Assigned reading (1 2/2 paragraphs [] plus 140 notes) [secondary] [McH]
Joyce is Wake-ifying here a passage in French by Edgar Quinet that he thought the most perfect prose ever, and that he'll later (p281) quote almost exactly in the original French: "Today as in the time of Pliny and Columella the hyacinth disports in Wales, the periwinkle in Illyria, the daisy on the ruins in Numantia and while around them the cities have changed masters and names, while some have ceased to exist, while the civilizations have collided with each other and smashed, their peaceful generations have passed through the ages and have come up to us, fresh and laughing as on the days of battles."
Dublin suburbs: Ballymun (north), Goatstown (south), Rush (northeast), Knockmaroon (west)
[The child is father of the man]
[Min elskede - elsker du mig? (My love, do you love me?)]
"Do you love me, my dear girl?"
"Where is your present, you silly fool?"
If the response is right, it shows a very unromantic French-speaking Issy dressing down a romantic Dane (Tristan?).
An important recurring theme is the encounter of opposites, here a modern man and a caveman called 'Constable Sackerson' who seems to be drunk.
FDV: "the dogrose has chosen out Goatstown crossroads, the place for twilights and the whitethorn and redthorn have fairygayed the valleys of Knockmaroon and though, for rings round them during a hundred thousand yeargangs, the Formoreans have brittled the Tooath of the Danes and the Oxmen have been pestered by the Firebugs & the Joynts have given up wallmaking & Little on the Green is childsfather of the city, their paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and here now whiff to us fresh & laid-of-all-smiles as on the day of combat. The babbling of tongues have been & have gone, thigging thugs were and houhynam songtoms were & gumly norgers were & pollyfool francees; men have thawed, clerks have surssurummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Else kiss thou may?: and the duncle have countered to the hellish fellows: Who ails tongue coddo: & they fell upon one another & themselves they fell: yet still all Floras of the field to their fauns say only: Cull me I am wilt to thee, and: Pluck me ere I blush. Well, may they wilt, marry! and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howths, wherever you have a whale in a whillbarrow (isn't it the truath I'm tallen ye?) you'll have fins & flippers to shimmy & shake. Excuse us, Lictor. Can you direct one to the [...] Scuse me, guy."
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the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown's hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygayed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon: and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year!
ReplyDeleteYear!
And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as on the eve of Killallwho.
The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!); they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees.
Men have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean kerry piggy?
And the duncledames have countered with the hellish fellows: Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly?
And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen.
And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!
And, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush!
Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth!
For that saying is as old as the howitts.
Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn't it the truath I'm tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake.
Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam.
Fleppety!
Flippety!
Fleapow!
Hop!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he?
Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot.
He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that's pectoral, his mammamuscles!
Most mousterious!
It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing's brain pan.
Meseemeth a dragonsman.
He is almonthst on the kief fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose.
Issy dresses down Tristan in the very first draft, too: http://medium.com/p/b41bcbb83fc2
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