Generations the same; planets different

Everyday decisions often change our lives

"I think it is true that [Ernest] Hemingway's tales of hunting and fishing and war appeal mostly to men, and mostly to young men, at that, but some of his work carries with it timeless truths, and he will be read long after [we] have gone to the happy hunting grounds.

"His stories also carry very romantic and deeply emotional moments for the young ladies. His life was filled with worldwide travel, with art and with artists in all disciplines.

"We mostly read the poets who sing to us and the writers of novels whose stories we either have been a part of in our own lives or wish to become a part of before we die. My life as a young man was very similar to Hemingway's. The departure came in that he was wise and went to Paris after his war; I was stupid, and returned to Minnesota after mine. Cosmopolitan Ernie; provincial Fram."

This is absolute truth, not just for me, I think, but for most. I wrote those words in response to a comment about my piece on Ernest Hemingway a few days ago, trying to explain a bit further why his life and his work have appealed to me over the years.

As we pass through life, we make decisions which we believe are best not only for ourselves, but for those around us, family and friends. Too many considerations might affect the wisdom of our decisions. But, even without considering family and friends, we do not always make the soundest choices. Narrowing the process down to determining our decisions based solely on ourselves, only on our self-interests, does not guarantee the best choices.

Possibly, I am making a poor decision now in terms of myself, to leave my work and to "hit the road," and to do it without regard for friends or family. Poor decision or not, I think it is time to wave goodbye and to just start running without care or concern whether the end result ultimately is to my benefit or not.

I read the poets I prefer. There no longer are teachers to give me assignments. I read the novelists I enjoy. There no longer is the advice of others to consider unless I ask for it. No governments to serve; no work to "keep me occupied." No nationalism or political parties to recognize, much less to parrot. The time to gallop blindly into the future has arrived, for me, I actually believe.

Our individual lives are ours to do with what we choose. Too often, I have listened to government plutocrats or to employers or to family before making decisions. A man once described me as a politician, able to negotiate anything and with the ability to reach a compromise on anything. I was flattered at the time; I am ashamed of it now.

We are what we eat. We are what we drink. We are what we believe. We are what we smell, hear, see, read and dream. The people I feel most sorry for are those in their late teens or early 20s, for they are the ones who most likely swallow the bait -- hook, line and sinker -- no matter if the prophet is Marx or Lenin or Nietzsche or Russell or Hitler or Reagan or Obama. Those "leaders" are all alike in one sense: They are ardent zealots in a particular belief, and will promote it to their last breaths.

I think it is time for me to allow Semper Fidelis to fall by the wayside, and to permit Nature to envelop me. She (Nature) rules, at least in these times. I cannot describe how much I want out of this country, but there is no place left to actually be a free man. I am tired of listening to absolute idiocy in the form of platitudes presented by narcissistic hedonists whose primary talent is being good at giving a sermon. More rights and freedoms have been taken away from the American people in the last 90 days than in the 190 years preceding them.

How was that? Noisy or what?

There is a novel I have read a few times entitled, "Fathers and Sons," written by a noted Russian author named Ivan Turgenev. As an aside, I will mention the politically-correct crowd has made efforts to re-title this book, "Fathers and Children." It actually has been printed with that title. In my mind, this is censorship at its absolute worst. This is more corrupt than burning the book.

In any case, among my favorite lines from the novel are these:

"I finally told her that she was incapable of understanding me: 'We belong to different generations,' I had said."

I still love those lines, but the difference is not so much generational these days as it is planetary.

Music Note: Listening to Boston ....
Specifically, "Boston"
Some out of sequence lines from "More Than a Feeling:"

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away

So many people have come and gone
Their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on
As clear as the sun in the summer sky

When I'm tired and thinking cold
I hide in my music, forget the day
And dream of a girl I used to know
I closed my eyes and she slipped away
She slipped away. She slipped away.

Gunfire echoes & plans slowly evolve

Three semi-automatic pistols this time: A .22, a 9 mm and a .45

The sound of gunfire carries on the winds of May

We have done this before. I remember. It will, however, almost certainly be the last time for a while. My final day at work was Friday. Quitting a job without going to another immediately is sort of like setting out in a canoe for the first time on a particular river. A touch of excitement, a taste of nervousness and a trace of anticipation. "Here I Go Again," to quote Whitesnake.

