Shem is as short for Shemus as Jim is jokey for Jacob. A few are found still who say that Originally of respectable connections his back life simply won't stand being written about.
Cain - Ham (Shem) - Esau - Jim the Penman
wellknown for violent abuse of self & others.
lives at expense of ratepayers in haunted inkbottlehouse infested with the raps the worst, it is believed, in the western word for pure filth.
boycotted, local publican refuse to supply books, papers, synthetic ink, foolscap, makes his own from dried dung sweetened with spittle (indelible ink) writes universal history on his own body (parchment)
hospitality, all drunk & rightly indignant
1 eye halfopen, 1 arm, 42 hairs on his head, 17 on upper lip, 5 on chin, the wrong shoulder high than the right, 3 teeth, all ears, no feet, 5 thumbs, ½ a buttock, ½ & ½ a testicle, - - when is a man not a man?
A forger, can imitate all styles, some of his own.
1st copies of most original masterpieces even the most venerated impostures were not spared slipped from his plagiarist pen
Sings hymn: Lingua mea calamus scribae, veliciter scribentis.
So low was he that he preferred Lazenby's teatime tinned salmon inexpensive while pleasing to the plumpest roeheavy lax or frisky troutlet to be gaffed between Leixlip & Island bridge & many was the time he said no fresh pineapple ever tasted like the chunks in Heinz's cans.
He was able to write in the gloom of his bottle only because of his nose's glow as it slid over the paper and while he scribbled & scratched nameless shamelessnesses about everybody ever he met even under a slimy bridge out of a shower over & over his foul text he used to draw endless portraits of himself up and down the two margins as a strikingly handsome young man with lyrics in his eyes and a lovely pair of inky Italian moustaches. How unwhisperably low!
None of your long & thick bloody beefsteaks or juicy legs of melting mutton or fat belly bacon or greasy gristly pigs' feet or slice upon slice of luscious goose bosom with lump after lump of rich stuffing swamping in grand brown gravy for him. Once when in a state of helplessly hopeless inebriation he tried to lift the peel of a citron to his nostrils & hiccupped apparently impromptu he could live all his days on the smell of it, as the citr, as the cedron, as the cedar on the founts on the mountains, lemon on, of Lebanon. O, the lowness of him was beyond all that was ever sunk to. No firewater or first shot or gutburning gin or honest red or brown beer. No. O no. But he sobbed himself sick <on> some kind of a wheywhinging rhubarbarous yallagreen decoction of soured grapes & to to hear him retching off in his sentimentality cups to his disreputable with swillers who when they found they cd not carry another drop were rightly indignant at his hospitality it came straight from the noble white fat, the most noble wide sat her white hide that, from the winevat of the [lovely] exquisite archduchess, Fanny Urinia. Talk about lowness! Low wretched tutor that he was he used to boast that he had been put out of all the best Klondyker families who had settled in the capital city after its metropoliarchialisation in most cases on account of his smell which all cookmaids objected to. In place of tutoring these best outlander families plain wholesome handwriting (a thing he never possessed of his own) what do you think he did but studied with stolen fruit how to copy all their various styles of signature they had so as to utter large forged cheques in public for his own profit until, as just related, the Dublin United Scullerymaids & house helps kicked the source of annoyance out of the place altogether in the heat of the moment making some remark as they did so about the way he stunk. It was generally hoped when he got into debt heavily locally he wd develop suspected hereditary pulmonary T.B. and one pelting night [bedded] blanketed folk hearing a coarse song & splash thought all was over but of course not even there was he true to type: Low! Whole continents rang with his lowness. He treasured all unkind words with condign satisfaction. If ever in the public interest delicate hints were put to him during a conversazione by wellwishers pleading with him to be a man such as: Do What is the meaning of that foreign word if you ever came across it, we think it is canaille?: or: did you anywhere captain, in your tales of travels happen to meet a gentleman by the name of something like Low Bugger who lives on loans & is 35 yrs of age?: he would begin without a sign of haste like a [first class] supreme prig with a vacant landlubber look to tell all the persons in the conversazione the whole lifelong story of his low existence explaining the meanings of all the other foreign words he used and telling every lie imaginable about all the other people in the story whom he met except the simple word and person they had asked him about until they were completely undeceived.
