lirik lagu e. g. marshall - ulysses: soliloquy of leopold bloom
bad plan however of you don’t know how to end the conversation. ask them a question they ask you another. good idea if you’re in a cart. wonderful of course if you say: good evening, and you see she’s on for it: good evening. o but the dark evening in the appian way i nearly spoke to mrs clinch o thinking she was. whew! girl in meath street that night. all the dirty things i made her say all wrong of course. my arks she called it. it’s so hard to find one who. aho! if you don’t answer when they solicit must be horrible for them till they harden. and kissеd my hand when i gave her thе extra two shillings. parrots. press the b~tton and the bird will squeak. wish she hadn’t called me sir. oh, her mouth in the dark! and you a married man with a single girl! that’s what they enjoy. taking a man from another woman. or even hear of it. different with me. glad to get away from other chap’s wife. eating off his cold plate. chap in the burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. french letter still in my pocketbook. cause of half the trouble. but might happen sometime, i don’t think. come in. all is prepared. i dreamt. what? worst is beginning. how they change the venue when it’s not what they like. ask you do you like mushrooms because she once knew a gentleman who. or ask you what someone was going to say when he changed his mind and stopped. yet if i went the whole hog, say: i want to, something like that. because i did. she too. offend her. then make it up. pretend to want something awfully, then cry off for her sake. flatters them. she must have been thinking of someone else all the time. what harm? must since she came to the use of reason, he, he and he. first kiss does the trick. the propitious moment. something inside them goes pop. mushy like, tell by their eye, on the sly. first thoughts are best. remember that till their dying day. molly, lieutenant mulvey that kissed her under the moorish wall beside the gardens. fifteen she told me. but her br~~sts were developed. fell asleep then. after glencree dinner that was when we drove home the featherbed mountain. gnashing her t~~th in sleep. lord mayor had his eye off her too. val dillon. apoplectic
there she is with them down there for the fireworks. my fireworks. up like a rocket, down like a stick. and the children, twins they must be, waiting for something to happen. want to be grownups. dressing in mother’s clothes. time enough, understand all the ways of the world. and the dark one with the mop head and the n~gga mouth. i knew she could whistle. mouth made for that. like molly. why that high class wh0re in jammet’s wore her veil only to her nose. would you mind, please, telling me the right time? i’ll tell you the right time up a dark lane. say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, cure for fat lips. caressing the little boy too. onlookers see most of the game. of course they understand birds, animals, babies. in their line
didn’t look back when she was going down the strand. wouldn’t give that satisfaction. those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. fine eyes she had, clear. it’s the white of the eye brings that out not so much the pupil. did she know what i? course. like a cat sitting beyond a dog’s jump. women never meet one like that wilkins in the high school drawing a picture of venus with all his belongings on show. call that innocence? poor idiot! his wife has her work cut out for her. never see them sit on a bench marked wet paint. eyes all over them. look under the bed for what’s not there. longing to get the fright of their lives. sharp as needles they are. when i said to molly the man at the corner of cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might like, twigged at once he had a false arm. had too. where do they get that? typist going up roger greene’s stairs two at a time to show her understandings. handed down from father to mother to daughter, i mean. bred in the bone. milly for example drying her handkerchief on the mirror to save the ironing. best place for an ad to catch a woman’s eye on a mirror. and when i sent her for molly’s paisley shawl to presscott’s, by the way that ad i must, carrying home the change in her stocking. clever little minx! i never told her. neat way she carries parcels too. attract men, small thing like that. holding up her hand, shaking it, to let the blood flow back when it was red. who did you learn that from? n0body. something the nurse taught me. o, don’t they know? three years old she was in front of molly’s dressingtable just before we left lombard street west. me have a nice pace. mullingar. who knows? ways of the world. young student. straight on her pins anyway not like the other. still she was game. lord, i am wet. devil you are. swell of her calf. transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. not like that frump today. a. e. rumpled stockings. or the one in grafton street. white. wow! beef to the heel
a monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads. and cissy and tommy ran out to see and edy after with the pushcar and then gerty beyond the curve of the rocks. will she? watch! watch! see! looked round. she smelt an onion. darling, i saw your. i saw all
lord!
