Wednesday, September 17, 2008

...Latin me that, my trinity scholard, our of eure sanscreed into oure eryan!...

I'm currently in the throws of Independent Study of James Joyce's book Finnegans Wake. I just read a particularly entertaining portion and thought I'd share it here. The methods of approaching this book are literally endless, as is the time you could spend studying the book. It is a complete world unto itself made entirely of language (really many languages, forming an entirely unique/universal one [through the sounds]) .

"And there oftafter, jauntyjogging, on an Irish visavis, insteadily with shoulder to shoulder Jehu will tell to Christianier, saint to sage, the humphriad of that fall and rise while daisy winks at her pinker sister among the tussocks and the copoll between the shafts mocks the couple on the car. And as your who may look like how on the owther side of his big belttry your tyrs and cloes your noes and paradigm maymay rererise in eren. Follow we up his whip vindicative. Thurston's! Lo bebold! La arboro, lo petrusu. The augustan peacebetothem oaks, the monolith rising stark from the moonlit pinebarren. In all fortitudinous ajaxious rowdinoisy tenuacity. The angelus hour with ditchers bent upon their farm usetensiles, the soft belling of the fallow deers (doerehmoose genuane!) advertising their milky approach as midnight was striking the hours (letate!), and how brightly the great tribune outed the sharkskin smokewallet (imitation!) from his frock, kippers, and by Joshua, he tips un a topping swank cheroot, none of your swellish soide, quoit the reverse, and how manfally he says, pluk to pluk and lekan for lukan, he was to just pluggy well suck that brown boyo, my son, and spend a whole half hour in Havana. Sorer of the kreeksmen, would not thore be old high gothsprogue! Wherefore he met Master, he mean to say, he do, sire, bester of redpublicans, at Eagle Cock Hostel on Lorenzo Tooley street and how he wished his Honour the bannocks of Gort and Morya and Bri Head and Puddyrick, yore Loudship, and a starchboxsitting in the pit of his St Tomach's, a strange wish for you, my friend, and it would poleaxe your sonson's grandson utterly though your own old sweatandswear floruerunts heaved it hoch many as the times, when they were turrified by the hitz."


Scott Abbott said...

Makes prefect sense (non!) to my fellow Americans herewith and forevergetting.