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A small p.s.
Picturing Finnegans Wake
Article voiceover
A few pictures of the book in question. A prized possession. Goodnight everyone.
The lapping water is audible in this message! At least I think it is. I heard it when the message first started before you spoke and it occurred to me what the sound could be. I wasn’t sure but then you said that you could hear the water lapping. Then I listened again and it does seem to be - does anyone else hear it? I am homesick for the sea because it’s been years (since Covid) since I’ve been on a beach. So it’s possible that it’s an auditory hallucination. If anyone else hears it, please let me know.
Thank you for returning, Patti. These images are wonderful. The book is so beautiful. I know it’s not with you now, but some time when you are home, could you send a photo of Joyce’s writing in green pen? It would be such a thrill to see.
Again, thank you for returning and showing us these images, and for the blessings on the souls of Brian Jones and Jim Morrison.
Thank you, especially, for mentioning the poem that Jim Morrison wrote for Brian Jones. The poem was printed in pamphlet form with olive green ink on pale green bleached parchment and handed out to the crowd before many of the band’s performances. It is a mournful irony that only two years later, Morrison would pass on the same day, and his body, too, would be found in water.
On the first page of the pamphlet it says: “Ode to LA while thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased.” Over the next two pages is the poem, transcribed herein:
I’m a resident of a city
They’ve just picked me to play
the Prince of Denmark
Poor Ophelia
All those ghosts he never saw
Floating to doom
On an iron candle
Come back, brave warrior
Do the dive
On another channel
Hot buttered pool
Where’s Marrakesh
Under the falls
the wild storm
where savages fell out
in late afternoon
monsters of rhythm
You’ve left your
Nothing
to compete w/
Silence
I hope you went out
Smiling
Like a child
Into the cool remnant
of a dream
The angel man
w/ Serpents competing
for his palms
& fingers
Finally claimed
This benevolent
Soul
Ophelia
Leaves, sodden
in silk
Chlorine
dream
mad stifled
Witness
The diving board, the plunge
The pool
You were a fighter
a damask musky muse
You were the bleached
Sun
for TV afternoon
horned-toads
maverick of a yellow spot
Look now to where it’s got
You
in meat heaven
w/ the cannibals
& jews
The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You’re made of
Poke holes in the goddess
Skin
in meat heaven
w/ the cannibals
& jews
The gardener
Found
The body, rampant, Floating
Lucky Stiff
What is this green pale stuff
You’re made of
Poke holes in the goddess
Skin
Will he Stink
Carried heavenward
Thru the halls
of music
No Chance.
Requiem for a heavy
That smile
That porky satyr’s
leer
has leaped upward
into the loam
🍃
Thank you again, Patti. Warm wishes to everyone,
Robin
When I was in university, another lifetime ago, I was so entranced by Finnegans Wake that I memorized the opening lines...'riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay...' The entire thing remains fresh in my mind. It's so magical. I can't tell you how many times I ripped it off in my own writing. But mainly I read it with a sense of joy. How wonderful to have a signed copy. That's truly the stuff dreams are made of.