February 09, 2008

James Joyce - ZSWOUND



James Joyce reading Finnegans Wake

"Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told youevery telling has a
taling and that's the he and the she of it. Look,look, the dusk is growing! My
branches lofty are taking root.And my cold cher's gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou!
What age is at?It saon is late. 'Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw Waterhouse's clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh.When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach!I'd want to go to Aches-les-Pains.
Pingpong! There's the Bellefor Sexaloitez! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring outthe clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! Andgrant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay,we will. Flip ! Spread on your bank and I'll spread mine on mine.Flep! It's what I'm doing. Spread ! It's churning chill. Der went isrising. I'll lay a few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his brideembraced between them. Else I'd have sprinkled and folded themonly. And I'll tie my butcher's apron here. It's suety yet. Thestrollers will pass it by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to hold tothe fire and this for the code, the convent napkins, twelve, onebaby's shawl. Good mother Jossiph knows, she said. Whosehead? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer, say? In kingdome gone or power to come or gloria be to themfarther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, moreagain lost alla stranger. I've heard tell that same brooch of theShannons was married into a family in Spain. And all the Dun-ders de Dunnes in Markland's Vineland beyond Brendan's herringpool takes number nine in yangsee's hats. And one of Biddy'sbeads went bobbing till she rounded up lost histereve with amarigold and a cobbler's candle in a side strain of a main drainof a manzinahurries off Bachelor's Walk. But all that's left to thelast of the Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and betweenis one kneebuckle and two hooks in the front. Do you tell me.that now? I do in troth. Orara por Orbe and poor Las Animas!Ussa, Ulla, we're umbas all! Mezha, didn't you hear it a deluge oftimes, ufer and ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you deed! Ineed, I need! It's that irrawaddyng I've stoke in my aars. It allbut husheth the lethest zswound. Oronoko ! What's your trouble?Is that the great Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statueriding the high horse there forehengist? Father of Otters, it ishimself! Yonne there! Isset that? On Fallareen Common? You'rethinking of Astley's Amphitheayter where the bobby restrainedyou making sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of thePeppers. Throw the cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spreadyour washing proper! It's well I know your sort of slop. Flap!Ireland sober is Ireland stiff Lord help you, Maria, full of grease,the load is with me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut!Were you lifting your elbow, tell us, glazy cheeks, in Conway'sCarrigacurra canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips? Flop! Yourrere gait's creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn't Iup since the damp dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corri-gan's pulse and varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, AliceJane in decline and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soakingand bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me,for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman with thelavandier flannels? You won your limpopo limp fron the huskyhussars when Collars and Cuffs was heir to the town and yourslur gave the stink to Carlow. Holy Scamander, I sar it again!Near the golden falls. Icis on us! Seints of light! Zezere! Subdueyour noise, you hamble creature! What is it but a blackburrygrowth or the dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are you meanam Tarpey and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now,thank all, the four of them, and the roar of them, that dravesthat stray in the mist and old Johnny MacDougal along withthem. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboatcoasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge ormy Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying ofthe lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder inyour eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'llseek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the bluemilk's upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you,pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save tojurna's end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the sha-dows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy-valley way. Towy I too, rathmine...."

James Joyce, Finnegans Wake

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