Unknown Arts
— Texts & Poems Derived from the Works of James Joyce —
William Walsh
Keyhole Press
an imprint of Dzanc Books
Unknown Arts. Copyright © 2012 by William Walsh. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Portions of this book originally appeared in Admit 2, Artifice, Big Other, Elimae, FlatmanCrooked, Keyhole Magazine, Mudluscious, Monkeybicycle, The Scrambler, No News Today, and H_NGM_N.
Cover design by Peter Cole.
ISBN 978-1-4524-6065-9
Contents
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Square
Peny Pomes:
Til, Needles, Flowergiver, Weepsover, Melted, Beach, Blond Wave, Upon the Sated Flood, Night, Apome, Mirror at Midnight, Station/Street, Pray
Pound Says The Most Outrageously Amusing Things Sometimes
From Ulysses (1922)
Potato I have. Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes. Drop him like a hot potato. They say they used to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the time of the potato blight. Potato. In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks. Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. Bloom pats with parceled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepocket, sweets of sine, potatosoap. A phial, an Agnus Ddei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out. I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm. Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a hard black shrivelled potato. She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the new world that potato and that weed, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the other a poisoner of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vinters, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket an archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. Give me back that potato, will you? She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. He is pelted with gravel, caggabestumps, bisquitboxes, eggs, potatoes, dead codfish, woman’s slipperslappers. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a toadstool, the deathflower of the potato blight on her breast. On the contrary that stab in the back touch was quite in keeping with those italianos though candidly he was none the less free to admit those icecreamers and friers in the fish way not to mention the chip potato variety and so forth over in little Italy there near the Coombe were sober thrifty hardworking fellows except perhaps a bit too given to pothunting the harmless necessary animal of the feline persuasion of others at night so as to have a good old succulent tucking with garlic de rigueur of him or the next day on the quiet and, he added, on the cheap. …O no thank you not in my house stealing my potatoes and the oysters 2/6 per doz…he was on the pop of asking me too the night in the kitchen I was rolling the potato cake…wouldn’t even teem the potatoes for you…shes restless knowing shes pretty with her lips so red a pity they wont stay that way I was too but there no use going to the fair with the thing answering me like a fishwoman when I asked to go for a half a stone of potatoes the day we met Mrs Joe Gallaher at the trotting matches and she pretended not to see us in her trap with Friery the solicitor…
Unknown Arts
From The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916)
"And he sets his mind to unknown arts"
— Ovid, Metamorphoses
They pressed upon his brain
as upon his lips as though they
were the vehicle of a vague speech;
and between them he felt an unknown
and timid pressure, darker than the
swoon of sin, softer than sound or odour.
Death and judgement, brought into the world
by the sin of our first parents, are the dark portals
that close our earthly existence, the portals
that open into the unknown and the unseen,
portals through which every soul must pass,
alone, unaided save by its good works,
without friend or brother or parent or master
to help it, alone and trembling.
A sense of fear of the unknown moved
in the heart of his weariness, a fear of
symbols and portents, of the hawk-like
man whose name he bore soaring out
of his captivity on osier-woven wings,
of Thoth, the god of writers, writing
with a reed upon a tablet and bearing
on his narrow ibis head the cusped moon.
One Two Three
From the first three episodes of Ulysses (1922)
1. Telemachus
—Kinch. Kinch, wake up!
Will he come? The jejune jesuit! Chrysostomos. One moment. Slow music, please.
—Yes, my love?
EPI OINOPA PONTON. THALATTA! THALATTA!
—The bard’s noserag! The snotgreen sea. The scotumtightening sea.
—Our mighty mother!
No, mother! Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!
—Yes. Come and look. I shall die! Ah, poor dogsbody!
Where? Is it Haynes? A ponderous Saxon. A woful lunatic! Scutter!
—A miracle! Haines, come in. Come up, Kinch!
Why? Why? Of what then? Four omnipotent sovereigns. What? Absurd! On me alone.
—Do you now? Yes? Well? Italian?
Charming! Quite charming! Wonderful entirely.
—The milk, sir! Good morning, sir.
Old shrunken paps. A servant too. Bread, butter, honey. Where’s the sugar?
—How much, sir?
Speaking to me. Agenbite of inwit. What? Conscience. Contradiction. Mercurial Malachi.
—Still there? Come out, Kinch. Back to barracks!
Here I am. Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.
—Yes. I'm the UBERMENSCH.
—Down, sir! Your reasons, pray?
Stephen turned away. Throw it there. Thus spake Zarathustra.
Silence, all. Parried again. Cranly's arm. His arm. I forget. I'm inconsequent. Where now?
—Kinch ahoy! How much? Four quid? Sit down. Time enough. The school kip? Lend us one.
From whom? He himself? Hear, hear! Prolonged applause.
—Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure. Half twelve.
