Saturday, October 4, 2014

Page 386

Assigned reading (1+ pars [] plus 102 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the story of Mamalujo begins — watching the love scene of Tristan and Isolde; the story associated with Johnny MacDougall — rambling reminiscences'








fdv: ""

2dv: ""

4dv: "lovely tint embellished by the best charms of nature, with its wellmannered wavelets (the dirty horrid rude ones from the Belfast and Lagan Lough neighbourhood being very properly locked up in cubbyhole)... looked really awfully pretty... the weather conditions could not possibly have been improved upon. Praises be to fair sea." "as tired as they were, the three jolly topers, with their mouths watering along with the other fellow so pass the poghue for Christ' sake Amen. Listening and poghuing and watering all the four, the old connubial men of the sea, Luke and Johnny Mac Dougall and all wishening for anything at all of the bygone times for a cup of kindness yet, for four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears for the millennium and all their mouths making water. Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat just now like the old marquess of Powerscourt, the determined old despot, only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges. Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the emancipated statues and powerscourts, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green going to the horse show before the flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses and priest="

mysteries:


[04:56-06:42]

Friday, October 3, 2014

Page 385

Assigned reading (1 par [] plus 90 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the story of Mamalujo begins — watching the love scene of Tristan and Isolde'








fdv: ""

2dv: ""

4dv: "She, after a cough, murmurously then gave her firm order for tootsweet if he wouldn't please mind some though not too much of the six best national poetry quotations reflecting on the situation so long as it was a stroke or two above it's a fine night and yon moon shines bright and all to that, the plain fact of the matter being that being a natural born lover of nature in all her moods and senses, by the light of the moon, of the silvery moon she longed to spoon before her honeyoldmoon at the same time drinking in long draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the great outdoors. That mouth of mandibles vowed to pure beauty promptly elocutionised to her a favourite lyrical bloom bellclear in iambic decasyllabic hexameter: —Rollon thoudeep andamp anddark blueo ceanroll! Lady, it was just too gorgeous for words, the whole sensation. The sea, of a" "cuddling and kiddling her from under her mistlethrush and kissing and listening in the good old bygone days of Dion Boucicault the elder in Arrah-na-pogue in one of the farback, pitchblack centuries when who made the world when they knew O'Clery, the man on the door, when they were all four collegians on the nod, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and peeping tom boys, with their slates and satchels playing Florian's fables in the queen's Ultonian colleges with another fellow. Ah ho! It brought the dear prehistoric scenes all back again as fresh as of yore, Matt and Marcus, and after that now there he was and his Arrah-na-poghue before the four of them so shocking and scandalous and now thank God there were no more of them and he poghuing and poghuing and there they were listening,"

mysteries:


[03:10-04:57]

Thursday, October 2, 2014

[How the Four grew]

[here's a chronological series of mentions of the Four, looking for patterns in how they were described... and slowly differentiated]

The Four Waves of Ireland

the universities of killorcure, kill-them-all, killeachother, killkelly-on-the-Flure

the four modes of history, past, present, absent and future

inefficiency in backscratching,
too for having broken wind from behind without having first made a request in writing on stamped foolscap paper,
three for having attempted hunish familiarities after a meal decomposed crab,
four on account of the general appearance of his face

the Four Waves of Erin

the universities of Killorcure, Kill-them-all, Killeachother, Killkelly-on-the-Flure

one for inefficiency in backscratching, two for having broken rerewind without having first made a request in writing on stamped foolscap paper, three for having attempted hunnish familiarities after a meal of decomposed crab, four on account of his general cast of countenance

the elderly Waves of Erin,

the big four

old Tom Gregory... old Phelim O' Hogan... old Jeremy... old Jeff O'Gorman

Matt and Marcus... Luke and Johnny MacDougall

poor Matt Gregory... and Gregory and the others

four dear old heladies

poor Marcus Lyons and poor Johnny

four saltwater widowers

the four trinity colleges Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Kilkelly-on-the-Flure

the four great history colleges

Roman history past and present and present and absent and past and present and future

Poor Tom Tarpey and the four shehusbands the four waves

Poor Johnny MacDougall and the four masters because she was backscratching all divorced by their four master and poor Marcus Powerscourt by decree absolute because he broke wind in the pew and because he forgot to make a request in writing on stamped paper before saying his grace before fish and then there was poor Dion Boucicault all divorced too poor Dion because he attempted to well he ah well now sure we won't be too hard on him attempted some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea ah dearo dearo dear and where do you leave Matt poor Matt in his grey frock hat all divorced by woman squelch and all on account the appearance of his face poor Matt Gregory.

Poor Martin Cunningham!

four beautiful sisters
the beautiful four sisters

poor Gregory and Johnny
planxty Gregory
old Luke

    Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
    Nine hundred and ninetynine pound sterling in the black bowels of the bank of Ulster.
    Braw pennies and good gold pounds, by God, my girleen, 'll prank thee finely
    And no damn lout 'll come courting thee or, by the Holy Ghost, there'll be murder!