Life goes on, and so does the gunfire. My fifth range trip in eight weeks took place on Saturday. With each excursion, I become more comfortable, more relaxed, more natural and less artificial in movement. It is just like James Dickey with his archery; the Zen of delivering the missile, whether arrow or bullet, from me to the precise point sought. Less aiming, more pointing; more speed, more fluidity; less thought, more like gentle breathing; more dream-like. You really should try it.

Saturday's selections begin on the top with a .22 caliber Ruger Mark II Government Target Model. As the name implies, and with its heavy "bull barrel," this pistol was primarily designed for target shooting at medium to long range. They also have been used for first-step military training for inexperienced handgunners because there virtually is no recoil. With its six and one-half inch barrel and reputation for accuracy, the military found other uses for it, as you might well imagine. Mine has the original grips replaced with rubber wrap-arounds from Pachmayr.

In the middle is another Browning Hi-Power. You already have seen one Hi-Power in this space before, however, the configuration is different on this one. It has what is called a "tangent sight," and is adjustable to 500 meters down range. So much for the range limitations of handguns, hah? Pistols with sights such as these generally were issued to artillery units who were behind the front lines and might engage in long-range, defensive firing. They were popular in Canada and European countries, and often came with a wooden holster that could be attached to the pistol as a shoulder stock, turning it into a "mini-rifle" for more accurate shooting. It is in 9 mm caliber, and was made in Belgium.

Last, but not least, is a Tanfoglio, made in Gardone Val Trompia (Brescia), Italy. This version was distributed as a Springfield Armory pistol in the United States. It is in .45 caliber, and a double-action, semi-automatic handgun. Most of these now are made for competitive shooting and personal defense, but mine is set up in more of a military configuration. I bought this a number of years ago, and will sell it at some point because it is a bit too large for my hand. Otherwise, it is a neat pistol.

Saturday dawned sunny for me, but with the temperature at 34 degrees Fahrenheit and a stiff breeze blowing. At first, I wished there was no wind, but the goal of shooting is to do well at it no matter what the external conditions. Within moments, I was appreciating the wind, and wishing to also shoot again in the rain, or as dusk draws down. Those times will come again for me, too, I am certain.

When all is said and done .... who knows?

I was asked last week how my summer plans are progressing. I am sorry to admit I am being a bit indecisive on this situation. But, to toss out what I do know: Either Thursday or Friday, I will be leaving home to attend a graduation ceremony in another state, and not returning until the following Monday (or, possibly, Tuesday).

Then, there will be a few days of being a bum and trying to get my house and property in order. Then, from June 8 or 9 until July 2, I will be handling business for a friend to allow his family crew an extended vacation. I agreed to do this way back around Christmas. This will be the important time for me to finalize my own plans.

Greece definitely remains in the cards, sometime after, say, about July 4. Two to three weeks there, then, who knows? Maybe longer roaming in Europe a bit; maybe not.

The odds probably are one in a million that I will stay with my original plan, which was to look around southern France for a place to settle in for a year or so. My half-plan there was modified some weeks ago, and mentioned here at least once before. Upon return from "vacation" to the U.S., I now want to do something of a driving tour, seeing the sights and looking for a place to hang my hat; searching for a potential, new Sanctuary/Refuge. I have been looking at maps and geographic descriptions for a few minutes nearly every day recently. It is on my mind more than anything right now.

If everything falls into place, I will be relocated before the snow flies again, ideally, but not necessarily, to a place where the snow does not fly (at least, not often). If everything does not drop into place, I will turn my house into a home for wayward young ladies who play the guitar and love rock and roll. I probably could tough it out for another Minnesota winter under those circumstances .... whatever ....

William Shakespeare
Sonnet 55

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

Even Hemingway tried a bit of poetry

Ernest Hemingway was a young man when he posed in his World War I uniform, and old before his years when he sat for the photograph shown at the right. He walked among us from 1899 until 1961.

Bitterness & vitriol were Hemingway's specialties

Just to be mean to you, I am going to toss some "macho" poetry at you.

Ernest Hemingway came into the world a generation before James Dickey, and never-ever was noted for his poetry. I assume anyone who reads this does know Hemingway primarily was a novelist and short story writer, who won both a Pulitzer Prize and the Nobel Prize for Literature. In case everyone does not, it now has been mentioned.

Hemingway did have some poetry published in magazines. Most of it bitter, angry, even venomous diatribes, aimed at professional critics, governments, religions and a woman here and there. He is lucky his speciality was fiction. Some attention was turned to his World War II love poems to Mary Welsh, the woman who became his fourth wife, but again, he really has no credentials as a poet.

