Ulysses page-by-page mirror

Monday, March 30, 2015

[A Ulysses tarot?]

Joyce's imagery is as rich and deep as the traditional tarot (hasn't anyone else explored this yet?) cf FWake

[wiki]
easier than boardgame?

the four suits: wands, pentacles, cups, swords
1-10, page, knight, queen, king

suppose the suits were given to Bloom, Stephen, Molly, and... Nora?

or 18 cards per suit, one for each episode, with the suits being categories from the schemata like literary style, setting, science, symbols...?

major arcana

The Fool [Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell?]
The Magician [macintosh?]
The High Priestess [Bella?]
The Empress [Molly]
The Emperor
The Hierophant [AE]
The Lovers [Molly and Boylan, Bloom and Gerty]
The Chariot [viceregal cavalcade?]
Strength
The Hermit []
Wheel of Fortune [Tom Rochford's invention?]
Justice [Fanning?]
The Hanged Man [Parnell]
Death [Glasnevin, Corny Kelleher, John O'Connell]
Temperance [Bloom? Lyster?]
The Devil [Boylan or Mulligan or AE?]
The Tower [Sandycove]
The Star
The Moon
The Sun
Judgement [the black panther?]
The World [Dublin]

missing?

the Editor
the Tourist [Haines]
the Strand
the Outhouse
the Soap
Martha
the Ballast Office clock
the Potato
7 Eccles
Library
goddesses
sirens
Citizen w/dog

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Page 420 (15.358-386) "THE BAWD Ten shillings... overcoat with loose"

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<

THE BAWD
Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched. Fifteen. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

(She points. In the gap of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled Bridie Kelly stands.)

BRIDIE
Hatch street. Any good in your mind?

(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard, weaker.)

THE BAWD
(Her wolfeyes shining.) He's getting his pleasure. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.

(Leering, Gerty MacDowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)

GERTY
With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She murmurs.) You did that. I hate you.

BLOOM
I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.

THE BAWD
Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.

GERTY
(To Bloom.) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.

(She glides away crookedly. Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose

[cite]
'This cloth is heavy and sound, rather than fine in quality' [wiki]

mysteries:

[DD]
[IM]
[LV1]
[LV2]

circe: 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 442 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 552 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Page 419 (15.331-357) "BLOOM I was just going... chinmole glittering.)"

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<

BLOOM
I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Shop closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in the morning. (He pats divers pockets.) This moving kidney. Ah!

(He points to the south, then to the east. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.)

THE SOAP

We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.
He brightens the earth, I polish the sky.

(The freckled face of Sweny, the druggist, appears in the disc of the soapsun.)

SWENY
Three and a penny, please.

BLOOM
Yes. For my wife, Mrs Marion. Special recipe.

MARION
(Softly.) Poldy!

BLOOM
Yes, ma'am?

MARION
Ti trema un poco il cuore?

(In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)

BLOOM
Are you sure about that Voglio? I mean the pronunciati...

(He follows, followed by the sniffing terrier. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the bristles of her chinmole glittering.)

Page 418 (15.299-330) "trousers and jacket... See the wide world."

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trousers and jacket slashed with gold. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. A white yashmak, violet in the night, covers her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and raven hair.)

by definition, a yashmak will cover the hair as well

BLOOM
Molly!

MARION
Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. (Satirically.) Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?

BLOOM
(Shifts from foot to foot.) No, no. Not the least little bit.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelled toerings. Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)

MARION
Nebrakada! Femininum!

Stephen read these words on p233

(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then droops his head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.)

placing himself symbolically below the camel?

BLOOM
I can give you... I mean as your business menagerer... Mrs Marion... if you...

menagerie = a strange or diverse collection of people/ animals/ things

MARION
So you notice some change? (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a slow friendly mockery in her eyes.) O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Go and see life. See the wide world.

p364: "He flung his wooden pen away. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck. Now if you were trying to do that for a week on end you couldn't. Chance."

