotel burned downAt Seney, Michigan.

By A Foreigner

They are so unlike Americans.They go home at night.Their cigarettes don’t smell bad.Their hats fit.They really believe that they won the war.They don’t believe in Literature.They think Art has been exaggerated.But they are wonderful on ice skates.A few of them are very rich.But when they are rich they buy more horsesThan motor cars.Chicago calls Toronto…

Never trust a white man,

Never sign a contract,Never rent a pew.Don’t enlist in armies;Nor marry many wives;Never write for magazines;Never scratch your hives.Always put paper on the seat,Don’t believe in wars,Keep yourself both clean and neat,Never marry whores.Never pay a blackmailer,Never go to law,Never trust a publisher,Or you’ll sleep on straw.All your friends will leave youAll your friends will…