Of course he disliked a good sensible row and once when he was called in as umpire in an octagonal argument among [...] the low evilsmelling washout always rubbed shoulders with the last speaker & [quite] fully agreed with all his heart with every word as soon as uttered & absorbed while he at once turned his attention to the next octagonist who managed to speak nudging him & [asking] imploring him out of his piteous eyes to fill up his tumbler for him. As recently as 20 years ago he was alternately kicked through the deserted village from 82 Dublin Square as far as the lefthand corner of Europa Parade by two groups of argumentalists who finally thought they had better be going home disgustedly one & all, reconciled to a friendship, fast & furious, solely on account of his perfect lowness. It was thus hoped that people might, after giving him a roll in the dust, pity & forgive him but--
He never could be dragged to play rational national flesh & blood games such as hat in the ring, Shiela Harnett & her cow, here's the fat to grease the priest's boots & it's now notoriously known how on that surprisingly bloody Sunday when the grand germogall [battle] all star bout was gaily raging between those fighting men extraordinary & Irish eyes of blue were smiling he fled for his bare life corked himself up in his inkbottle badly the worse for drink and hid under a bedtick with his face enveloped in an overcoat semiparalysed by all the shemozzle where under the sacred shield of coward with his face & trousers changed colour every time a gat croaked.
A drug addict, too, his manner when he was at a loose end was to write strings of honourable, learned, highplaced neoclassical initials after his name while, if you could only have seen into his den, whenever he made believe to read one of his tattered chapbooks he did nothing but turn over three or 4 pages at a time growling because what with the bad light the dirty print, the torn page, the scum in his eyes, the drink in his stomach, the rats in his garret and the hullabaloo in his ears he was not fit to memorise as much as a word a minute Was there ever heard of such low down blackguardism?
Nabuchadonosor himself had not such a high & mighty opinion of himself as had this mental defective who bragged on one occasion to an interlocutor in a bar that he was aware of no other person either exactly unlike or precisely the same as what I know or imagine I am myself. After bloody Sunday, though every door in muchtried Lucalizod was smeared with generous gore and every cobbleway slippery with the blood of heroes, the low waster never had the pluck to venture out while everyone else of the city throng, slashers and sliced alike, waded about on their usual avocations for the only once he took a peep through his keyhole to find out whether conciliation was forging ahead or falling back and why he found himself looking into the barrel at point blank range of an irregular revolver of the bulldog pattern of some unknown quarreler who supposedly had been told off to shade Shem shd he [come] stir out awhile to be creased. Lowness visibly oozed out from this dirty little beetle for the very first instant the Thornton girl with her Kodak saw the as yet unremunerated national apostate who was genuinely [guns] gun & camera shy, taking a short cut when returning from a funeral into Patatapapaveri's fruiterer & florist by the wrong goods entrance, she knew he was of a bad fast man by his walk on the spot.
Furthermore the low creature was a selfvaletter, having got up a kitchenette & fowlhouse for the sake of the eggs in what was meant for a closet.
And hear this more. At the time of his last disappearance in public petty constable Sigurdsen, who had been detailed to save him from lynch law & mob mauling, greeted him just as he was butting in through the door with a hideful saying as usual: Wherefore have they that a dog [here] mean herring? All Shem said was: Search me.
The peace officer was literally astounded at the capaciousness of the wineskin & even more so when informed by the human outcome of drink & dirt that she was merely bringing home 2 gallons of porter to his mother.