did me good all the same. off colour after kiernan’s, dignam’s. for this relief much thanks. in hamlet, that is. lord! it was all things combined. excitement. when she leaned back felt an ache at the b~tt of my tongue. your head it simply swirls. he’s right. might have made a worse fool of myself however. instead of talking about nothing. then i will tell you all. still it was a kind of language between us. it couldn’t be? no, gerty they called her. might be false name however like my and the address dolphin’s barn a blind
her maiden name was jemina brown
and she lived with her mother in irishtown
place made me think of that i suppose. all tarred with the same brush. wiping pens in their stockings. but the ball rolled down to her as if it understood. every bullet has its billet. course i never could throw anything straight at school. crooked as a ram’s h~rn. sad however because it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwalloping and papa’s pants will soon fit w~lly and fullers’ earth for the baby when they hold him out to do ah ah. no soft job. saves them. keeps them out of harm’s way. nature. washing child, washing corpse. dignam. children’s hands always round them. cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not even closed at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. oughtn’t to have given that child an empty teat to suck. fill it up with wind. mrs beaufoy, purefoy. must call to the hospital. wonder is nurse callan there still. she used to look over some nights when molly was in the coffee palace. that young doctor o’hare i noticed her brushing his coat. and, mrs breen and mrs dignam once like that too, marriageable. worst of all at night mrs duggan told me in the city arms. husband rolling in drunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. have that in your nose in the dark, whiff of stale boose. then ask in the morning: was i drunk last night? bad policy however to fault the husband. chickens come home to roost. they stick by one another like glue. maybe the women’s fault also. that’s where molly can knock spots off them. it is the blood of the south. moorish. also the form, the figure. hands felt for the opulent. just compare for instance those others. wife locked up at home, skeleton in the cupboard. allow me to introduce my. then they trot you out some kind of a nondescript, wouldn’t know what to call her. always see a fellow’s weak point in his wife. still there’s destiny in it, falling in love. have their own secrets between them. chaps that would go to the dogs if some woman didn’t take them in hand. then little chits of girls, height of a shilling in coppers, with little hubbies. as god made them he matched them. sometimes children turn out well enough. twice nought makes one. or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. marry in may and repent in december. this wet is very unpleasant. stuck. well the foreskin is not back. better detach
ow!
other hand a sixfooter with a wifey up to his watchpocket. long and the short of it. big he and little she. very strange about my watch. wristw~tches are always going wrong. wonder is there any magnetic influence between the person because that was about the time he. yes, i suppose at once. cat’s away the mice will play. i remember looking in pill lane. also that now is magnetism. back of everything magnetism. earth for instance pulling this and being pulled. that causes movement. and time? well that’s the time the movement takes. then if one thing stopped the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. because it’s all arranged. magnetic needle tells you what’s going on in the sun, the stars. little piece of steel iron. when you hold out the fork. come. come. tip. woman and man that is. fork and steel. molly, he. dress up and look and suggest and let you see and see more and defy you if you’re a man to see that and, like a sneeze coming, legs, look, look and if you have any guts in you. tip. have to let fly
wonder how is she feeling in that region. shame all put on before third person. more put out about a hole in her stocking. molly, her underjaw stuck out, head back, about the farmer in the ridingboots and spurs at the horse show. and when the painters were in lombard street west. fine voice that fellow had. how giuglini began. smell that i did, like flowers. it was too. violets. came from the turpentine probably in the paint. make their own use of everything. same time doing it scr~ped her slipper on the floor so they wouldn’t hear. but lots of them can’t kick the beam, i think. keep that thing up for hours. kind of a general all round over me and half down my back
wait. hm. hm. yes. that’s her perfume. why she waved her hand. i leave you this to think of me when i’m far away on the pillow. what is it? heliotrope? no, hyacinth? hm. roses, i think. she’d like scent of that kind. sweet and cheap: soon sour. why molly likes opoponax. suits her with a little jessamine mixed. her high notes and her low notes. at the dance night she met him, dance of the hours. heat brought it out. she was wearing her black and it had the perfume of the time before. good conductor, is it? or bad? light too. suppose there’s some connection. for instance if you go into a cellar where it’s dark. mysterious thing too. why did i smell it only now? took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. suppose it’s ever so many millions of tiny grains blown across. yes, it is. because those spice islands, cinghalese this morning, smell them leagues off. tell you what it is. it’s like a fine fine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer and they’re aways spinning it out of them, fine as anything, rainbow colours without knowing it. clings to everything she takes off. vamp of her stockings. warm shoe. stays. drawers: little kick, taking them off. byby till next time. also the cat likes to sniff in her shift on the bed. know her smell in a thousand. bathwater too. reminds me of strawberries and cream. wonder where it is really. there or the armpits or under the neck. because you get it out of all holes and corners. hyacinth perfume made of oil or ether or something. muskrat. bag under their tails one grain pour off odour for years. dogs at each other behind. good evening. evening. how do you sniff? hm. hm. very well, thank you. animals go by that. yes now, look at it that way. we’re the same. some women for instance warn you off when they have their period. come near. then get a hogo you could hang your hat on. like what? potted herrings gone stale or. boof! please keep off the grass
