Art by Pierre Bonnard
Le Pont du Carrousel à Paris, 1903
“Prrprr.
Must be the bur.
Fff! Oo. Rrpr.
Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She’s passed. Then and not till then.Tram kran kran kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I’m sure it’s the burgund. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Kraaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppffff.
Done.”
- Ulysses, James Joyce
Today’s Ezraku:
On the Wall of a Museum #5
Bonnard’s unabridged backside to words spoken:
Bloom’s wind instrument, finally broken.
Art by Jack Kirby and Frank Giacoia
“Come along, Stephen, the professor said. That is fine, isn’t it? It has the prophetic vision. Fuit Ilium! The sack of windy Troy. Kingdoms of this world.”
- Ulysses, James Joyce
Today’s Ezraku:
On the Wall of a Museum #4
Jack Kirby’s reload of Kubrick’s Space Odyssey:
Joyce’s new mode of Homer’s Ode O’ Sea.
“Come around to Barney Kiernan’s, says Joe. I want to see The Bloomsday Journal.”
Unto You To See What We Would Call Them?
Here comes a group of Joyceans en masse,
Forever drinking, yet they never drown.
They’re always so crass, they lack proper class,
These beasts deserve their own collective noun.
A Menace or a Murder sounds correct,
But those are owned by crocodiles and crows.
Intrusion fairly fits their foul aspect,
But cockroach holds that name, Franz Kafka knows.
Conspiracy and Cauldron, Clutch and Crash!
And Cowardice and Cackle, Cast and Cloud!
And that’s not all the Cs, there’s a whole cache.
In kangaroo courts, are pet names allowed?
This name game broke me out in chicken pox.
Seek fame? Sneak your suggestion into my box.
Stay tuned for a skulk of sequels to this sonnet.
Same troop of times, same charm of channels.