Saturday, October 4, 2008
What's been on my mind today.
HCE, ALP, Issy, Jem and Shaun. Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker, Anna Livia Plurabelle. The knowledge I have acquired about the wake...amounts to almost nothing. Yet its something.
Now that old bastard genius nabokov referred to it as punnigan's wake. And hated it, and probably hated it until he died...why was he such a narrow-minded scurrilous piece of shit? How could someone who wrote so well be so hateful? Fucking formalist piece of shit.
Ulysses, some say, is the greatest book ever. Having read it I'll say that its one of the only books I've read but didn't understand.
Some man that wayfaring was stood by housedoor at
night’s oncoming. Of Israel’s folk was that man that on
earth wandering far had fared. Stark ruth of man his errand
that him lone led till that house.
Of that house A. Horne is lord. Seventy beds keeps he
there teeming mothers are wont that they lie for to thole
and bring forth bairns hale so God’s angel to Mary quoth.
Watchers tway there walk, white sisters in ward sleepless.
Smarts they still, sickness soothing: in twelve moons thrice
an hundred. Truest bedthanes they twain are, for Horne
holding wariest ward.
In ward wary the watcher hearing come that man
mildhearted eft rising with swire ywimpled to him her
gate wide undid. Lo, levin leaping lightens in eyeblink
Ireland’s westward welkin. Full she drad that God the
Wreaker all mankind would fordo with water for his evil
sins. Christ’s rood made she on breastbone and him drew
that he would rathe infare under her thatch. That man her
will wotting worthful went in Horne’s house.
Loth to irk in Horne’s hall hat holding the seeker
stood. On her stow he ere was living with dear wife and
lovesome daughter that then over land and seafloor nine
years had long outwandered. Once her in townhithe
meeting he to her bow had not doffed. Her to forgive
now he craved with good ground of her allowed that that
of him swiftseen face, hers, so young then had looked.
Light swift her eyes kindled, bloom of blushes his word
As her eyes then ongot his weeds swart therefor sorrow
she feared. Glad after she was that ere adread was.