    O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride from Sybil a - riding
    In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her!
    Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
    Yerra, why would she ride with Sir Sloomysides or the gogram grey barnacle gander?

    You'll not be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank is the worst for his steel and his soldiering
    Nor wake in winter, widow machree, for you'll have my old Balbriggan surtout.
    Wisha, won't you agree now to take me for nothing at all as your own nursetender?
    A power of fine fellows died game right enough. But who lives for you?

    I had that one long before anyone in this place.
    It was of a good Friday too and as I'm given now to understand, she was clean mad gone on me.
    Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an eiderdown picnic to follow
    'By the cross of Christ, Mac Dougall' says she after 'but you're the most likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore'.

the big four the four master waves of Erin
old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons
old Matt Gregory and old Marcus Lyons and old Luke Tarpey
old Johnny MacDougall
Matt and Marcus
Luke and Johnny MacDougall
four big tumblers of woman squash

poor Matt Gregory up and Gregory and up the others
four dear old heladies
poor Marcus Lyons and poor Johnny
four saltwater widowers
the four trinity colleges Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Kilkelly-on-the-Flure

all history past and present and present and absent and past and present and future
Cornelius Nepo. Nepos. Mnepos. Anumque. umque. Queh?
the four of us and [Mallaly] Lally
Tim Tom Tarpey & Lapoule and the four widowers the four waves
their dear poor shehusbands
Poor Johnny MacDougall & the four masters because he was so slow at backscratching all divorced by their dear faithful and poor Marcus Powerscourt persecuted by everybody he was by decree absolute because he made wind & water and because he forgot to remembore to sign an old paper and hereby make a request to herself in writing on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then there was poor Dion Boucicault all drowned too poor Dion before the world & her husband because he attempted to well he was a bit bad in his heath he said with shingles falling on them he ah well now sure we won't be too hard on him as a presbyterian & he well he went to confession to Mother Evangelist Sweeney well he ah now there were faults on both sides well he attempted some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea and sure he was deadseasickabed in the hospice for the dying he ah the poor fellow & trying to [...] the nurse's hand & dying ah dearo dearo dear and where do you leave Matt they were all so sorry for poor Matt in his saltwater hat too big for [him] it and his overalls all falling over him in folds sure enough he hadn't the energy to pull them old the matriarch that queenly man sitting there with his head to the west in sight of the poorhouse with his can of tea & two bits of [bacon] brown loaf & dilisk waiting for the end to come God of Heaven when you think of it all divorced by woman squelch and all on account of the dull brown loaf of his mouth watering by act of parliament. So now pass the face for Christ' sake. Amen. and so. And all. Ah God be good to us. Poor Martin Cunningham. Ay. Ay.

up one & up two & up five & up [two] four

Doug and poor Greg
planxty Gregory
poor Mucus
old Luke

Anno Domini: nostri sancti Jesu Christi
Nine hundred and ninetynine pound sterling in the black bowels of the bank of Ulster
Braw pennies, my girleen, and bright gold pounds, by God, 'll prank thee finely
And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!

O come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride from Sybil ariding
In her curragh of shells of daughter-of-pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her
Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
Yerra, why would she bride with sir Sloomysides or the gogram grey barnacle gander?

You'll not be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your yank is the worse for his soldiering and his steel.
Nor wake in winter, widow machree, for you'll have my old Balbriggan surtout
Wisha, won't you agree now to take me for nothing at all as your own nursetender?
A power of fine fellons died game right enough. but Who lives for you?

I, Dougall, on Aran Saw
Iron night


old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons
old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey... and old Johnny Mac Dougall
when they were all four collegians on the nod, whiteboys and oakboys, peep of day boys and peeping tom boys
Matt and Marcus
the three jolly topers... along with the other fellow
the old connubial men of the sea, Luke and Johnny Mac Dougall
four farback tumblerfuls of woman squash

    Johnny. Ah well sure that's the way (up) and it so happened there was poor Matt Gregory (up), their paterfamilias, and (up) the others and now really and (up) truly they were four dear old heladies and really they looked so nice and bespectable with their grey half a tall hat and tailormade frock coat and after that they had their fathomglasses to find out all the fathoms and their half a tall hat just now like the old marquess of Powerscourt, the determined old despot, only for the saltwater or the auctioneer there in front of the place near O'Clery's beside that ancient Dame street where the statue of Mrs Dana O'Connell behind the Trinity college that arranges all the auctions of the valuable colleges. Battersby Sisters, like the auctioneer Battersby Sisters that sells all the emancipated statues and powerscourts, James H. Tickell, the jaypee, off Hoggin Green going to the horse show before the flood along with another fellow and the shoeblacks and the redshanks and plebeians and everyone highstepping to get out of his way and all the tercentenary horses and priesthunters from the Curragh and confusionaries and the authorities over from England and American cattleraiders (so they say) all over in his grey half a tall hat (how do you do, jaypee?) and his gallowglasses to find out all the improper colleges (and how do you do, Mr Dame James? get out of my way!) and all the horsepowers. But now that reminds me of the poor Marcus of Lyons and poor Johnny, the patrician, and what do you think of the four of us and there they were now listening right enough, the four saltwater widowers, and all they could remembore long long ago in the olden times Momonian and Lally when my heart knew no care and after that then there was the official landing of Lady James Casement in the year of the flood 1132 S.O.S. and the christening of Queen Battersby the Fourth according to her grace the bishop, alderwoman J.P. Bishop, Senior, and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Martin Cunningham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him. And that now was how it was. Ay, ay! And so he was.

