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What past consecutive causes, before rising preapprehended, of accumulated fatigue did Bloom, before rising, silently recapitulate?
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sea, unseen, now, not there, though I go, “Thalatta!”, now nowhere, “The snotgreen sea”, seems to grow from my feet, unaware, still of the wake, on the verge, “The scrotumtightening sea”, my tongue, though terror, “Thalatta!”, grows fierce, ever mourning, ever somber, no want in tow, of the moor, the verge again, all I saw, mire, all over now, a raise of his razorblade, still, the sea, apart from what is seen, arise, “Kinch ahoy”, a rise in the tide, “knifeblade”, “Thalatta!”, what will be, what has been, what forever shall be, his reason being, none, “Thalatta!”, parting the scene, tightening, painting the scenery, “Ceasing”, into, and out of, “Introibo ad altare Dei”, instress, “Usurper”
a pier, a bridge to nowhere, “a disappointed bridge”, “no one here to hear”, a bride hears a point, in the distance, a bridge, now where? no, where are we now? one sees or hears a heart, in the distance, someone is dancing, here, do you hear? or see? a bride swings from a bridge, a bear, singing, in the distance, a bare bridge, heart, on a string, swung, “Pyrrhus, a pier”, the dancing airs, peers, stars from a badge, have you heard? in the distance, pairs of ears, dancing there, “a bridge is” a cross, a river, “across a river”, was there ever? a curse for your rearview mirror, disaster sings from a pier, “sir?”, are we here, or, in the distance, adhere, “sir?”, singing near a river, in which bridges, early altered, appear to sing, isn’t over
we came hither, to thirst, cough, of turquoise, one leg, back, to the sea, at a gallop, sunrise, “seawrack”, her coy laugh, cliff, shells of the afterlife, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, one finger penetrable, ineffable, another a hearth, fraternity, of father and son, arise, trope of seacrest, each crash, iambic, penultimate Argonaut, now early, now transparent, fashioned of the now prostrate, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, form the warp, woof, one letter, strata, at a time, indulgent, one finger nearer, “deline the mare”, sea, horse, transubstantiate, wharf, of what day to come, “Diaphane, adiaphane”, too comely, Protagoras admits to colophon, “darkness I was too, made not begotten”, “gallop”, cliffthither, we made west
oil, voyage, "Voglio e non vorrei", sausage, boiled, "sunburst on the title page", one liver one kidney, one lover's awl, glowered over, soulsevered, "watching it flow sideways", versed in wurst, vexed, reincarnation of rest, never cursed, eggs, aglio e oglio, all honoring, succumbing, "Voglio e non vorrei", one leg of limb's wool, "dogsbody", gall of gravy's womb, down the hallway, lamb of God, adieu, a Dio con Dio, atomized incisors, scissors misspelled, inside our, out, cut one bladder of wombat, chew fissure, tissue, one ringworm lightly fried, light gravy, tongue to taste, Anglo-Saxon, waste not laxative, fixative, "Voglio e non vorrei", festive endeavors, exaltations, the bowels, transmigration fouled
The preparation of breakfast (burnt offering):
intestinal congestion and
alas, mosquito, hearsay glutton, “drooping nags of the hazard”, a mosque is built of the contrabass, verily “He’s dead”, alas, what his heathen sheep, with charity wrought, at long last, asleep in the slough, he is up there, to greet the dead, bah! ‘tis a neigh, neighborly sighs in the choir, “This is my body”, the blessing, unrehearsed, “Heresiarch”, he has searched for the letter, postmarked, reposed “massboy”, and researched in the sacrament, body missing from the text, two sluts, a dying horse, alas, host of the apocalypse, host of all hosts, "This is my body", and blood, to brood over, take this, the sea’s private epicycles, take this, all of you, your sanctity, apothecary, all of you, with missive clarity, of you, and eat it
Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima appears in several installments. Click here to read the rest of the poem. | |
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premeditative defecation (holy of holies):