Just to give you a taste of "Old Ernie's" stuff, here are a couple he wrote in the 1920s – 1930s. These, I consider some of his better ones, his shorter ones and definitely some of his more mellow ones.

The Ernest Liberal's Lament

I know monks masturbate at night
That pet cats screw
That some girls bite
And yet
What can I do
To set things right?

Ultimately

He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouth at first,
He drooled and slobbered in the end;
Truth dibbling his chin.

Chapter Heading

For we have thought the larger thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devil's tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.

Along With Youth

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 tribute 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.

Deliverance = truth, lies and artistry

Here are three views of James Dickey, novelist, poet, teacher and the author of "Deliverance." The photograph on the left shows him as he appeared playing the role of Sheriff Bullard in the film version of his book.

Existence in the form of story-teller & chameleon

Part III – The Author Of The Story

For the sake of admitting author admiration, I heard James Dickey lecture and respond to questions once upon a time at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. It was during his tenure down the road as a professor of English at the University of South Carolina. (Yes, I do get around at times, in case you still have not figured that out.) I have been a fan of his work since first reading him as a college student.

While these posts have been intended to offer some of my thoughts about the novel "Deliverance" and the motion picture based upon the book, and not about Dickey per se, I never-the-less decided it is impossible to discuss them without also including more than the name, rank and serial number of the author, as well as some comments about how he is viewed in the literary world.

Dickey, whose time with us began in 1923 and lasted until 1997, was born in Atlanta, Georgia, and spent his early years there. He played college football, was a combat pilot with 100 missions during World War II and the Korean War, was a very successful advertising executive for the Coca-Cola Company, was a tournament archer and expert bow hunter, was a National Book Award-winning poet, was a poet laureate consultant for the Library of Congress, was a college professor and poet-in-residence for nearly 30 years at the University of South Carolina, and he was the author of poetry books, literary criticism, novels and children's books.

Although I believe Dickey would have called himself first a poet, above all, to me, he was the author of "Deliverance."

Screw his critics, and there are many, more about his lifestyle and his personality than about his literary accomplishments. Not one of us is "perfect." Have Dickey's detractors place their own credentials alongside his, and we shall see who wins.

Yes, yes, yes. Drifting off course there. Back on it again.

Students of literature and ordinary readers alike learned of Dickey's awful and even unlawful behavior during the 1950s and 1960s, just as they learned of Norman Mailer's activities and the stunts of other "big-name" writers. Dickey called things such as alcoholism, mania, suicide and depression the "occupational hazards" of being a writer of poetry. He cited Hart Crane, Dylan Thomas, John Berryman, Sylvia Plath, Theodore Roethke, Robert Lowell, Anne Sexton and others as examples of what he meant.

He insisted the writer of one authorized biography title the book, "James Dickey – The World as a Lie." The German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer, professed that the world of time and space is "a vast dream, dreamed by a single being, in such a way that all the dream characters dream too." Following this pathway, Dickey believed that the world could be viewed as a dream or lie or invention -- something created mysteriously and majestically out of the void by a "First Maker" -- in which all the characters dreamed or lied, too.

From living his life in such a manner, Dickey endorsed the notion that a writer must unleash the imagination without concern for conventional truths or morals. Society endorses and depends on role playing and lying, and that is the way Dickey lived his life. He said his life was more complicated than that of Lawrence of Arabia because he wore more masks and played more roles than had Lawrence, and he agreed that he was "the sum of all the roles he played." Dickey thought himself to be the chameleon poet/writer/teacher.

This is demonstrated in his "tall tale" about the basis of the "Deliverance" story stemming from a true-life experience of his own. In Monday's post, I noted how, after getting each of the major actors and the director of the film alone and pledging each to secrecy, Dickey told them this "lie." The facts about this incident only began to surface about five years after the movie had been made when John Voight (Ed Gentry) and Burt Reynolds (Lewis Medlock) happened to sit down together for a casual conversation which included talk about "Deliverance."

Another area of controversy surrounding Dickey was the overt (and sometimes "unusual") sexuality often expressed in his writing. I pointed out the epilogue originally part of "Deliverance" in Monday's post. There was another "confusing" sexual element, as well, which the publishers insisted on omitting from the novel. It took place during Ed's ascent of the sheer, rock cliff.

