Silence, Exile and Cunning @therealjamesjoyce - Tumblr Blog

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Paris Review, The Art of Fiction No. 40

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OMF

therealjamesjoyce

LIAR

oglaighnaheireann

therealjamesjoyce

I called it "the whine of Ireland" and was shortly thereafter repatriated to Trieste.

laurenredhead

James Joyce finger puppet for #Bloomsday (Taken with instagram)

therealjamesjoyce

And how much fan art have people done for you, Pound?

OH THAT'S RIGHT NONE!

Suck it, Pound.

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As Open Culture explains, this rare 1924 recording of Joyce reading from the Aeolus episode of the novel was arranged and financed by his friend and publisher Sylvia Beach, who brought him by taxi to the HMV (His Master’s Voice) gramophone studio in the Paris suburb of Billancourt. She writes in her memoir, Shakespeare & Company:

Joyce had chosen the speech in the Aeolus episode, the only passage that could be lifted out of Ulysses, he said, and the only one that was “declamatory” and therefore suitable for recital. He had made up his mind, he told me, that this would be his only reading from Ulysses.

I have an idea that it was not for declamatory reasons alone that he chose this passage from Aeolus. I believe that it expressed something he wanted said and preserved in his own voice. As it rings out–”he lifted his voice above it boldly”–it is more, one feels, than mere oratory.

Pair with these rare 1935 illustrations for Ulysses by none other than Henri Matisse.

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Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel a bit peckish.

The coals were reddening.

Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn’t like her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. Cup of tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.

—Mkgnao!

—O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire.

The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my head. Prr.

dudeinpublishing-blog

HAPPY BLOOMSDAY

Casual reminder that if your idea of Bloomsday is making a pilgrimage to Dublin, you're wrong.

You should be re-reading Ulysses.

You should never stop re-reading Ulysses.

Spend your whole life re-reading Ulysses.

#Bloomsday

biblioklept

A Letter From James Joyce to Nora Barnacle, 12/13/1909

I would be delighted to feel my flesh tingling under your hand. Do you know what I mean, Nora dear?

Suck It, Pound!

Does any of your literary characters have his own day? Shyeah right, I'm so sure, Pound.

Fuck you and your Little Review.

It's Bloomsday, not Cantosday.

KISS MY ROYAL IRISH ARSE!

#Bloomsday #James Joyce #Ezra Pound

theparisreview

“Of all the literary celebrations that might blow up, why Joyce, why Ulysses, and why Bloomsday? The answer lies in the celebrity and cultural capital of the Joyce brand, the result of Joyce’s machinations and the way he’s been taken up in mainstream U.S. culture.”

Jonathan Goldman on the history of Bloomsday.