the bath (rite of John): the funeral
inchoate, splayed tannins, yield of Achilles heel, Barabas damned, calves, astray, Dedalus nodding, Ithaca, “His fidus Achates”, hailed, rainslit white forms, “red face: grey now”, “an empty hearse”, flotsam gravy, his last florin halved, for having saved, her eyes, ending, horizon, now theirs, ours, the hours, passing, “in paradisum”, how dying restrained the dead, how one rains, deciding, coughing nails, unarmed, carrying on, with fingers grieving inquiry, throng, ad hominem, “On Dignam now”, resting voices, houses, amplified in their names, raining, rising solos, each rendered meter, sustaining each one grave, each sorrow, resisting all matters lost and fettered, bygones, by now, gone, displayed in the bones, Gorgons
(rite of Samuel): the advertisement of Alexander Keyes (Urim and
“Adonai”, he pressed on, “Ohio!”, and so, it was over, “white bowknots”, I don’t know, he presented another, “It is meet to be here”, he paused, his mare bulging, a grass purge, “He wants you for the pressgang”, aloha, Gutenberg, “Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu”, plausible thoughts, “Long, short, and long”, he plodded, “A perfect cretic!”, he spoke, “spells finis for a man”, he raised one finger, arranged images and made this suggestion, “Your hat is a little crushed”, but was inconsequential, his armature vanished, “The telephone whirred”, where by God is this telegram?, “The divine afflatus”, “Hop and carry one”, he divined, hopelessness, he broke into riddling, “Ohio!”, “As he mostly sees double”
Thummim): the unsubstantial lunch (rite
of Melchizedek): the visit to
bread, amended, beef, sides of, demanding an all living death, draught, perfect gravity, good head by God, devourer of breath and life, by width of fire, framed, “Dollard”, the barfly’s wife, my pen, “Blood of the Lamb”, ales, askew, arms, my penumbra, “No-one is anything”, so he asked, “How much is that?”, who measures such sentences?, alas, with all this spun, yet another plumb, “Must be in a certain mood”, ponders the brood of a heap, waferheft, aliases, to be engaged with, gasbills, and glossolalia, “That is how poets write, the similar sounds”, heiferwaft, or centuries of smell, sexless with rescue, “Esthetes they are”, all he thought, he thought, sat, teeth?, not said so easily though, how, how thought, now, who
museum and national library (holy place):
the bookhunt along Bedford row,
absence of timbre, “Gulfer of souls, engulfer”, procedure of limbs, repeated, footnotes in the snow, “Minette? Tu veux?”, six companions, repented, Jesus wept, but what else?, their compendium of limbs, cylindrical, si piove tanta e bastanza, “ave rabbi”, corpus delictus et al, innocuous, “Dumas fils”, “ave rabbi”, mirror of thought, light be there let, “Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck”, paraskenia and acoustics, “Hesios Kristos”, Aeschylus, how snow falls upon the idea of a house, Plato’s apotheosis, “Horseness is the whatness of allhorse”, hence pathos, he, who too is I, horsesense, a blind eye, “ave rabbi”, anxious of sacrament, six characters, repented, unctuous, si piove molto ma non si piove sempre, ascolta
Merchants' Arch, Wellington Quay (Simchath Torah):
the music in the
pius, “Nisi Prius”, absimilis absilimus, “allow the ambulance”, qua sedici, neigh, chance and rechance, nonchalance, a viaggio, due a mano, adieu, the same road traveled twice, sempre da solo, what follows isn’t, extempore, “hasn’t an earthly”, Hammersmith is too south, double neigh, haha, “Dignam came out of Mangan’s”, haha he who is is, who laughed “von Sacher Masoch”, Leopold, is, declension, exsequens, cornered for Christ’s sake, qua qua ex qua, “Sulphur dung of lions”, deux mains, Padua in Dublin?, Tripoli?, “sure that’s only what you might call a pinprick”, quay nunc, nessuno qui ma noi, qua ciao, “behind him a blind stripling tapped”, queen to king’s archbishop, circa nulla, we, unalike, abscond, “Perche la sua voce...”Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem. | |
But time between one and the other when was brief -- I mean the whens of waiting and of seeing heaven grow more radiant.