    Marcus. And after that, not forgetting, there was the Flemish armada all scattered and all officially drowned there and then on a lovely morning after the universal flood at about eleven thirtytwo (was it?) off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick the anabaptist and Saint Kevin the lacustrian and Powerscourt and Dana our first marents and Lapoleon the equestrian, and all they remembored and then there was the French fleet round about the year of Notre Dame 1132 P.P.C. or so landing from under Madam general Bonaboche in his half a grey traditional hat and after that there he was, so terrestrial, poghuing her scandalous and very wrong, in single combat, under the sycamores and all the gallowsbirds in Arrah-na-Poghue, so silvestrious, near the queen's colleges in 1132 Bride street behind the century man on the door. And then again they used to give the grandest universal lectures (hello, Hibernia!) from sea to sea (Matt speaking!) according to the pictures postcard in the Latimer Roman history of Latimer repeating himself (Marcus Lyons speaking!) to the oceanfuls of collegians green and high classes and the poor scholars and all the old trinitarian senate and saints and sages and the Plymouth brethren nodding and sleeping away there like forgetmenots round their twelve tables in the four trinity colleges of Ulcer, Moonster, Leanstare and Cannought, the four grandest colleges of Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Killkelly-on-the-Flure. Those were the grandest gynecollege histories (Lucas calling, hold the line!) in the Jane Andersdaughter universary for auld acquaintance sake (this unitarian lady lived to a great age at or in or about No. 1132 or No. 1169 bis Fitzmary Round where she was seen by many and widely liked) for teaching the Fatima Woman history of Fatimiliafamilias repeating herself of the spirit of nature as divinely developed in time by psadatepholomy, the past and present (Johnny Mac Dougall speaking, give me trunks, miss!) and present and absent and past and present and perfect arma virumque romano. Ah, dearo dear! How it all came back to them to hear him there kissling and cuddling her so nefarious before the four of us in his Roman catholic arms by the Cornelius Nepos, Mnepos, Anumque, Umque.

    Queh? Quos?

    Ah, dearo dearo dear! It was so sorry for all the whole twice two four of us and Lally when he lost part of his half a hat and repeating himself and telling him now to forget the past and contradicting all about Lally and his old fellow the Lagener and all the old drakes ever he had up in the bohereen and the old folks at home and Duignan and Lapole and the grand confarreation and he couldn't stop laughing over Tom Tim Tarpey, the Welshman, and the four middleaged widowers. And now that reminds me not to forget the four of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their half a Roman hat with an ancient Greek gloss on it in Chichester college auction and thank God they were all summarily divorced four years before, so they say, by their dear poor shehusbands in dear byword days and never brought to mind, to see no more the rainwater on the floor but still they parted, raining water laughing, on the best of terms and be forgot which was plainly foretold by their old pilgrim song As I was going to Ballymacarett we fell in with a lout by the name of Peebles as also in another place by their orthodox proverb That old fellow knows milk though he's not used to it latterly. And so they parted. Ay, ay. The good go and the wicked is left over. Ay, ay. Ah, well, sure that's the way. Woman. Squash. Part. Ay, ay. By decree absolute.

    Lucas. And O so well they could remembore at that time Mrs Dowager Justice Squelchman in her fullbottom wig and beard, in or aring or around about the year of buy in disgrace 1132 or 1169 or 1798 Y.W.C.A. at the Married Male Familyman's Auctioneers' court in Arrahnacuddle. Poor Johnny of the clan of Dougals, the poor Scotsman, dinna forget, so frightened on account of her fullbottom and the four masters because he was so slow grooming her ladyship instead of backscratching her materfamilias proper like any old methodist, and all divorced according to their dear faithful. Ah now, it was too bad! And poor Mark or Marcus Bowandcoat, the poor old chronometer, all persecuted by everybody by decree absolute because he forgot himself making wind and water and made a mess of all of himself and because he forgot to remember to sign an old morning proxy paper, a request in writing to herself on stamped parchment before saying his grace before fish and then and there and too there was poor Dion Cassius Poosycomb all drowned too before the world and her husband, because it was most improper and most wrong when he attempted to— well, he was shocking bad in his health, he said, with the shingles falling off him— because he— ah, well now, we won't be too hard on him as an old Manx presbyterian, and after that he made his last will and went to confession on his two bare marrowbones to Mother Evangelist Sweeney and he was so sorry, he was really, because he left the bootbutton in the hansom cab and now, tell the truth, there were faults on both sides— well, he attempted (or so they say)— ah, now, forget and forgive, and sure he was only funning with his andrewmartins and his old age coming over him— well, he attempted or, the Connachy, he was tempted to attempt some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red ocean and sure he was deadseasickabed (it was really too bad!) her poor old divorced male, in the hospice for the dying and trying to hold the nursetender's hand, (ah, the poor old coax!) and count the buttons and her hand and frown on a bad crab and dying to remembore who made a who a snore. Ah dearo dearo dear!