perhaps they get a man smell off us. what though? cigary gloves long john had on his desk the other. breath? what you eat and drink gives that. no. mansmell, i mean. must be connected with that because priests that are supposed to be are different. women buzz round it like flies round treacle. railed off the altar get on to it at any cost. the tree of forbidden priest. o father, will you? let me be the first to. that diffuses itself all through the body, permeates. source of life and it’s extremely curious the smell. celery sauce. let me
mr bloom inserted his nose. hm. into the. hm. opening of his waistcoat. almonds or. no. lemons it is. ah, no, that’s the soap
o by the by that lotion. i knew there was something on my mind. never went back and the soap not paid. dislike carrying bottles like that hag this morning. hynes might have paid me that three shillings. i could mention meagher’s just to remind him. still if he works that paragraph. two and nine. bad opinion of me he’ll have. call tomorrow. how much do i owe you? three and nine? two and nine, sir. ah. might stop him giving credit another time. lose your customers that way. pubs do. fellow run up a bill on the slate and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else
here’s this n0bleman passed before. blown in from the bay. just went as far as turn back. always at home at dinnertime. looks mangled out: had a good tuck in. enjoying nature now. grace after meals. after supper walk a mile. sure he has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. walk after him now make him awkward like those newsboys me today. still you learn something. see ourselves as others see us. so long as women don’t mock what matter? that’s the way to find out. ask yourself who is he now. the mystery man on the beach, prize titbit story by mr leopold bloom. payment at the rate of one guinea per column. and that fellow today at the graveside in the brown macintosh. corns on his kismet however. healthy perhaps absorb all the. whistle brings rain they say. must be some somewhere. salt in the ormond damp. the body feels the atmosphere. old betty’s joints are on the rack. mother shipton’s prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the twinkling. no. signs of rain it is. the royal reader. and distant hills seem coming nigh
howth. bailey light. two, four, six, eight, nine. see. has to change or they might think it a house. wreckers. grace darling. people afraid of the dark. also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. jewels diamonds flash better. light is a kind of reassuring. not going to hurt you. better now of course than long ago. country roads. run you through the small guts for nothing. still two types there are you bob against. scowl or smile. pardon! not at all. best time to spray plants too in the shade after the sun. some light still. red rays are longest. roygbiv vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. a star i see. venus? can’t tell yet. two, when three it’s night. were those nightclouds there all the time? looks like a phantom ship. no. wait. trees are they? an optical illusion. mirage. land of the setting sun this. homerule sun setting in the southeast. my native land, goodnight
dew falling. bad for you, dear, to sit on that stone. brings on white fluxions. never have little baby then less he was big strong fight his way up through. might get piles myself. sticks too like a summer cold, sore on the mouth. cut with grass or paper worst. friction of the position. like to be that rock she sat on. o sweet little, you don’t know how nice you looked. i begin to like them at that age. green apples. grab at all that offer. suppose it’s the only time we cross legs, seated. also the library today: those girl graduates. happy chairs under them. but it’s the evening influence. they feel all that. open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, jerusalem artichokes, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. nightstock in mat dillon’s garden where i kissed her shoulder. wish i had a full length oilpainting of her then. june that was too i wooed. the year returns. history repeats itself. ye crags and peaks i’m with you once again. life, love, voyage round your own little world. and now? sad about her lame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity. they take advantage
all quiet on howth now. the distant hills seem. where we. the rhododendrons. i am a fool perhaps. he gets the plums and i the plumstones. where i come in. all that old hill has seen. names change: that’s all. lovers: yum yum
tired i feel now. will i get up? o wait. drained all the manhood out of me, little wretch. she kissed me. my youth. never again. only once it comes. or hers. take the train there tomorrow. no. returning not the same. like kids your second visit to a house. the new i want. nothing new under the sun. care of p. o. dolphin’s barn. are you not happy in your? naughty darling. at dolphin’s barn charades in luke doyle’s house. mat dillon and his bevy of daughters: tiny, atty, floey, maimy, louy, hetty. molly too. eightyseven that was. year before we. and the old major partial to his drop of spirits. curious she an only child, i an only child. so it returns. think you’re escaping and run into yourself. longest way round is the shortest way home. and just when he and she. circus horse walking in a ring. rip van winkle we played. rip: tear in henny doyle’s overcoat. van: breadvan delivering. winkle: c~ckles and periwinkles. then i did rip van winkle coming back. she leaned on the sideboard watching. moorish eyes. twenty years asleep in sleepy hollow. all changed. forgotten. the young are old. his gun rusty from the drew