From Sly Uses: Having my way with UlyssesIthaca
Look at the stars if you can see them. I see clouds and darkness but I know the stars are there. No. I don't know that. I know that they were there. The little lights which I do not see in the sky but possibly you do, come from a past which possibly had ceased to exist as a present before its probable spectators (excluding myself) had entered actual present existence. That which I do not see might not be there now, most certainly is not there now, as by now they will have red-shifted position. All those stars running off, taking their planets with them. Ours too. Such a fearsome isolation, all this expanding outwardly from each other, temporality stretching between us. So lonely, having no contact with each other. Yet if we did, our loneliness would compound. We could look up at the stars (I at starless clouds) into distances numbering nine to the ninth power to the ninth power and find our double, as if in a mirror shining back to us
: we are here too. The joy of recognition; the first sighting of a lover! And then, and then. And then we will understand in advance the impostvidibility of the past. We will know as if we have already harkened back in a kind of retrospective arrangement
that we are already and always have been ever alone. There is our lover, shimmering through lakes of dreams, seas of rains, gulfs of dews, oceans of fecundity, simultaneously loving us back yet already gone. Infinity rendered finite. We would be as the new moon with the old moon
in our arms, but our state of solitude is one where there can be no entry. They are gone. The world is gone
This was his first and never-forgotten image of the city; those massive buildings that seemed to say We are here forever. Salman Rushdie, Joseph Anton: A Memoir
What made time? This is the western world I'm swimming in; within these waters I know deep in my gills that time was made. I open my eyes and see fish; perhaps you open yours and see flow. Maybe your temporality isn't something that can be said to have begun. What the hell do I know about that, I'm breathing water here. Your geographical location will tell your gills other truths. Maybe your temporality has no need of a beginning. So. What made time? This time, yeah? A god? A god made time? Nice work dumbass, you made something that breaks too easily. Your temporality is too fragile. It smashes whenever we make something formed from what is that word everybody knows? What's the point (ah the point!
) of a temporality that breaks whenever we corrode sublimate smash something into nothing
. Break it down boys. We can clear this place out in no time flat. Make quick work. Sudden, sometimes. But look at the materials: creatio ex nihilo
, so what do you expect? Shows what you get when you make something from nothing. Must not have been much of a primary void. You want void? You want nothing? We have nothing. We have plenty of nothing right here. In this country. Right here. Go look at the sky just above our greatest city. That particular nothing ranks with some of our greatest and most terrible nothings ever to cleave time, and we've had some enormous nothings on our record. Millions of leaping final flames. Tear stained trails of them. When a world watches with hearts in mouths while receiving a nightmare's bad kick, what is the more grievous sight? The buildings falling? The dust clouds and smoke rising spreading filling smothering settling? No. It's the oh my god the towers aren't there. That. It was that. Remember that? That ripple of obvious entwined with inconceivable? It was visceral, that moment. That's the sight that cleaved time. There's what rent temporality. That monument of nothing. We look into that nothing. That hole in our sky. That hole in our temporality. And we look into that nothing and name everything on the other side "before" and on this side "after."Sly Uses: Having My Way with Ulysses
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Ormond Hotel (Shira Shirim): the altercation
with a truculent troglodyte in
still, “at the holy show I am”, where his went, “her white”, who promised her, letterwrit, upturned stoodup, idle whose sainted eyes, who left without having written her, burr, “By went his eyes”, two boots, to wit, she, to boot, I, drowsy, in silence, go, “amoroso ma non troppo”, “the rhododendrons”, one, foursquare, archaicmurmured one, plus one drop but none create, “all harpsichording”, pianosuspended, all repressing accusing lull, kidneychoaked, sings, “M’appari tutt’amor”, amorousness, inertia mashed torpor, but the music of this this, who promised her incisions, horsd’ouevres, isness of a previous horse, my stiletto in your falsetto, of course, no Stetson can, “With a cock with a carra”, cocksureheaded, sic, est, hic