    And where do you leave Matt? They were all so sorry for poorboir Matt in his saltwater hat that she grew all out of, too big for him, of Mnepos and his overalls all falling over her in folds— sure, he hadn't the heart in her to pull them up— poor Matt, the old peregrine matriarch, and a queenly man, sitting there, a family all to himself, under geasa, Themistletocles, on his multilingual tombstone with her face to the wall in sight of the poorhouse, under all the auspices, amid the rattle of hailstorms, with her ivyclad hat and gripping an old pair of curling tongs belonging to Mrs Dana O'Connell to blow his brains with, with his can of tea from Anne Lynch and two cuts of Shackleton's brown loaf and dilisk, waiting for the end to come— God of heaven, when you think of it! Ah ho! It was too bad entirely! All devoured by active parlourmen laudabiliter of woman squelch and all on account of the smell of Shackleton and scratchman and his mouth watering and so now pass the loaf for Christ sake, Amen. And so. And all.

    Matt. And loaf. So that was the end. And it can't be helped. Ah, God be good to us! Poor Andrew Martin Cunningham! Ay! Ay!

    And still and all at that time they were always thinking (up) and not forgetting about auld lang syne (up) their four hosenbands that were four (up) beautful sister masters, now happily married, and there they were always counting and contradicting every night the lovely mother-of-periwinkle buttons according to the lapper part of their anachronism (up one up two up one up four) and after that there now she was in the end, the deary, the beautfour sisters and that was her modern republican name right enough and they used to be getting up from under at the kookaburra bell ringing all wrong inside of them (come in, come on, you lazy loafs!) all inside their poor old Shandon bellbox (come out to hell, you lazy louts!) so frightened, at all hours every night on their mistletoes, the four old oldsters, when nobody wouldn't even let them rest and getting into their way something barbarous, changing the one wet underdown bed they used to sleep under and putting on their half a hat and falling over all synopticals and a panegyric and repeating themselves, look all round the stool, walk everwhere for a jool to break fire to all the rancers, to collect all and bits of brown, the rathure's evelopmen in spirits of time in all fathom of space and slooping around in a bath slipper and go away to Oldpatrick and see a doctor Walker. And after that so glad they had their night tentacles and there they used to be flapping and cycling around the waists of the ships, as tired as they were, the clipperbuilt and the five fourmasters and Lally and Roe and he telling him before he forgot that one about a goose a love a goldeny egg and Johnny Mac Gory, dear mister John, and all the other analist, the steamships and the women-o'-war, and playing ocean ladies' foursome and their pair of green eyes and peering in, so they say, through the steamy windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamadories made by Fumadory and the saloon ladies' modern toilet chambers lined over prawn silk and rub off the salty catara off a windows and hee hee listening, the poor old quakers, to see all the hunnishmooners and the firstclass ladies enfamillias and shee shee all improper in a lovely mourning toilet under all their familarities, forgetting to say their grace before chambadory so pass the poghue for grace sake, Amen. And all hee hee hee quaking, so fright, and shee shee shaking. Aching. Ay, ay.

    And then after that they used to be so forgetful counting motherpeributts (up one up four) to membore her beaufu modern maiden name by the dream. From Greg and Doug on poor Greg and Mat and Mar and Lu and Jo, now happily buried, our four sisters. And there she was now right enough, that lovely sight enough, the girleen bawn asthore as for days galore of planxty Gregory. Egory. Ay, ay.

    But sure that reminds me now, like another tellmastory repeating yourself, how they used to be at the end of it all at that time (up) always, tired and all, over their singing (up) the top of the voice of Mamalujo sitting round two by two, the four confederates, (up) the wet air register in Old Man's House with their cold knees and their poor (up) quadrupeds fast asleep and all dolled up for their blankets and materny mufflers and plimsoles and their bowl of brown schackle and milky and clots for a cup of kindest yet with hold take hand and nurse and only touch of eat a lovely munkybown and wait the pinch and prompt poor Mucus Lyons to pass the teeth for choke sake Amensch when it so happen they were all sicamore and by the world forgot since the phlegmish hoopicough for all a possabed after eat a bad cramp and johnny magories and backscrat the poor bedsores and their farthing dip and read a letter or two every night before going to sleep in the twilight, a capitaletter for further auspices on their old one page codex book of old year's eve 1132, M.M.L.J. old style, their Senchus Mor by Mrs Shemans, final buff lunch edition, and Lally through their gangrene spentacles and all the good they did in their time for Roe and O'Mulconry a Conry ap Mul or Lap ap Morion and Buffler ap Matty Mac Gregory for Marcus on Podex by Daddy de Wyer, old bagabroth, and one by one and sing a mamalujo.

