Friday, October 3, 2014

Page 182 (9.197-234) "Do you intend... Xanthippe?"

editions: [1922] [html] [archv]
notes: [Th] [G&S] [Dent] [wbks] [rw] [images] [hyper]
Delaney: [332] Useen: [] [cp] maps: [other] [*]
fd: [331]

Do you intend to pay it back?

O, yes.

When? Now?

Well... no.

When, then?

I paid my way. I paid my way.

Steady on. He's from beyant Boyne water. The northeast corner. You owe it.

like Deasy, AE is from Ulster

Wait. Five months. Molecules all change. I am other I now. Other I got pound.

maybe 98% change every year?

Buzz. Buzz.

Hamlet II.ii "Buzz, buzz!"

But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

cf p26 "Thought is the thought of thought. Tranquil brightness. The soul is in a manner all that is: the soul is the form of forms. Tranquillity sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms." (SD's epiphany reading Aristotle in the library of Saint Genevieve)

cf p44: "My soul walks with me, form of forms."
p48: "Endless, would it be mine, form of my form?"

cf? p177: "Art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences."

I that sinned and prayed and fasted.

A child Conmee saved from pandies.

I, I and I. I.


(the pun requires AE not Æ)

fd: [332]
— Do you mean to fly in the face of the tradition of three centuries? John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Her ghost at least has been laid for ever. She died, for literature at least, before she was born.

— She died, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was born. She saw him into and out of the world. She took his first embraces. She bore his children and she laid pennies on his eyes to keep his eyelids closed when he lay on his deathbed.

trans: 'Breasts, O mother, milk and life thou didst give. Woe is me – for how great a boon shall I give stones? How much rather would I pray that the good angel should move the stone so that, like Christ's body, thine image might come forth! But my prayers are unavailing. Come quickly, Christ, that my mother, though shut within this tomb may rise again and reach the stars.'

Mother's deathbed. Candle. The sheeted mirror. Who brought me into this world lies there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. Liliata rutilantium.

I wept alone.

John Eglinton looked in the tangled glowworm of his lamp.

"♬ glow-worm's lamp"

— The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said, and got out of it as quickly and as best he could.

— Bosh! Stephen said rudely. A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

Portals of discovery opened to let in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.


— A shrew, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is not a useful portal of discovery, one should imagine. What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?




[DD 01:25-03:45]
[DD 00:00-00:53]

[IM 13:24-15:28]

[LV1 15:39-18:18]

[LV2 13:23-15:29]

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