LILIATA RUTILANTIUM. TURMA CIRCUMDET. GOODBYE, NOW, GOODBYE!
—Seriously, Dedalus. I'm stony. Cough it up.
Usurper.
2. Nestor
For Haines's chapbook. Vico Road, Dalkey.
—Tarentum, sir. A riddle, sir? Ask me, sir.
They lend ear. Wait.
—Sargent!
Stephen stood up. Well?
—Yes, sir. Thanks, Sargent answered.
Futility.
—I know, sir. We didn’t hear. What is that? Ay.
—Hockey!
—Very good. Where? You, Armstrong.
Go on, Talbot. Tranquil brightness.
—Pyrrhus, sir? Pyrrhus, a pier.
All laughed. Kingstown pier, sir. Yes.
—How, sir? What then?
A ghoststory.
—Iago, Stephen murmured.
—What, sir?
—What, sir? Half day, sir.
—Yes, sir. The sea’s ruler.
…Day!...Day! Thursday. Can you? Cassandra. Serum and virus. Veterinary surgeons. Our cattle trade.
—Again, sir.
—No, sir. O, do, sir.
—Yes, sir.
—Yes, sir.
—Yes, sir.
Ay! Three times now. Well. Hooray! Whrrwhee!
—Ba! I OWE NOTHING.
See.Sixpences, halfcrowns. And here crowns. Answer something.
—Sit down. Just a moment.
Allimportant question. That is God. What?
—Who knows? Who has not?
IRISH HOMESTEAD. THE EVENING TELEGRAPH ...
Running after me. Gabble of geese. No. What are they?
—Just one moment. Mr. Dedalus! Thank you.
—Alas, Stephen said. That's why.
3. Proteus
Kinch here. Go easy. How? Diaphane, adiaphane. Why in?
No. Jesus! I will. One moment. Open your eyes. See now.
And after? Yes, I must. His pace slackened. Here. Open your eyes. No. Jesus!
Yes, sir. No, sir.
—It's Stephen, sir.
—Let him in. Let Stephen in.
Cleanchested.
—Morrow, nephew.
Where is she? Papa's little bedpal. Lump of love.
—Bathing Crissie, sir.
—No, uncle Richie...
Call me Richie. Whusky! For whom? Uncle Richie, really...
Yes, sir? It lowers. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Paff! Get down, baldpoll! Dringding! Isle of saints. O SI, CERTO! NAKED WOMEN!
What about what? I was young.
Hray! O, yes, W. Human shells.He halted.
—IL CROIT? MON PERE, OUI. SCHLUSS.
He laps. Paysayenn.
—LUI, C'EST MOI. Proudly walking. Forget: a dispossessed.
Hunger toothache. Look clock. Must get. FERME. Hired dog! Not hurt?
Shake hands. Shake a shake.
EUGE! COMMENT? EUGE!
Noon slumbers. IL EST IRLANDAIS. HOLLANDAIS? NON FROMAGE. Postprandial.
Well: SLAINTE!
Licentious men. Most licentious custom. Lascivious people. Did, faith. Spurned lover. I was, faith. Loveless, landless, wifeless. Spurned and underspairing.
Goes like this. Turn back. Try it. You have some. Sand and stones. Sir Lout’s toys.
Feefawfum. All kings’ sons. Respect his liberty. House of…
Sit tight. Can't see! Who’s behind me. Wait. Open hallway. Street of harlots.
Remember. Haroun al Raschid. Smiled: creamfruit smell. Red carpet spread.
In. Come.
Passing now. My tablets. Hold hard. Touch me. Soft eyes. Sad too. Touch, touch me.
And the blame?
As I am. As I am. Found drowned. Hook it quick. Pull. We have him. Easy now.
Come. I thirst.
Clouding over. No. Where?
To evening lands. GIA. Why, I wonder. Feel. Shells. That one. This.
My handkerchief. He threw it. I remember.
No, I didn’t. Better buy one.
No. Jesus! BASTA! Hello! Gaze.
Womb of sin. Here. No? Sally? Sure? ALL'ERTA! Listen. I hear. Dringdring! Dringadring! SCHLUSS. Aha. FERME. Sir. Who?
The two maries. Peekaboo. I see you. No, the dog. Who?
Cocklepickers.
—Tatters! Here. No. Paper. Flutier.
Who's behind me? Out quickly, quickly!
Ah, poor dogsbody! Doesn't see me.
I am not. Glue ‘em well. Oomb, allwombing tomb. Old Deasy's letter. Here. Ah, see now. She, she, she. What she?
Pain is far. Alo!
BONJOUR.