ba. what is that flying about? swallow? bat probably. thinks i’m a tree, so blind. have birds no smell? metempsychosis. they believed you could be changed into a tree from grief. weeping willow. ba. there he goes. funny little beggar. wonder where he lives. belfry up there. very likely. hanging by his heels in the odour of sanctity. bell scared him out, i suppose. mass seems to be over. could hear them all at it. pray for us. and pray for us. and pray for us. good idea the repetition. same thing with ads. buy from us. and buy from us. yes, there’s the light in the priest’s house. their frugal meal. remember about the mistake in the valuation when i was in thom’s. twentyeight it is. two houses they have. gabriel conroy’s brother is curate. ba. again. wonder why they come out at night like mice. they’re a mixed breed. birds are like hopping mice. what frightens them, light or noise? better sit still. all instinct like the bird in drouth got water out of the end of a jar by throwing in pebbles. like a little man in a cloak he is with tiny hands. weeny bones. almost see them shimmering, kind of a bluey white. colours depend on the light you see. stare the sun for example like the eagle then look at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. wants to stamp his trademark on everything. instance, that cat this morning on the staircase. colour of brown turf. say you never see them with three colours. not true. that half tabbywhite tortoisesh~ll in the city arms with the letter em on her forehead. body fifty different colours. howth a while ago amethyst. glass flashing. that’s how that wise man what’s his name with the burning glass. then the heather goes on fire. it can’t be tourists’ matches. what? perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the wind and light. or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun. archimedes. i have it! my memory’s not so bad
ba. who knows what they’re always flying for. insects? that bee last week got into the room playing with his shadow on the ceiling. might be the one bit me, come back to see. birds too never find out what they say. like our small talk. and says she and says he. nerve they have to fly over the ocean and back. lot must be k!lled in storms, telegraph wires. dreadful life sailors have too. big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. faugh a ballagh. out of that, bl~~dy curse to you. others in vessels, bit of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. married too. sometimes away for years at the ends of the earth somewhere. no ends really because it’s round. wife in every port they say. she has a good job if she minds it till johnny comes marching home again. if ever he does. smelling the tail end of ports. how can they like the sea? yet they do. the anchor’s weighed. off he sails with a scapular or a medal on him for luck. well? and the tephilim no what’s this they call it poor papa’s father had on his door to touch. that brought us out of the land of egypt and into the house of bondage. something in all those superstitions because when you go out never know what dangers. hanging on to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life, lifebelt round round him, gulping salt water, and that’s the last of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of him. do fish ever get seasick?
then you have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, davy jones’ locker. moon looking down. not my fault, old c~ckalorum
a lost long candle wandered up the sky from mirus bazaar in search of funds for mercer’s hospital and broke, drooping, and shed a cl~ster of violet but one white stars. they floated, fell: they faded. the shepherd’s hour: the hour of holding: hour of tryst. from house to house, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the nine o’clock postman, the glowworm’s lamp at his belt gleaming here and there through the laurel hedges. and among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at leahy’s terrace. by screens of lighted windows, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: evening telegraph, stop press edition! result of the gold cup races! and from the door of dignam’s house a boy ran out and called. twittering the bat flew here, flew there. far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. howth settled for slumber tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons (he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. he lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. and far on kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at mr bloom
life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the same spot. irish lights board. penance for their sins. coastguards too. rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the erin’s king, throwing them the sack of old papers. bears in the zoo. filthy trip. drunkards out to shake up their livers. puking overboard to feed the herrings. nausea. and the women, fear of god in their faces. milly, no sign of funk. her blue scarf loose, laughing. don’t know what death is at that age. and then their stomachs clean. but being lost they fear. when we hid behind the tree at crumlin. i didn’t want to. mamma! mamma! babes in the wood. frightening them with masks too. throwing them up in the air to catch them. i’ll murder you. is it only half fun? or children playing battle. whole earnest. how can people aim guns at each other. sometimes they go off. poor kids. only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. calomel purge i got her for that. after getting better asleep with molly. very same t~~th she has. what do they love? another themselves? but the morning she chased her with the umbrella. perhaps so as not to hurt. i felt her pulse. ticking. little hand it was: now big. dearest papli. all that the hand says when you touch. loved to count my waistcoat b~ttons. her first stays i remember. made me laugh to see. little paps to begin with. left one is more sensitive, i think. mine too. nearer the heart. padding themselves out if fat is in fashion. her growing pains at night, calling, wakening me. frightened she was when her nature came on her first. poor child! strange moment for the mother too. brings back her girlhood. gibraltar. looking from buena vista. o’hara’s tower. the seabirds screaming. old barbary ape that gobbled all his family. sundown, gunfire for the men to cross the lines. looking out over the sea she told me. evening like this, but clear, no clouds. i always thought i’d marry a lord or a gentleman with a private yacht. buenas noches, señorita. el hombre ama la muchaha hermosa. why me? because you were so foreign from the others