But enough of lowness to base for words. We cannot stay here all day discussing Mr. Shem the Penman's thirst
Primum flens et gemens in manum suam evacuavit
(sh-t in his hand, sorry)
postea stercus proprium, quod apellavit dejectiones meas, exoneratus in poculum tristitiae posuit, eodem lentiter et melliflue minxit psalmum qui incipit Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis magna voce cantitans
(did a p-ss, says he was dejected, asks to be exonerated)
demque ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis, jucunditate encaustum sib fecit indelibilem
(speaking of O'Ryan, the devil's own ink) [FDV]
Shem is as short for Shemus as Jim is jokey for Jacob. A few are found still who say that Originally of respectable connections his back life simply won't stand being written about.
Cain - Ham (Shem) - Esau - Jim the Penman
wellknown for violent abuse of self & others. lives at expense of ratepayers in haunted inkbottlehouse infested with the raps the worst, it is believed, in the western word for pure filth.
"A few are found still" reminds me (proleptically) of Ellmann tracking down all J's associates
"at expense of ratepayers" govt welfare case? (HSW??)
"raps" = rats + ??? table-rapping?
"the worst... in the western word for pure filth" surely Ulysses
FW2: "Shem is as short for Shemus as Jem is joky for Jacob. A few toughnecks are still getatable who pretend that aboriginally he was of respectable stemming... but... his back life will not stand being written about"
FW2: "The house... known as the Haunted Inkbottle... as it was infested with the raps... in which the soulcontracted son of the secret cell groped through life at the expense of the taxpayers... every day in everyone's way more exceeding in violent abuse of self and others, was the worst, it is hoped, even in our western playboyish world for pure mousefarm filth"
boycotted, local publican refuse to supply books, papers, synthetic ink, foolscap, makes his own from dried dung sweetened with spittle (indelible ink) writes universal history on his own body (parchment)
hospitality, all drunk & rightly indignant
1 eye halfopen, 1 arm, 42 hairs on his head, 17 on upper lip, 5 on chin, the wrong shoulder high than the right, 3 teeth, all ears, no feet, 5 thumbs, ½ a buttock, ½ & ½ a testicle, - - when is a man not a man?
VI.B10.105: "synthetic sugar"
"the wrong shoulder high than the right" (T&I mentions left and western shoulders)
"all ears" = listening attentively
FW2: "when Robber and Mumsell, the pulpic dictators... boycotted him of all muttonsuet candles and romeruled stationery for any purpose, he... made synthetic ink and sensitive paper for his own end out of his wits' waste."
FW2: "rightly indignant at the wretch's hospitality when they found to their horror they could not carry another drop"
FW2 "Shem's bodily getup, it seems, included: ...an eighth of a larkseye, ...one numb arm up a sleeve, fortytwo hairs off his uncrown, eighteen to his mock lip, a trio of barbels from his megageg chin... the wrong shoulder higher than the right, all ears, ...not a foot to stand on, a handful of thumbs, ...two fifths of two buttocks, one gleetsteen avoirdupoider for him... When is a man not a man?" [more]
A forger, can imitate all styles, some of his own.
1st copies of most original masterpieces even the most venerated impostures were not spared slipped from his plagiarist pen
Sings hymn: Lingua mea calamus scribae, veliciter scribentis.
So low was he that he preferred Lazenby's teatime tinned salmon inexpensive while pleasing to the plumpest roeheavy lax or frisky troutlet to be gaffed between Leixlip & Island bridge & many was the time he said no fresh pineapple ever tasted like the chunks in Heinz's cans.
VI.B10.09: "imposture book through the ages, revered more & more"
VI.B6.079: "plagiarist" Jespersen: The Growth and Structure of the English Language 123: 'Among the innumerable words of recent formation in -ist may be mentioned... plagiarist'
FW2: "Who can say how many unsigned first copies of original masterworks, how many pseudostylic shamiana, how few or how many of the most venerated public impostures, how very many piously forged palimpsests, slipped in the first place by this morbid process from his pelagiarist pen?"