Conmee
From Ulysses (1922)
Conmee blessed him in the sun. Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. Conmee was very glad indeed to hear that. Conmee was very glad to see the wife of Mr. David Sheehy M.P. Conmee doffed his silk hat. Conmee walked. Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the corner. Conmee gave a letter from his breast to Master Brunny Lynam. Conmee smiled. Conmee smiled. Conmee walked down Great Charles. Conmee turned the corner. Conmee greeted them more than once benignly. Conmee smelt incense on his right hand. Conmee raised his hat to the Blessed Sacrament. Conmee thought of that spendthrift nobleman. Conmee began to walk along the North Strand road. Conmee saluted Mr. William Gallagher. Conmee walked through Clongowes. Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse. Conmee passed H. J. O'Neill's funeral establishment. Conmee saluted the constable. Conmee observed pig's puddings. Conmee saw a Turfbarge. Conmee reflected on the providence of the Creator. Conmee stepped into an outward bound tram. Conmee sat in a corner of the tramcar. Conmee liked cheerful decorum. Conmee supposed. Conmee perceived her perfume in the car. Conmee had finished explaining. Conmee saw the conductor help her. Conmee thought that. Conmee thought of the souls of black and brown and yellow men. Conmee alighted. Conmee stepped into the Dollymount tram. Conmee thought of that tyrannous incontinence. Conmee read in secret. Conmee drew off his gloves. Conmee blessed both gravely.
Players
From Dubliners (1914)
My idea is: let a young lad run about and play with young lads of his own age and not be... But he played too fiercely for us who were younger and more timid. Mahony began to play the Indian as soon as we were out of public sight. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness. Through one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon the earth, the fine incessant needles of water playing in the sodden beds. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child’s play, ugly monotonous child’s play. From the front window I saw my companions playing below in the street. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people’s children. The children of the avenue used to play together in that field—the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Down far in the avenue she could hear a street organ playing. The organ-player had been ordered to go away and given sixpence. A certain pride mingled with his parents’ trepidation, a certain eagerness, also, to play fast and loose, for the names of great foreign cities have at least this virtue. Villona played a waltz for Farley and Rivière, Farley acting as cavalier and Rivière as lady. Villona returned quietly to his piano and played voluntaries for them. The other men played game after game, flinging themselves boldly into the adventure. Play ran very high and paper began to pass. The men rose to their feet to play the last tricks, talking and gesticulating. I used to take them out, man, on the tram somewhere and pay the tram, or take them to a band or a play at the theatre, or buy them chocolate and sweets or something that way. Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. One hand played in the bass the melody of Silent, O Moyle, while the other hand careered in the treble after each group of notes. The air which the harpist had played began to control his movements. His softly padded feet played the melody while his fingers swept a scale of variations idly along the railings after each group of notes. The music-hall artistes would oblige; and Sheridan played waltzes and polkas and vamped accompaniments. See if I don’t play my cards properly. Play fair, he said. Who’s not playing fair? I’ll teach you to let the fire out! he said, rolling up his sleeve in order to give his arm free play. Mrs Donnelly played the piano for the children and they danced and sang. Somebody said something about the garden, and at last Mrs Donnelly said something very cross to one of the next-door girls and told her to throw it out at once: that was no play. After that Mrs Donnelly played Miss McCloud’s Reel for the children, and Joe made Maria take a glass of wine. Then she played the prelude and said, Now, Maria! Damn it, can’t we Irish play fair? When she came to the age of marriage she was sent out to many houses, where her playing and ivory manners were much admired. They were all friends of the Kearneys—musical friends or Nationalist friends, and, when they had played every little counter of gossip, they shook hands with one another all together, laughing at the crossing of so many hands, and said good-bye to one another in Irish. Kathleen played a selection of Irish airs which was generously applauded. As soon as the first part was ended Mr Fitzpatrick and Mr Holohan went over to Mrs Kearney and told her that the other four guineas would be paid after the committee meeting on the following Tuesday and that, in case her daughter did not play for the second part, the committee would consider the contract broken and would pay nothing. She waited until it was time for the second part to begin in the hope that the secretaries would approach her. But Miss Healy had kindly consented to play one or two accompaniments. The children—two girls and a boy, conscious of their father’s helplessness and of their mother’s absence, began some horseplay with him. His wife, who had been a soprano, still taught young children to play the piano at low terms. More than he resented the fact that he had been victimized, he resented such low playing of the game. Miss Furlong, who was one of Mary Jane’s pupils, asked Miss Daly what was the name of the pretty waltz she had played; and Mr Browne, seeing that he was ignored, turned promptly to the two young men, who were more appreciative. O, Miss Daly, you’re really awfully good, after playing for the last two dances, but really we’re so short of ladies tonight. Gabriel could not listen while Mary Jane was playing her Academy piece, full of runs and difficult passages, to the hushed drawing-room. He liked music, but the piece she was playing had no melody for him and he doubted whether it had any melody for the other listeners, though they had begged Mary Jane to play something. He knew that Mary Jane must be near the end of her piece, for she was playing again the opening melody with runs of scales after every bar, and while he waited for the end the resentment died down in his heart. She turned as if to appeal to the good sense of the others against a refractory child, while Aunt Julia gazed in front of her, a vague smile of reminiscence playing on her face. Why did they never play the grand old operas now, he asked, Dinorah, Lucrezia Borgia? The piano was playing a waltz tune and he could hear the skirts sweeping against the drawing-room door. I will not attempt to play tonight the part that Paris played on another occasion. Who’s playing up there? asked Gabriel. It hardly pained him now to think how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life.