Sexual overtones are present throughout Dickey's poetry. In the poem that thrills me and chills me, for example, "Falling," the stewardess who has fallen from an airplane and is plunging to her death strips her clothing as she descends. Dickey expressed sexual imagery of the stewardess preparing for a marriage with the soil rather than with a man. He relied on his sexual and mythical fantasies for the poem's material. He described it as a "last superhuman act" that arouses the reproductive energies of the boys, girls and fields of Kansas. Read the poem before you judge it.

A couple of other thoughts along these lines before we drift away from Dickey. His son, Christopher, said this in relation to his father's "tall tales:"

"But, you know, I've come to think that my father's biggest lie was about his lying. My perspective was as an uncertain child growing up in a world of small fantasies and great ambitions. (Critics) seemed to miss the point with many of the tall tales, holding Jim Dickey to a standard of probity that was not applied to his other sources, many of whom told plenty of tales of their own .... As for "Deliverance," (the) two rednecks are villains and a deputy sheriff (related to one of them) is pretty vile, but the other people encountered in the mountains are just naturally suspicious of outsiders and many of them are generous and helpful. Sheriff Bullard was in many respects one of my father's heroes, which is one reason he played him in the movie."

Of Dickey's life after "Deliverance," one biographer concluded: "The novel made him rich; but wealth, fame, and alcoholism slowly eroded the talent that made his previous books so potent."

Upon Dickey's death, another novelist of his generation, Pat Conroy, said this:

"He (Dickey) tried to live a hundred lives and succeeded in living about ninety-five of them. No American life has been so restless in its pursuit of expertise in to many fields. He inspired the Jeffersonian Renaissance man and the Rabelaisian hell-raiser alike."

And, as I said earlier, let his critics place the breath of their literary accomplishments on the table next to Dickey's, and we shall see who has the last word.

This has been a sense of the author. This has been a taste of the novel. This has been a glimpse of the movie. Read it. Watch it. No trickery here. You have a finger-hold on the story now, pretty much, which will not ruin either the book or the movie if you are looking for artistry rather than commercialism. If you require used-car-salesman-like gimmicks to be lured into a book or a movie, look elsewhere. No fluff or gimmicks permitted on these grounds.

If a person allows himself to become immersed within "Deliverance" rather than simply reading it, I believe he will find himself in the midst of one of the most frightening stories ever written. It makes Stephen King books look like the simplistic Halloween spook tales they are. "Deliverance" delivers. Dickey has a handle on actual evil in human form. The only other novel I have read that approaches "Deliverance" in that magnitude is Norman Mailer's "An American Dream."

To anyone who actually has read these pieces about "Deliverance," a special thank you. You have earned the touch of my luck.

Deliverance = the personal cost for survival

The mountain man with a rifle and Ed (Jon Voight), with his bow and arrow, face off in the ultimate contest of who lives and who dies, as shown in this photograph from the film, "Deliverance." Purely by coincidence, I assure you, I have acquired a bow such as the one Ed is using and a rifle identical to the one the mountain man is using. James Dickey, author of the story, it is said, obsessively contemplated stars and cosmic origins. I wonder what he would have made of that?

A genuine protagonist or a freak of nature?
Part II – The Story Behind The Story

Until the publication of "Deliverance" and the subsequent film, James Dickey primarily had been recognized as an advertising executive "gone bad." This is to say, Dickey left a high income, respectable career, went back to school for a master's degree (the draft of "Deliverance" had been his thesis), and became a successful teacher and poet. His poetic masterpiece (to me), is the god-awful and poetic-wonderful poem, "Falling," which presents the thoughts of an airline stewardess as she plunges earth-bound after falling from an airplane. Others from among his poems, such as "Buckdancer's Choice," are considered to be better work by the critics, but little do I care. "Falling" is the one that forever resides in my mind.

As one who appreciates those all too seldom lasting movies, my admiration goes toward the acting in this film, particularly the work of Burt Reynolds (Lewis Medlock). His performance demonstrates one of my axioms of life: Put an average actor in with a good script, other good actors and a good director, and he will excel beyond his natural ability. Now, apply this theory to the living of life: Put an average man in with a good script (good and decent parents), other talented actors (good teachers and benefactors at a job) and a fine director (a giving and truly loving mate), and he will excel beyond his natural ability.

Here are a few footnotes regarding the book and the movie:

-- Dickey went to some lengths to ensure accuracy about details in the book. He consulted an expert mountain climber, for example, to make certain the times and the distances he used when Jon Voight (Ed Gentry) scaled the sheer cliff in his story matched with actuality.