    And after that now in the future please God all start repeating ourselves and all now united sansfamillias say oremus prayer for auld acquaintance to Peregrine and Michael and Farfassa and Peregrine for navigants at peregrinantibus in all the old and imperial sea and sing a lovasteamadorion in her doaty ducky little blue and roll a hoop and how she ran we never never shall forget and old Luke and Senchus Mor and another more for auld luke syne and she haihaihail her kobbor kohinor sehehet on the praze savohohole shanghai.

    Hear, O hear, Iseult la belle! Tristan, sad hero, hear!

    Anno Domini nostri sancti Jesu Christi
    Nine hundred and ninetynine million pound sterling in the blueblack bowels of the bank of Ulster.
    Braw bawbees and good gold pounds, galore, my girleen, a Sunday'll prank thee finely
    And no damn lout'll come courting thee or by the mother of the Holy Ghost there'll be murder!
    O, come all ye sweet nymphs of Dingle beach to cheer Brinabride queen from Sybil surfriding
    In her curragh of shells of daughter of pearl and her silverymoonblue mantle round her.
    Crown of the waters, brine on her brow, she'll dance them a jig and jilt them fairly.
    Yerra, why would she bide with Sir Sloomysides or the grogram grey barnacle gander?
    You won't need be lonesome, Lizzy my love, when your beau gets his glut of cold meat and hot soldiering
    Nor wake in winter, widow machree, but snore snug in my old Balbriggan surtout.
    Wisha, won't you agree now to take me from the middle, say, of next week on, for the balance of my days, for nothing, (what?) as your own nursetender?
    A power of highsteppers died game right enough — but who, acushla, 'll beg coppers for you?
    I tossed that one long before anyone.
    It was of a wet good Friday too she was ironing and, as I'm given now to understand, she was always mad gone on me.
    Grand goosegreasing we had entirely with an allnight eiderdown bed picnic to follow.
    By the cross of Cong, says she, rising up Saturday in the twilight from under me, Mick whatever your name is, you're the most likable lad that's come my ways yet from the barony of Bohermore.

Page 384

Assigned reading (1½ pars [] plus 118 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the story of Mamalujo begins — watching the love scene of Tristan and Isolde'

mistle thrush

rugby-soccer-associational

their ship may be in the Strait of Moyle

fweet sees two references to Wilde's dead-at-9yo sister Isola... why just here??


1 was whips
for
1 was 2
&
2 was lips
for
1 was 3

whips/lips?


FDV: ""

2DV: ""

4dv: "that handsome brineburnt sixfooter Gaelic, rugger and soccer champion and the dinkum belle of Lucalizod quite charming in her oceanblue brocade and an overdress of net darned with gold well in advance of the newest fashion exhibits bunnyhugged scrumptiously when it was dark whilst they dissimulated themself on the eighteen inch loveseat behind the chieftaness stewardess's cabin whilst also with sinister dexterity he alternately rightandlefthandled fore and aft, on and offside her palpable rugby and association bulbs." "to the solans and sycamores and the wild geese and gannets and the migratories and mistlethrushes and the auspices and all the birds of the sea, all four of them, all sighing and sobbing, and listening. They were the big four, the four master waves of Erin, all listening, four. There was old Matt Gregory and then besides old Matt there was old Marcus Lyons, the four waves, and oftentimes they used to be saying grace together right enough: here now we are the four of us: old Matt Gregory and old Marcus and old Luke Tarpey: the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us: and sure now you wouldn't go and forget and leave out the other fellow, and old Johnny Mac Dougall: the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for Christ sake, Amen: the way they used to be saying their grace before fish repeating itself for auld lang syne. And so there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to the oceans of kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was kiddling and cuddling his colleen bawn, the hero, that was very wrong and most improper and cuddling her and kissing her with his poghue like Arrah-na-poghue, the dear dear annual, they all four remembored who made the world and how they used to be at that time in the vulgar era"


mysteries:


[01:15-03:10]

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

[The collaging of II.4]

Over them the winged ones screamed shrill glee: seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercailzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde.

So there they were

when it was dark

As slow their ship, the sea being slight, upon the face of waters moved by courtesy of God 

listening in as hard as they could all four of them

O Moyle!

they were the big four the four waves of Erin all listening four there was old Tom Gregory and then besides old Tom there was old Phelim O' Hogan the four waves and oftentimes they used to be saying here now we are the four of us old Tom and Old Phelim and old Jeremy the four of us and sure thank God there are no more of us and old Jeff O'Gorman the four of us and no more of us and so now pass the fish for the Lord's sake amen the way they used to be saying grace before fish for auld lang syne there they were spraining their ears listening and listening to all the kissening with their eyes glistening all the four when he was cuddling
cuddling her and kissing her

bunnyhugged scrumptiously

his colleen
bawn

the dinkum belle

on the eighteen inch loveseat behind the chieftaness stewardess's cabin

Gaelic, rugger and soccer champion and

the onliest boy of her choice meant pretty well everything to her just then, her beau ideal of a true girl's friend with red blood in his veins neither big ugly nor small nice

whilst also with sinister dexterity he alternately rightandlefthandled fore and aft, on and offside her palpable rugby and association bulbs

that handsome brineburnt sixfooter Gaelic, rugger and soccer champion and

quite charming in her oceanblue brocade and an overdress of net darned with gold well in advance of the newest fashion exhibits

whilst they dissimulated themself

with his pogue like Arrah na pogue they all four used to be cuddling and kissing and listening in the good days Dion Boucicault of Arrah na Pogue when they were all four collegians in the queen's colleges it brought it all back again as fresh as ever Matt and Marcus and now there he was

