Photo Gallery: Oak Park, Illinois Hemingway’s Hometown by Dale Williams Barrigar

                                                                       

Ernest Hemingway’s spirit casts a shadow over Oak Park, Illinois, USA. Along with Frank Lloyd Wright, Hemingway is the town’s most famous citizen. Even those who’ve never read a line of Hemingway’s work, which includes the vast majority of the citizenry (I would guess), are aware of who Hemingway was, what he is famous for, how he lived his life, and how he was from Oak Park. Frank Lloyd Wright is America’s greatest architect, bar none, an architect so great that he fascinates people who don’t care about other architects, like yours truly. Hemingway is an author who can be set on the shelf beside Mark Twain and Edgar Allan Poe. Indeed, if one had to pick the top three most famous American writers of all time worldwide, Hemingway is in the running for third place along with Emily Dickinson, Henry David Thoreau, Herman Melville, and perhaps a few other candidates. And he is famous for all the right reasons (for the most part). Hemingway never returned to Oak Park after his father committed suicide there with a pistol. His spirit, and his shadow, never left it. The village, the fire escape, the train tracks, and the alleyway are all elements which feed into his fiction, which is why they are captured here in a Walker Evans-style of spontaneous photography. 

The Shadow
The Village
Fire Escape
Train Tracks

Class Reunion by Christopher J Ananias

(Ed note: Happy New Year to All! And although we have been up every day for several months, it is still a joy to announce our grand opening. Today we start the year with a wonder bit of work by Christopher J Ananias, who is also responsible for the header image–Leila)

from the bug eyes of isolation

put the trailer court into a paper sack

and drink it

thirty years of days, gone

classmates, like pickets

they want, (they say), to see me at the class reunion

an October affair

when the pink glories despair

I can’t recall their faces

no one to dismiss

surely they had the makings of which

hair lips teeth—smiles and such

no successful accolades

What can I give?

they don’t want to catch my limp

one more look over the yearbook

oh, heart jumping!

there’s Lori’s brown braids

and Ken’s grin

he passed the pot pipe—and more

frozen people on wooden bleachers

others marching with golden horns and blue pennants!

cheerleaders throwing stars!

teachers standing around

oh sadness!

what do they want with me?

I cannot face those faces

I’m on a suspended license

riding up in my junker with dog hairs

gray goatee and brown eyes, dodging

with a shuffling hunching

mortal coil nearly shucking

all these days of years, drinking

leaking me on the barroom’s floor

a living hole

should take a big step through yon skyward’s door

no kids’ picture to present

not even a surly seed

or his mother’s needs

just me

drinking foghorns of time

sleeping on cement slabs

bars and paper crosses

glued with mint toothpaste

Who could believe?

we were ever seventeen

bursting threads and heart seams

marching with golden horns and blue pennants!

one more look over the yearbook