Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Page 76 (5.281-317) "O, Mairy... froth."

editions: [1922] [html] [arch]
notes: [Th] [G&S] [Dent] [wbks] [rw] [images] [hyper] [map]
Delaney: [214] [215] [216] Useen: [] tclg: [114] [115] [*]
Delaney: [213]


O, Mairy lost the pin of her drawers.
She didn't know what to do
To keep it up,
To keep it up.

It? Them. Such a bad headache. Has her roses probably. Or sitting all day typing. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. What perfume does your wife use? Now could you make out a thing like that?

To keep it up.

Martha, Mary. I saw that picture somewhere I forget now old master or faked for money. He is sitting in their house, talking. Mysterious. Also the two sluts in the Coombe would listen.

To keep it up.
cf the milkwoman listening to Haines?

Tissot: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Delaney: [214]
Nice kind of evening feeling. No more wandering about. Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip. Forget. Tell about places you have been, strange customs. The other one, jar on her head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of the well, stonecold like the hole in the wall at Ashtown. Must carry a paper goblet next time I go to the trottingmatches.

there were springs at two other park gates, but not Ashtown (Bloom makes many small errors)

1907 folding paper cup

She listens with big dark soft eyes. Tell her: more and more: all. Then a sigh: silence. Long long long rest.

Delaney: [215]
Going under the railway arch he took out the envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the road. The shreds fluttered away, sank in the dank air: a white flutter then all sank. 

1909 map
Bloom has a poetic streak

Henry Flower. You could tear up a cheque for a hundred pounds in the same way. Simple bit of paper. Lord Iveagh once cashed a sevenfigure cheque for a million in the bank of Ireland. Shows you the money to be made out of porter. Still the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change his shirt four times a day, they say. Skin breeds lice or vermin. A million pounds, wait a moment. Twopence a pint, fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter, no, one and fourpence a gallon of porter. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Yes, exactly. Fifteen millions of barrels of porter.
What am I saying barrels? Gallons. About a million barrels all the same. 

Iveagh and Ardilaun
false Dublin gossip (cf SD's dogsbody on p6)

Bloom did similar mental arithmetic on p56

$1M in $100s (£1M = 8 tons of gold in 1904)

Delaney: [216]
An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach. Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together, winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth.

cf Stephen in Proteus



[DD 00:37-04:14]
[DD 00:00-00:29]

[IM 21:54-24:51]

[LV1 24:47-27:51]

[LV2 21:10-23:51]

lotus-eaters: 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

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