-- There are many nuances in this movie that probably only a person who has spent a great deal of time in a canoe would recognize. The same is true regarding hunting, particularly those who hunt with bow and arrow. Dickey was a man who had done both extensively.

-- "Deliverance" was Ned Beatty's (Bobby Trippe) first movie, and it apparently haunts him still. According to what Reynolds said in an interview, the sodomy scene was shot with five cameras in one take, and it was doubtful if Beatty would have done a second take. Much of the dialogue in that scene was ad-libbed.

-- The actors worked without insurance because no company would insure them due to the kinds of risks they were taking.

-- Voight actually did climb the cliff, in sections, not all at once, and it measured 175 feet.

-- Ronny Cox (Drew Ballinger) actually could pull his shoulder out of joint at will, and did so for the gruesome appearance when the body of Drew is found wedged between the rocks in the river.

-- This is one of those rare cases when the movie closely follows the book. Perhaps a decent director, John Boorman, and having the story's author, Dickey, on the set made the difference here. But, wait:

-- Sam Peckinpah, director of "The Wild Bunch" and other violent, action movies, was originally selected to be the director, however, arguments between Peckinpah and executives from Warner Brothers, producers of the movie, ended that plan. Can you imagine what "Deliverance" might have been like with Peckinpah at the helm?

-- Dickey was drunk when his scenes as sheriff were shot. Looks it, too, I think.

-- Dickey had considerable arguments with Boorman and Voight during the making of the film, and was kicked off the set for a while. Their disputes were over changes the director and the actor wanted to make in the script. Dickley was the official script writer, as well as the author of the story. However, Dickey was very pleased with the final version.

-- Doing so individually and swearing each to secrecy, Dickey told all the major actors in the film, as well as Boorman, that the story was based on actual events involving himself. There is nothing to indicate this was the truth.

Returning to Dickey and his story line, I would challenge anyone to produce a novel better suited to demonstrate that an average man can rise above himself. Lewis could have led the modernists to survival because he lived in both the past and the present, and was prepared for such an event, but his horrendous injury from the canoe spill put him out of game. That left unprepared, city-boy Ed to lead the group in the struggle for survival. He did it, by climbing a sheer, rock, 175-foot cliff and, with bow and arrow, killing the antagonist who may or may not have been trying to kill them.

Ed found the inner strength to go beyond any physical or mental feat previous in his life. Still, Ed might not have been able to achieve the task had it not been for Lewis, who with breaths whispered through excoriating pain, told Ed he must enter into the world of the primitive and become a ruthless hunter. It was the only chance to achieve the survival of the present.

Through this, there is the lingering, albeit remote, possibility the man Ed kills is someone other than the second mountain man and, even if it were he, doubt that he actually had shot Drew.

While the ending to the book is very satisfying to the reader as it stands, the original ending might not have been. It would have changed the entire tone of the novel. Dickey's first version included an epilogue in which the "hero," Ed, is revealed to be a sadomasochist who whipped his wife. His publishers said no.

Said Dickey: "I wanted to implant in the reader's mind a couple of things. First, that the narrator without his knowing it, has been a monster all his life, a born killer as well as an 'ordinary suburbanite,' and this one chance episode which gave him a chance to energize this hidden part of his personality has, in a sense, freed him of it. His monstrousness may now take other forms; ones that are imaginary and harmless. That's why I've added the final sexual scene with his wife."

In the end, Dickey conceded to his publishers that the scene was unnecessary and it was omitted. Frankly, I think its inclusion would have ruined the book. It would have changed the character of Ed from being a genuine protagonist into being just another freak of nature. No mythology, no lesson, no good vs. evil. Moving sideways, both some of Dickey's poetry and "Deliverance" were subjects of censorship efforts along the way, and such an epilogue added to the novel would have lessened the quality of the story and only served to fuel the flames of censorship.

This has become so lengthy that I am certain it will scare potential readers away just in that sense. Which means, as you might suspect, I am going to break this post into still another section, which means three rather than two. The third part, centering on the author, James Dickey, will arrive here sometime on Wednesday -- I hope.

At the close of the motion picture, Ed (Jon Voight) awakes from a nightmare about a body rising from the lake which has been born from the dammed river (maybe damned river, as well). This ending is very different from the close of the novel, in which the surviving characters have gained a certain wisdom and knowledge from their struggle for survival on the river, and have grown to live with the deaths which occurred there.