O!
From Finnegans Wake (1939)
No nubo no! Ah, ho!
Clear all so! Hero!
Very much so! (porkograso!)
Balbaccio, balbuccio!
(Chorus) Woohoo, what'll she doo!
The general lost her maidenloo!
Seudodanto! Corpo di barragio!
Chee chee cheers for Upkingbilly
and crow cru cramwells Downaboo!
Ahdostay, feedailyones,
and feel the Flucher's bawls
for the total of your flouts
is not fit to fan his fettle,O!
But, lo! lo! (and by jingo when they do!)
We have done ours gohellt with you,
Heer Herewhippit, overgiven it, skidoo!
Oo! Ah ho! Ah ho! Ah ho!
From quiqui quinet to michemiche chelet
and a jambebatiste to a brulobrulo!
Hoho! Andoo musnoo play zeloso!
Poo! Don't be a, I'm not going to!
So chip chirp chirrup, cigolo,
for the lug of Migo! No!
As I'd live to, O, I'd love to!
—Your temple, sus in cribro!
From Vallee Maraia to Grasyaplaina,
dormimust echo! O! O! O! O! ah who!
No! not for jo!
O! the lowness of him was
beneath all up to that sunk to!
O dear no! Peamengro!
(O!) (ah ho!)
How unwhisperably so!
Ah ho! Ah ho!
Stand forth, Nayman of Noland
(for no longer will I follow you
obliquelike through the inspired
form of the third person singular
and the moods and hesitensies of
the deponent but address myself to you,
with the empirative of my vendettative,
provocative and out direct), stand forth,
come boldly, jolly me, move me,
zwilling though I am, to laughter in
your true colours ere you be back
for ever till I give you your talkingto!
Don Dom Dombdomb and his wee follyo!
Pilcomayo! Sucho fuffing a fifeing
'twould cut you in two! Bedouix but I do!
I'm dying down off my iodine feet
until I lerryn Anna Livia's cushingloo,
that was writ by one and rede by two
and trouved by a poule in the parco!
Heigh ho!
Then a toss nare scared that lass,
so aimai moe, that's agapo!
Thaw, thaw, sava, savuto!
Minneha, minnehi minaaehe, minneho!
Shake it up, do, do!
Senior ga dito: Faciasi Omo! Ho! Ho!
Senior ga dito: Faciasi Hidamo!
I sonht zo! And ho! Ho! Ah, ho! Toboo!
If he'd lonely talk instead of only gawk
as thought yateman hat stuck hits stick
althrough his spokes and if he woold nut wolly so!
Salvo!
(osco de basco de pesco de bisco!)
Neblonovi's Nivonovio! With Dinny Finneen,
me canty, ho! Micaco! Makoto!
(the bisifings in idolhours that satinfines tootoo!)
You don't want to peach
but bejimboed if ye do!
Say long, scielo! Sillume, see lo!
O! Great goodness, no!
Look at this passage about Galilleotto!
O! Bide in your hush, do! Ho! Ho! Ho!
Cheevio! Molodeztious of metchennacht
belaburt that pentschmyaso! Bompromifazzio!
Buckle to! Arcdesedo! Senonnevero! Prronto!
Mirrdo! Sparro! Culpo de Dido!
Yet had they laughtered, one on other,
undo the end and enjoyed their laughings
merry was the times when so grant it
High Hilarion us may too!
Broree aboo! Ah ho! Ah ho!
Post the post! with a high voice and O,
the higher on high the deeper and low,
I heard him so!
Whom we dreamt was a shaddo,
sure, he's lightseyes, the laddo!
Athiacaro!
Solvitur
Palumballando!
Tilvido!
Greedo!
Iomio!
Iomio!
Flattyro!
Homo!
Nor wants to! Thor's for yo!
Rock me julie but I will soho!
Taboccoo! (brao!)
Holy gun, I'll give it to you,
hot, high and heavy
before you can say sedro!
Go! (but ci vuol poco!)
(Obbligado!) A leal of the
O'Looniys, a Brazel aboo!
Come to disdoon blarmey
and walk our groves so
charming and see again
the sweet rockelose
where first you hymned
O Ciesa Mea! and touch
the light theorbo!