That mouth of mandibles vowed to pure beauty

and his Arrah na Pogue

She, after a cough, murmurously then gave her firm order for tootsweet if he wouldn't please mind some though not too much of the six best national poetry quotations reflecting on the situation

drinking in long draughts of purest air serene and revelling in the great outdoors.

before the four of them

so long as it was a stroke or two above it's a fine night and yon moon shines bright and all to that, the plain fact of the matter being that being a natural born lover of nature in all her moods and senses, by the light of the moon, of the silvery moon she longed to spoon before her honeyoldmoon at the same time

promptly elocutionised to her a favourite lyrical bloom bellclear in iambic decasyllabic hexameter

and now thank God there were no more of them and he poguing and poguing they were listening

Rollon thoudeep andamp anddark blueo ceanroll! Lady, it was just too gorgeous for words, the whole sensation. The sea, of a lovely tint embellished by the best charms of nature, with its wellmannered wavelets (the dirty horrid rude ones from the Belfast and Lagan Lough neighbourhood being very properly locked up in cubbyhole)...

with their mouths watering so pass the pogue for Christ sake Amen listening and watering all the four Luke and Johnny MacDougall for anything at all for a cup of of kindness yet for four big tumblers of woman squash with them all four listening and spraining their ears and their mouths making water
Ah well sure that's the way and there was poor Matt Gregory leaning on his staff of memory and Gregory and the others and now really and truly they were four dear old heladies and they looked

looked really awfully pretty

so nice and respectable with their grey half tall hat and tailormade frock coat and then they had their fathom glasses to find out the fathoms and their tall hats just now like lord Powerscourt or the auctioneer there near the place near that street Trinity College that arranges all the auctions of valuable houses Smith like the auctioneer Smith or not Smith that sells all the fine houses and mansions James H North Mike North the auctioneer going to the horse show

the weather conditions could not possibly have been improved upon. Praises be to fair sea.

with all the people over from England and American visitors in his grey half tall hat and his fathom glasses to find out all the horses. And poor Marcus Lyons and poor Johnny and the four of us and there they were now listening the four saltwater widowers and all they could remember long long ago when my heart knew no care the landing of sir Arthur Casement in 1132 and the coronation of Brian by the bishop and then there was the drowning of Pharaoh and they were drowned in the sea the red sea and then poor Martin Cunningham out of the castle when he was drowned off Dunleary in the red sea and and then there was the Flemish Armada all scattered and all drowned off the coast of Cunningham and Saint Patrick and all they remembered and then there was the French fleet in 1132 landing under general Boche and there he was cuddling and poguing her in Arranapogue behind the queen's colleges. And then they used to give the lectures in Roman history in all the four collegians in the four trinity colleges Killorcure and Killthemall and Killeachother and Kilkelly-on-the-Flure

Her rĂ´le was to roll onthedark blueo ceanroll that rolled on round the round roll that Robert Roly rolled round

those were the four great history colleges for auld lang syne

Breathtaking beauty, Ireland's bonniest

all the Roman history past and present and present and absent and past and present and future arma virumque romano. Ah dearo a dear how it all came back to them to hear him there kissing her and cuddling her

she did but gaze while from his altitude of onehundredandthirtytwo lines

in his Roman arms

his deepseapeepers gazed O gazed O dazedcrazedgazed into her darkblue rolling ocean orbs.

ah dearo dear it was so sorry for the four of us Poor Tom Tarpey and the four shehusbands the four waves in their hat and thank God they were all summarily divorced by their shehusbands in the bygone days but still they parted on the best of terms by decree absolute well they could remember Justice Squelchman in 1132 at the Married Male Offenders' Court in Arrahnapogue. Poor Johnny MacDougall and the four masters because she was backscratching all divorced by their four master and poor Marcus Powerscourt by decree absolute because he broke wind in the pew and because he forgot to make a request in writing on stamped paper before saying his grace before fish and then there was poor Dion Boucicault all divorced too poor Dion because he attempted to well he ah well now sure we won't be too hard on him attempted some hunnish familiarities after eating a bad crab in the red sea ah dearo dearo dear and where do you leave Matt poor Matt in his grey frock hat all divorced by woman squelch and all on account the appearance of his face poor Matt Gregory. of his mouth watering so now pass the face for Christ' sake Amen. Poor Matt Gregory