better not stick here all night like a limpet. this weather makes you dull. must be getting on for nine by the light. go home. too late for leah, lily of k!llarney. no. might be still up. call to the hospital to see. hope she’s over. long day i’ve had. martha, the bath, funeral, house of keys, museum with those goddesses, dedalus’ song. then that bawler in barney kiernan’s. got my own back there. drunken ranters. what i said about his god made him wince. mistake to hit back. or? no. ought to go home and laugh at themselves. always want to be swilling in company. afraid to be alone like a child of two. suppose he hit me. look at it other way round. not so bad then. perhaps not to hurt he meant. three cheers for israel. three cheers for the sister~in~law he hawked about, three fangs in her mouth. same style of beauty. particularly nice old party for a cup of tea. the sister of the wife of the wild man of borneo has just come to town. imagine that in the early morning at close range. everyone to his taste as morris said when he kissed the cow. but dignam’s put the boots on it. houses of mourning so depressing because you never know. anyhow she wants the money. must call to those scottish widows as i promised. strange name. takes it for granted we’re going to pop off first. that widow on monday was is outside cramer’s that looked at me. buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the premium. her widow’s mite. well? what do you expect her to do? must wheedle her way along. widower i hate to see. looks so forlorn. poor man o’connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. the sewage. hopeless. some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. take him in tow, platter face and a large apr~n. ladies’ grey flanelette bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. plain and loved, loved for ever, they say. ugly: no woman thinks she is. love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die. see him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick. u. p.: up. fate that is. he, not me. also a shop often noticed. curse seems to dog it. dreamt last night? wait. something confused. she had red slippers on. turkish. wore the breeches. suppose she does. would i like her in pyjamas? d~mned hard to answer. nannetti’s gone. mailboat. near holyhead by now. must nail that ad of keyes’s. work hynes and crawford. petticoats for molly. she has something to put in them. what’s that? might be money
mr bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand. he brought it near his eyes and peered. letter? no. can’t read. better go. better. i’m tired to move. page of an old copybook. all those holes and pebbles. who could count them? never know what you find. bottle with story of a treasure in it thrown from a wreck. parcels post. children always want to throw things in the sea. trust? bread cast on the waters. what’s this? bit of stick
o! exhausted that female has me. not so young now. will she come here tomorrow? wait for her somewhere for ever. must come back. murderers do. will i?
mr bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. write a message for her. might remain. what?
i
some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. useless. washed away. tide comes here a pool near her foot. bend, see my face there, dark mirror, breathe on it, stirs. all these rocks with lines and scars and letters. o, those transparent! besides they don’t know. what is the meaning of that other world. i called you naughty boy because i do not like
am. a
no room. let it go
mr bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot. hopeless thing sand. nothing grows in it. all fades. no fear of big vessels coming up here. except guinness’s barges. round the kish in eighty days. done half by design
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. we’ll never meet again. but it was lovely. goodbye, dear. thanks. made me feel so young
short snooze now if i had. must be near nine. liverpool boat long gone. not even the smoke. and she can do the other. did too. and belfast. i won’t go. race there, race back to ennis. let him. just close my eyes a moment. won’t sleep though. half dream. it never comes the same. bat again. no harm in him. just a few
o sweety all your little girlwhite up i saw dirty bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty grace darling she him half past the bed met him pike hoses frillies for raoul to perfume your wife black hair heave under embon señorita young eyes mulvey plump years dreams return tail end agendath swoony lovey showed me her next year in drawers return next in her next her next
a bat flew. here. there. here. far in the grey a bell chimed. mr bloom with open mouth, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. just for a few
cuckoo
cuckoo
cuckoo
the clock on the mantelpiece in the priest’s house cooed where canon o’hanlon and father conroy and the reverend john hughes s. j. were taking tea and sodabread and b~tter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about
cuckoo
cuckoo
cuckoo
because it was a little canarybird bird that came out of its little house to tell the time that gerty mac dowell noticed the time she was there because she was as quick as anything about a thing like that, was gerty mac dowell, and she noticed at once that that foreign gentleman that was sitting on the rocks looking was
cuckoo
cuckoo
cuckoo
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