Bernard Kiernan's premises (holocaust):
a blank period of time including a
dogsology, the Pilgrim’s Plagiar, Mu, Per che non pioggia, “Honorable members of”, fiction from non, four million fifteen thousand six hundred and, seventy six, I, too, have speech, a day’s anti vitae, fed lambaste, disloquacity, our butter breaded and, beatéduppéd, on a timid, figured page, revisederasedadrift, matriculated amiably, quando inver’ Madïan discese I colli, “Ho ho begob” he slobbed, deep-throated Engins belcht, “Arrah!”, squelch’d and splash’d the Gorgons disgorg’d, it is the blackbird of Darrycarn that Finn brought from Norway, “for he was a malefactor”, [italics mine], acque alza, of reviv’d Adonis, e calma, to emphasize “Kiernan and Co.”, by whose clues bloomed aplenty, in hiddened arhỳthms, erst wooéd, bolster up my memory, speak in postulates
cardrive, a visit to a house of mourning,
a leavetaking (wilderness): the
“Ora Pro Nobis”, for instance, consubstantial, “Clery’s summer sale”, for example, gratuitous, et lie sey-wrakis earundem, at least to all who heard, evanescent, he, who was hard pressed, hard on the head, in hand, and so forth, and wept, with thumbs a’thrummin, “Ora Pro Nobis”, so wrought with apparition, etiquette, et cetera, and tapestry, scantily, O Michaellike cocksbody, “The new I want,” the how the whomever, a hand in the morrow, shipwreck, “seawrack”, now nausea, escapes the whom and, spilled somehow, “All quiet on Howth now”, in summary, fertile lectern, finally, she participates, a wrested front, Western and, harder pressed, recited, “Ora Pro Nobis”, orbs abounding, “aimed the ball once or twice and”
eroticism produced by feminine exhibitionism (rite of Onan):
or as the was by them a “sapience” homo fluxus the lust of whose “benefaction” reached elements inexistent whose “loose boyconnell flux” matched “acumen” reservoirs tooth and tithe as by them was said to scathe soothe or sour complaint too “lutulent” to have been highly esteemed with iteration every of which scarcely indebted all accident to all the up desires whereby countenance of corpulence could have loosed deceit of infidelity rused but the proverbial arousal not opulence not scarcely optimized but so bared the women remnants irreparable ineluctably steamdozed by then “Lacus Mortis” mutatis mutandis come si come sa i stati uniti et cetera circumventing aporia prescribed to have halved half a heifer’s
Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Casamassima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem.
| |I have begun a project that addresses the crosscurrents between my need to make visual art and my awareness that my world view is shaped by reading (the instigator of empathy) and writing (a source of self-discovery). It has become increasingly critical for me to use words in my work in a meaningful and beautifully visual way. In this new piece I will engage not my own words but those of modernist master, James Joyce. Words once considered dirty; filthy; no better than household scum. 265,000 words so unclean that they were prosecuted for obscenity in the United States, and for 12 years after their first appearance in print, considered unfit for publication in the United Kingdom. I’m referring, of course, to the text of Joyce’s groundbreaking novel, Ulysses. -- the first paragraph of Jessica Deane Rosner's artist statement for her "Ulysses and the Gloves" project. Click here to read the rest of Rosner's artist statement. | |
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delivery of Mrs Mina Purefoy (heave offering):
the visit to the disorderly house
nigredo, agrarian heart, “Omphalos with an obelisk”, which left a glyph, for three days thought she, addressed form, redressed, againdeath, eft he to ward went thusly, a mere wound, wayfarer, wherefore?, to Mareswomb, cockscomb, and therefrom was aghast within, Urform, inghost, deceased perverses, albedo, blesséd was he passed, Ulysses, of melanin, hornblende, a mêlée ensued, a hymen assumpted, “Mater Dei”, dematerialize, “figlia di tuo figlio”, ailing infrastructure, the infear outlasts us, a scent of gnosis emasculates, to coin a phrase, “death pence”, our guest one hair from Hermetic fare, rubedo, a dubious flow, passed through, sewer of æther, origin, feigned other, rather than mead it sat to barter