    Poor Martin Cunningham! And still and all they were always thinking of their four masters that were four beautiful sisters and there they were always counting the lovely periwinkle buttons in the front part of their dresses and there she was the beautiful four sisters and that was her name and they were looking for her everywhere in all the fathoms and then they had their night tentacles and they used to be all hanging around all the waists of the ships

having prealably dephlegmatised his guttur of that ticklish frog in the throat, ...with grand passion... By elevation of eyelids t'ward her dear coolun that She invoked insinuated desideration of more declaration. He was instant and he declared: — Isolde! O Isolde! Sister soul and hand! ...When theeuponthus Sir Tristan binoculises his most unwitting ego most subconsciously senses the deprofundity of multimathematical immaterialities whereby in the pancosmic urge the allimmanence of That Which Itself is Itself Alone exteriorates on this here our plane in disunited solid, liquid and gaseous bodies in pearlwhite passionpanting intuitions of reunited... Hear, O hear, all ye caller herring! Silent be,

selfhood in the higherdimensional selfless Allself... Milky Way, strew dim light!

the steamships and peering in through the steaming windows into the honeymoon cabins on board the big steamers and saloon ladies toilet apartments and rubbing off the cataract off the windows to see all the honeymooners and all the toilet ladies

—Thanks ever so much she sighed, thrilled by that olive throb of his nude neck, and ever so much again for that tiny quote. It sort of made everything ever so much more delightful. How perfectly sweet of you! ..he, rosecrumpler, thrilldriver, sighinspirer

and their familiarities saying their grace before meals 

Right here a pretty thing happened. When her flattering hand of pure diversion mayhap had jessaminely at the just right moment shut his duckhouse the vivid girl, deaf with love, (you know her, that angel being, one of passion's fadeless wonderwomen! You dote on her! You love her to death!) with a queer little cry reunited milkymouthily his her then their disunited lips when, tonguetasting the golden opportunity of a lifetime, quick as greased pigskin the Armorican champion with one virile tonguethrust drove the advance messenger of love flash past the double line of eburnean forwards rightjingbangshot into the goal of her gullet. Now, I am just putting it direct to you as one manowoman to another, what the blankety blank diggings do you for example candidly suppose that she, a strapping young modern old ancient Irish princess a good eighteen hands high and scaling nine stone twelve paddock weight in her madapolam smock with nothing under her hat but red hair and solid ivory not forgetting a firstrate pair of bedroom eyes of most unholy hazel cared at that precise psychoanalytical moment about tiresome old King Mark that tiresome old milkless ram with his duty peck and his bronchial tubes, the tiresome old ourangoutan beaver in his tiresome old twentytwoandsixpenny shepherd's plaid trousers? Not as much as a pinch of henshit and that's the meanest thing now was ever known since Adam was in the boy's navy. No, heaven knows, far from it, if the unvarnished truth must be told at the very first blush lovingly she lovegulped her American's pulpous propeller and both together in the most fashionable weather they all went off a lulliloving a dither me die me dandy O after which, believing in safety first, before the regulation ten seconds were up volatile Brittany considerately allowed his farfamed sparking plug chokegrip

and watering and there they used to be counting all their peributtons to remember her beautiful name poor Gregory and Johnny the four sisters and there she was now asthore as in days of yore of planxty Gregory they used to be always singing

from his toploftical voicebox:

and so now they started their singing

his useful arm getting busy on the touchline due south of her western shoulder, ...— I'm right glad I ran on to you, Tris, you fascinator you! Miss Erin said, when she had won free, laughing at the same time delightfully in dimpling bliss, being awfully bucked by her gratifying experience of the love embrace from a highly continental bigtimer the like of him possessed of a handsome face well worth watching with an interesting tallow complexion from which great things very expected as a film star for she fully realised that he was evidently a notoriety

and old Luke for auld luke syne and we make a cupboard coinerset for the pays savole shanghai..

Page 383

Assigned reading (3+ pars [] plus 97 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the song of the sea-birds — mocking King Mark; the story of Mamalujo begins — watching the love scene of Tristan and Isolde'

this chapter is a jumble of bits from the lost first-draft: it starts with the birds' song, and ends with the waves' song, with Mamalujo dominating the rest, and T&I appearing only in glimpses.

the original setting was onboard a ship at midnight.

the waves are senile historians who've seen everything but remember it all wrong. they have a mild voyeuristic fascination with T&I's kiss, and perhaps some sympathy for cuckolded King Mark, but they've become androgynous/sexless/impotent.

the birds are Mark's enemies, an abrasive chorus... maybe the twelve-citizen jurors? (but this siglum wasn't hinted yet)

"quarks" started as "caws"
a lot of vowels get replaced with "u"s for some reason

FW2 moves 7 words to the start of the 1st par after the song: "That song sang seaswans. The winging ones, overhoved..."