FW2: "So low was he that he preferred Gibsen's teatime salmon tinned, as inexpensive as pleasing, to the plumpest roeheavy lax or the friskiest parr or smolt troutlet that ever was gaffed between Leixlip and Island Bridge and many was the time he repeated... that no junglegrown pineapple ever smacked like the whoppers you shook out of Ananias' cans"
He was able to write in the gloom of his bottle only because of his nose's glow as it slid over the paper and while he scribbled & scratched nameless shamelessnesses about everybody ever he met even under a slimy bridge out of a shower over & over his foul text he used to draw endless portraits of himself up and down the two margins as a strikingly handsome young man with lyrics in his eyes and a lovely pair of inky Italian moustaches. How unwhisperably low!
NYTBR 28May22 (review of Ulysses): 'It is not unlikely that... every person he has ever met... is to be encountered in the obscurities and in the franknesses of Ulysses'
"even under a slimy bridge out of a shower" (somewhere in Dubliners?)
FW2: "but for that light phantastic of his gnose's glow as it slid lucifericiously within an inch of its page... Nibs never would have quilled a seriph to sheepskin. By that rosy lampoon's effluvious burning... he scrabbled and scratched and scriobbled and skrevened nameless shamelessness about everybody ever he met, even sharing a precipitation under the idlish tarriers' umbrella of a showerproof wall, while all over and up and down the four margins... the evilsmeller... used to stipple endlessly inartistic portraits of himself... a heartbreakingly handsome young paolo with love lyrics for the goyls in his eyols... anna loavely long pair of inky Italian moostarshes... How unwhisperably so!"
None of your long & thick bloody beefsteaks or juicy legs of melting mutton or fat belly bacon or greasy gristly pigs' feet or slice upon slice of luscious goose bosom with lump after lump of rich stuffing swamping in grand brown gravy for him. Once when in a state of helplessly hopeless inebriation he tried to lift the peel of a citron to his nostrils & hiccupped apparently impromptu he could live all his days on the smell of it, as the citr, as the cedron, as the cedar on the founts on the mountains, lemon on, of Lebanon. O, the lowness of him was beyond all that was ever sunk to. No firewater or first shot or gutburning gin or honest red or brown beer. No. O no. But he sobbed himself sick
VI.B6.01: "apparently impromptu"
VI.B10.84: "retch off" DH Lawrence: Aaron's Rod 264: 'when any number of musical notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords. Even a single chord struck on the piano. It makes me feel sick. I just feel as if I should retch.'
FW2: "None of your inchthick blueblooded Balaclava fried-at-beliefstakes or juicejelly legs of the Grex's molten mutton or greasily gristly grunters' goupons or slice upon slab of luscious goosebosom with lump after load of plumpudding stuffing all aswim in a swamp of bogoak gravy for that greekenhearted yude!"
FW2: "Once when among those rebels in a state of hopelessly helpless intoxication the piscivore strove to lift a czitround peel to either nostril, hiccupping, apparently impromptued by the hibat he had with his glottal stop, that he kukkakould flowrish for ever by the smell, as the czitr, as the kcedron, like a scedar, of the founts, on mountains, with lemon on, of Lebanon."
FW2: "O, the lowness of him was beneath all up to that sunk to! No likedbylike firewater or firstserved firstshot or gulletburn gin or honest brewbarrett beer either. O dear no! Instead the tragic jester sobbed himself wheywhingingly sick of life on some sort of a rhubarbarous maundarin yellagreen funkleblue windigut diodying applejack squeezed from sour grapefruice and, to hear him twixt his sedimental cupslips when he had gulfed down mmmmuch too mmmmany gourds of it retching off to his almost as low withswillers, who always knew notwithstanding when they had had enough and were rightly indignant at the wretch's hospitality when they found to their horror they could not carry another drop, it came straight from the noble white fat, jo, openwide sat, jo jo, her why hide that, jo jo jo, the winevat, of the most serene magyarsty az archdiochesse... Fanny Urinia."