of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyrone street, lower, and subsequent brawl and
dogdays, glovebox, “voglio e non vorrei”, “a pure mare’s nest”, shehole, at whose bequeath?, “slyph’s diadem”, slipped again? (“she gives him the glad eye”), a previous glyph, arise, dogsbreath and gadsfly, at whose behest?, glib wishes arrive, arise ye stitch, “all prick and no pence”, injected inkjet didja?, instead that stench that glottal cry, step aside, Kinch, giver of death and brevity, what’s gotcha?, my creme brulée to your chambermaid, are we aware?, ouioui, and away we go, “hotly to the populace”, you and whose cohort?, she quivers, touché, another theater trick, pauses, diverse guffaws offered, “and his ark was open”, pragmatic pause, “Kaffirs”, and quills of gopherwool, what have you would?, “besides, who saw?”, I
chance medley in Beaver street (Armageddon):
lapis, “tapis in the circumlocution”, even minutiae lapsed, after feasible exhaustion, ceased, “had to sail on it”, [again, italics mine], seized with extempore, semper fi, or some employ, whatever the case may, but, sound as it may, sound, they say, wait, Greek as it may sound, The Wreck of, rescue?, nuns waylaid, “nonce he was”, off course or, more often, softer than, sound, cause of causes, get up my son, symbol, “embonpoint”, oblivious, as read previously, after publican thoughts, repuddled, or doubled back, “and in a seedy getup”, most coffers sufficed, or, not, none would specify, coy, as they say, could not par force, he was nonetheless, coy, but his tuition, it, his intuition, scattered him, Aztecs, the snotgreen sea
to and from the cabman's shelter, Butt Bridge (atonement).
belulled, what elements did twain?, “Both indurated by early domestic,” astride the dull unlet abiding arc of instress, “which it subtends”, did them in upperlower sidelanes twain, circuslipped, and howandwith whom were?, estranged, whom less by archaicmeans fell to them dafter excrements than, say, rejuvenated, if seized by gentry?, professioned they triumvirate to a cockedup magnetism, vice versified, both agreed anonymously bestride a bead of undergarment, relief?, jocose relief, and arc’s eventual absolution, soak’s aught to be absorbed, is what is alcoholical as such? and sainted, represented of whipstains, but by such namesake what agreed these scapulae, “the minor was proved by the major”
I had to halfshut my eyes blinded would he come no O tragic heaving either she or me leaves no one leaves did he know me in the box no did he drink did he knowing me O Lord what hope did I have my Hail Mary Im not a horse or an ass am I what awakened me whose radius whose host of all hosts Im no am I Aram am I Malta am I Jack Joe Harry all gold and glorious he was coming to an end and then running and then he did come down after my hours his and in my dairy my dell my he must have eaten oysters heard me and me saying have we met have we yes O yes weve eaten a whole sheep a shank in my pot and a yard of woolsy his hard demeanor O anything no matter who it was he brought he burst and I saying its raining yes and yes he says your soul you have no soul
April 2004-October 2005
Note: "Sedici, Ulysses" by Christophe Cassamasima is appearing in installments. Click here to read more stanzas from the poem. | |
brushed up orthodox beverage pump
off the reel hardly a stone
ways and means in the shape
after some soap-sudsy hands
livery stables round the corner
by some fellows a kind of whistle
nothing for it but to foot it by circumstance
as the temperature happened
as the tramway apropos the main entrance
of the morgue in due course
acting as the vidius palpable and indispensible
sober companion of the ill-famed death-trap
for every contingency the need for an accident-solicitor
cordially disliked to swear upon a hat
and to the health of fast women drunk with
season to us both
led to trouble grating the staff of life
awaiting news from abroad
wholesale waters duly arrived with an axe
surplus steam and good Irish bacon with little account of crime
a bit peeved but never the less an admiral
the coal scene the confidence trick
on the scaffold high snapping at the boneNote: Gene Tanta wrote this poem during a "Ulysses" edition of a Next Objectivists workshop.