"And there they were too" this had just meant the waves, but now it could mean T&I too

"The Wine-Cup Is Circling" [sheetmusic]
VI.B25.159h: "as slow their ship" Thomas Moore set his lyric to the tune of 'The Girl I Left Behind Me'


VI.B3.102f: "upon the water"
Genesis 1:2: 'And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters'
VI.B3.144c: "the courtesy of God" (from Bedier)

W.W. Kelly [fweet-5]

many cites from EB11 on Finland


FDV: ""

2DV: ""

4dv: "As slow their ship, the sea being slight, upon the face of waters moved by courtesy of God... when it was dark... Over them the winged ones screamed shrill glee: seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel and capercailzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde." "And there they were too listening in as hard as they could"



mysteries:


[00:00-01:15]

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

[MaTMa&LuIJo (II.4)]

Episode II.4 reunites two of the earliest vignettes-- T&I and Mamalujo-- immediately following the first, ROC.

In 1923, Mmlj seemed like a short afterthought inserted into a long, melodramatic boy-girl soap opera. A year later Mmlj was published on its own, and the first part of T&I (the stereotypes' kiss) was set aside, while the second part (their dramas) was abandoned (probably rejected not lost).

When they were reunited, Mmlj took priority, with T&I's kiss split into many very short passages inserted out of sequence... maybe to show the kiss through Mmlj's eyes? (The 'kiss' section didn't really have much of an internal story arc that needed preserving.) Issy's characteristics are especially freely redistributed.

It's frustrating that the dominant literary effect in Mmlj seems to be simple repetition with variation, because it's BORING. Or did Joyce come up with a way to deepen their boringness? Maybe rehearsing the other major themes in this boring minor key?

Horseshows, history, misremembering, drowning, divorce, voyeurism...

And this is finally positioned after the kiddies play and study, and after a long tavern scene.

And T&I's original perfect hyper-stereotypes seem to have completely lost their interest for Joyce, as if he started there as an exercise whose value was solely in moving beyond it...







Monday, September 29, 2014

Page 382

Assigned reading (2+ pars [] plus 87 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the publican cleans the bar-room, drinks dregs and passes out — King Roderick O'Connor, last high king of Ireland'




"fall and fall about"

chateaubottled winecork
FW2 fixes the misspelling of Guinness's
VI.A-Painful "Roob-Coccola" drunken slurring of rootbeer and coca-cola?

a 'shot' is ~1.5oz
'the rising of the moon'
'Larry's on the force' [lyrics]
'The flea in the hair on the tail of the dog of the daughter of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has just come to town' [lyrics]
cf U13.1223 "The sister of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has just come to town."
Nancy Hands = pub hostess [more]
"Farvel" = Fairy Well??? [etext]
'Fallen is your star, low'


fdv: "such as it was either Guiness's or Phoenix Brewery Stout or John Jameson and Sons or for that matter O'Connell's Dublin ale as a fallback of several different quantities amounting in all to I should say considerably more than the better part of a gill or naggin of imperial dry and liquid measure"

4dv: "such as it was no matter whether it was chateaubottled Guinness's or Phoenix brewery stout it was or John Jameson and Sons or Roob Coccola or for the matter of that O'Connell's famous old Dublin ale that he wanted like hell as a fallback of several different quantities and qualities amounting in all to I should say considerably more than the better part of a gill or naggin of imperial dry or liquid measure."


mysteries:



[07:35-09:10]

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Page 381

Assigned reading (1 par [] plus 81 notes) [secondary] [McH] [*]


synopsis: 'the publican cleans the bar-room, drinks dregs and passes out — King Roderick O'Connor, last high king of Ireland'


"McCarthy's mare" [lyrics]
Oliver Goldsmith, The Deserted Village 'Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain'
'The Rambler from Clare'
"Lanty Leary" [etext]
"Mike Brady's shirt" [lyrics]
'The Green Linnet'
'MacKenna's Dream' [lyrics] tune:




fdv: "but he just went heeltapping round his own right royal round rollicking table and faith he sucked up sure enough like a Trojan in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue one after the other in strict order of rotation whatever happened to be left in the different bottoms of the various drinking utensils left there behind them by the departed honourable guests"

4dv: "as best they could on footback in extended order a tree's length from the longest way out down the switchbackward road, the unimportant Parthalonians with the mouldy Firbolgs and the Tuatha de Danaan googs and all the rest of the notmuchers that he didn't care the royal spit out of his ostensible mouth about well what do you think he did, sir, but faix he just went heeltapping through the winespilth and weevily popcorks that were kneedeep round his own right royal round rollicking topers' table with his old Roderick Random pullon hat at a cant on him, the body, you'd pity him, the way the world is, poor he, the heart of Midleinster and the supereminent lord of them all, overwhelmed as he was with black ruin like a sponge out of water and singing all to himself through his old tears starkened by the most regal belches I've a terrible errible lot todo today todo toderribleday well what did he go and do at all His Most Exuberant Majesty King Roderick O'Conor but arrah bedamnbut he finalised by lowering his woolly throat with the wonderful midnight thirst was on him as keen as mustard and leave it if he didn't suck up sure enough like a Trojan in some particular cases with the assistance of his venerated tongue whatever surplus rotgut sorra much was left by the lazy lousers of maltknights and beerchurls in the different bottoms of the various different replenquished drinking utensils left there behind them on the premises, by the departed honourable homegoers and other slygrogging suburbanites"


mysteries:



[05:43-07:35]