My Own Private Ulysses: Bloom is Our Kettle

In the Modernist spirit of improvisation and innovation, not to mention versification and alliteration, we provide the sonnetfication of a previous prose piece. The original essay left the Joyceverse no choice but to pretend it did not exist. Read the suppressed essay here.

“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.”

– Ulysses, James Joyce

Bloom is Our Kettle

Bloom’s double is his own kitchen kettle,

“It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out.”

Cast-iron, both made of equal mettle,

Heated, hard-up, throughout the day’s long route.

Bloom’s clad in black, well-dressed for death this day.

But poor Paddy Dignam’s surprise demise

Could never keep Bloom’s blazing gaze at bay.

The femme form he will ever idolize.

But Bloom’s womanly, Doc Dixon maintained.

And Gerty’s flirty flash his seed did spill.

Still, in Bella’s brothel his spout sustained.

Bloom has no need for a little blue pill.

My cracked-glass kettle pouts, limp-wired, and wrecked.

My own double’s spout stands short of erect.

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My Own Private Ulysses: The Jeer in the Ear of Bloom

"She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly, an elbow on the pillow. He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat’s udder. The warmth of her couched body rose on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the tea she poured.

A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. In the act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread.

—Who was the letter from? he asked."

— Ulysses, James Joyce

Today’s Ezraku:

The Jeer in the Ear of Bloom

Jingle of invisible brass under my bed:

Tingle of risible ass-plunder, my dread.

My Own Private Ulysses: In the Hush of the Morning Kitchen

"They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder what I look like to her."

- Ulysses, James Joyce

Today’s Ezraku:

In the Hush of the Morning Kitchen

A mysterious meow, like a human ooh:

Molly’s mating call, not for you, not for you…

P.S.

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