My Own Private Ulysses: On a Wall of the Glyptotek
Art by Paul Cezanne, Self Portrait with Bowler Hat , 1885 “Wise Bloom eyed on the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid nice waves. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all. Hair streaming: lovelorn. For some man. For Raoul. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jaunting car. It is. Again. Third time. Coincidence. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the bridge to Ormond quay. Follow. Risk it. Go quick. At four. Near now. At four she…” - Ulysses
Apr 6
My Own Private Ulysses: April is the Foolest Month
April is the Foolest Month No, April’s not the cruelest month, T.S. And creepy winter never kept us warm. Your Bloomsbury band bred some real B.S. But worse, the crone Woolf froze her own art form. The Book of Bloom was born without a bang Or whiff of gold or frankincense or myrrh. The anti-magi snarled with flash of fang, The gifts they bared: scold, skank pretense, and slur. The newborn thing lay unmourned all winter, Never whimpered, named as a pariah, Damned to Hell’s pit
Mar 29
My Own Private Ulysses: “Why the Shakespearean Sonnet?” Asked the Open-Mic Host
“Why the Shakespearean Sonnet?” Asked the Open-Mic Host Here’s how my sonnet psychosis was born: ‘Gainst Hemingway I did commit a crime. His gem, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn,” I stole it. Then I shined it up with rhyme. And my next victim: crazy Ezra Pound, I smashed and grabbed his spanking new haiku. Don’t blame me, what goes around comes around, He robbed the old and claimed to, “Make it New.” Delighted by my derring-do crime spree, I craved crown jewels, so I snatch
Mar 17
My Own Private Ulysses: On the Wall of a Museum #6
Art by Noah Davis Bad Boy for Life , 2007 BELLO: (Coaxingly.) Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts out her timid head.) There’s a good girly now. (Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward.) I only want to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How’s that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready. BLOOM: (Fainting.) Don’t tear my... -U
Mar 10
My Own Private Ulysses: On the Wall of a Museum #5
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 sp
Feb 26
My Own Private Ulysses: On the Wall of a Museum #4
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.
Feb 16
My Own Private Ulysses: Unto You To See What We Would Call Them?
“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. Cons
Feb 9