The Twofold form Hermaphroditic: and the Double-sexed; The Female-male & the Male-female, self-dividing stood Before him in their beauty, & in cruelties of holiness! Shining in darkness, glorious upon the deeps of Entuthon. -- William Blake, from Milton: A Poem
From Sly Uses: Having my way with Ulysses
Scene [Tranquilla convent, in the back garden. The sisters are preparing to receive a novice for initiation into the order. St. Agatha and Sister Mary Peter wait with ten fingers locked for her to arrive. ]
St. Agatha: Sister Mary Peter, have you seen my breasts?
Sister Mary Peter: You left them in the rectory Reverend Mother, shall I retrieve them for you?
St. Agatha: No, no. No. Nuisance they are anyway, really, although I do feel like I lose a charm every time I take them off. Still, we have a new novice coming and it would be a waste of this whitewashed face and cool coif not to long to appear, well, complete.
Sister Mary Peter: It is a natural craving, Reverend Mother, but you're looking splendid. Dressed up to the nines.
St. Agatha: Never mind, no time. I can see her coming with my dexter optic! O look who it is for the love of God! I thought they were dumping Martha on us and instead it's Lizzie Twigg! How are you at all? What have you been doing with yourself? [kiss] and delighted to [kiss] see you!
Lizzie Twigg: Hello Agatha. I would have been here sooner but there was all that barbed wire.
St. Agatha: We do like to cloister ourselves here! But never mind never mind. No hurry, my dear sister soul. I'm just so happy you're not Martha! So vindictive for what she can't get. Oh my child! So, here you are, giving up your desire to aid gentlemen in literary work.
Lizzie Twigg: Yes, I'm done with men. I loved an Aeon and that ended badly. Felt like I was drowning half the time. Now I want to dedicate myself to somebody more, I don't know, along the straight and narrow. Linear minded. Gets us from then to when.
St. Agatha: Well as a fellow bride of Christ you will have that, even the calendar starts with him, to some end point. So, let's have a look at you. Nice well-filled hose, though they are a bit down around the ankle.
Sister Mary Peter: Voice like a pick axe, no good for the choir. Are you lame?
Lizzie Twigg: No. My boots are a bit tight though.
St. Agatha: You might have a high arched instep.
Lizzie Twigg: Um. I have a question. I've heard things about the sisters here. That some of you get a bit, well, odd. I've heard about some sisters licking pennies all the time, and wanting to smell rock oil, and all kinds of. Is this, is this true?
St. Agatha: It's only the virgins who go mad in the end. I take it you're?
Lizzie Twigg: Not. No.
St. Agatha. I thought not. You have that I'm all clean come dirty me look. Now, when was the start of your last menstrual period? Must have been within the past couple of days.
Lizzie Twigg: Today. And it's awful. Feels a ton weight. How did you know?
St Agatha: The plants are withering. And the fiddle strings have all snapped.
Sister Mary Peter: The milk is turning too.
St. Agatha: Sister Mary Peter, go get St. Patricia, she can coagulate Miss Twigg's blood. Now Miss Twigg, we'll stop your menstruation for now, but you'll have to get into step with the rest of us. We all bleed together according to the moon.
Lizzie Twigg: I'm sorry. I mean, I don't mean to be rude or question is it all a fake or anything but, none of you look like, well, like the menstruating type. No offense. How many women?
St. Agatha: Listen sister, we feel it ourselves too, ok, all of us together. We can be a pack of devils when it's coming on, I can tell you, especially Sister Mary Peter!
Lizzie Twigg: She's a hot little devil all the same. We were girlfriends at school you know.
St. Agatha: Oh were you? And how do you find her now?
Lizzie Twigg: Well back then she was yours for the asking! And not to pick holes in her appearance or anything, but she does have fewer teeth than before.
St. Agatha: Never you mind that now. We all have bodies, we all have curves inside our deshabillé, but if you are to undertake a novitiate with us you'll find within our walls sanctity and corporeality intermingle. Bring your agenbite of inwit, but don't forget your frillies for Raoul, honey, He likes them both. Now come with me child, that's a lovely shirt shining beneath your what? But we must get on with dressing each other for the sacrifice.