Page 417 (15.268-298) "BLOOM (In youth's smart... fill out her scarlet"

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<

BLOOM
(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gent's sterling silver Waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Harriers, father. Only that once.

(this costume sounds like what he wished he could afford then)

before c1850 all watches needed a separate key for winding and setting ('keyless' UK = 'stem winder' US)

RUDOLPH
Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand open. Lockjaw. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps.

age 16 c1882 "(Points to his hand.) That weal there is an accident. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago. I was sixteen." p525

BLOOM
(Weakly.) They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. I slipped.

RUDOLPH
(With contempt.) Goim nachez! Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

BLOOM
Mamma!

ELLEN BLOOM
(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a crispine net, appears over the staircase banisters, a slanted candlestick in her hand, and cries out in shrill alarm.) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My smelling salts! (She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her striped blay petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out.) Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all, at all?

(by far the most detailed view of Bloom's mother seems more stereotyped than remembered)

Widow Twankey

crespine net

(Bloom, mumbling, his eyes downcast, begins to bestow his parcels in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)

A VOICE
(Sharply.) Poldy!

BLOOM
Who? (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily.) At your service.

(He looks up. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet

Page 416 (15.239-267) "BLOOM O! ...running chaps?"

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<

BLOOM
O!

(Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watchfob, pocketbookpocket, pursepocket, sweets of sin, potatosoap.)

"hams" = backs of thighs

BLOOM
Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch your purse.

(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)

the spaniel above (p411) is one type of retriever

draft: "A stooped bearded figure appears beside him, in horned spectacles dressed in a long caftan embroidered with dogs' heads and wearing a smoking cap with crimson tassel.
Rudolph: Half crown wasted. I told you not go with drunken goys ever.
Bloom: I know.
He looks down, conscious of error, feeling through the paper a warm crubeen and a cold trotter.
Rudolph: What are you doing? Are you not my son Leopold?
Bloom: Yes, father.
Rudolph: (severely) One night they bring you home drunk as a dog after spend your good money. What you call those running chaps?"

"dogs' heads" (Rudolph loved his dog Athos: "Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leopold, is my last wish." p87)

RUDOLPH
Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no money.

halfcrown = 2/6 = 30p
4p (pigsfoot) + 3p (trotter) + 1/0 (chocolate) + 4p (bread) = 1/11 = 23p

Bloom himself would never use the derogatory "goy"

BLOOM
(Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

RUDOLPH
What you making down this place? Have you no soul? (With feeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of Bloom.) Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

(could Rudolph have believed it was Poldy who strayed from Judaism, rather than Rudolph himself who'd officially converted to Protestantism?)

BLOOM
(With precaution.) I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that's left of him.

RUDOLPH
(Severely.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. What you call them running chaps?

Page 415 (15.205-238) "be the fellow balked... tilt against Bloom.)"

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<

be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Same style of beauty. Quick of him all the same. The stiff walk. True word spoken in jest. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous I ate. Emblem of luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. (He closes his eyes an instant.) Bit light in the head. Monthly or effect of the other. Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!

tired

(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against O'Beirne's wall, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)

Bloom has just entered Mabbot from Talbot

sombreros would have been associated with Wild West shows

[more]

BLOOM
Bueñas noches, señorita Blanca. Que calle es esta?

(does he not know, or is he just showing off his limited spanish?)

THE FIGURE
(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Password. Sraid Mabbot.

BLOOM
Haha. Merci. Esperanto. Slan leath. (He mutters.)Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater.

(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He steps left, ragsackman left.)

same one from p409?

BLOOM
I beg.

(He leaps right, sackragman right.)

BLOOM
I beg.

(He swerves, sidles, stepsaside, slips past and on.)

BLOOM
Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones, at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world.

1890: In Darkest Africa [ebook]
1890: In Darkest England [ebook]
1891: In Darkest Canada [ebook]
1892: In Darkest America [ebook]

(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.)