Talk about lowness! Low wretched tutor that he was he used to boast that he had been put out of all the best Klondyker families who had settled in the capital city after its metropoliarchialisation in most cases on account of his smell which all cookmaids objected to. In place of tutoring these best outlander families plain wholesome handwriting (a thing he never possessed of his own) what do you think he did but studied with stolen fruit how to copy all their various styles of signature they had so as to utter large forged cheques in public for his own profit until, as just related, the Dublin United Scullerymaids & house helps kicked the source of annoyance out of the place altogether in the heat of the moment making some remark as they did so about the way he stunk.
Klondike: a region in Yukon, Canada, famous for its 1890s gold rush
O. Henry: The Four Million 106: 'An Adjustment of Nature': 'And then Milly loomed up with a thousand dishes on her bare arm... And the Klondiker threw down his pelts and nuggets as dross, and let his jaw fall half-way, and stared at her'
Klondike is also a solitaire game going back at least to 1907
VI.B6.74: "metropoliarchialisation" Jespersen: The Growth and Structure of the English Language 161 (sec. 159): 'When we examine these coined words, we find that by far the greater number of them are framed on classical lines, for instance... metropoliarchy... deanthropomorphization'
VI.B6.40: "study with fruit" (title of still life?)
"with stolen fruit" ie, with eyes opened to good and evil
"in the heat of the moment" so his smell was secondary to another motive? or the "heat" made the smell worse?
VI.B6.47: "making some remark as he did so"
FW2: "Was there ever heard of such lowdown blackguardism? Positively it woollies one to think over it. Yet the bumpersprinkler used to boast aloud... how he had been toed out of all the schicker families of the Klondykers... who had settled and stratified in the capital city after its hebdomodary metropoliarchialisation... in most cases on account of his smell which all the cookmaids eminently objected to"
FW2: "Instead of chuthoring those model households plain wholesome pothooks (a thing he never possessed of his Nigerian own) what do you think Vulgariano did but study with stolen fruit how cutely to copy all their various styles of signature so as one day to utter an epical forged cheque on the public for his own private profit until, as just related, the Dustbin's United Scullerymaids' and Househelps' Sorority... turned him down and assisted nature by unitedly shoeing the source of annoyance out of the place altogether and taytotally in the heat of the moment... and making some pointopointing remarks as they done so at the prefects of the Sniffey, your honour, aboon the lyow why a stunk, mister."
It was generally hoped when he got into debt heavily locally he wd develop suspected hereditary pulmonary T.B. and one pelting night [bedded] blanketed folk hearing a coarse song & splash thought all was over but of course not even there was he true to type: Low! Whole continents rang with his lowness. He treasured all unkind words with condign satisfaction.
VI.B6.65: "got into debt locally" Freeman's Journal 10Jan24: '"No Volition of His Own". Novel Defense of Man Charged with Forgery': 'His pay as a clerk was totally inadequate, and he got into debt locally'
(local creditors as opposed to national/international?)
VI.B49c.01: "suspected pulmonory TB"
"pelting" (cf Isolde's pelt? or "under a slimy bridge out of a shower" above?)
changing "bedded" to "blanketed" allows they might be homeless
"coarse song" (Hosty? or the birds? or Mulligan/Gogarty??)
VI.B6.03: "song & splash" Freeman's Journal 20Dec23: 'Song's Tragic End. Mystery of the Liffey in the Early Morning': 'two seamen who were on the deck of the steamer Senda lying alongside George's quay heard a man singing a short distance away from the ship along the river side. The singing suddenly ceased, and a moment later a loud splash was heard'
the combination of debt and jumping into the Liffey recalls the Reuben J Dodd anecdote in U-Hades
VI.B6.42: "continents rang" [rare phrase]
VI.B10.13: "condign satisfaction" condign = worthily deserved (said of punishment)
FW2: "one generally hoped... or at any rate suspected... that he would... develop hereditary pulmonary T.B... Nay, of a pelting night blanketed creditors, hearing a coarse song and splash off Eden Quay, sighed and rolled over, sure all was up, but, though he fell heavily and locally into debit, not even then could such an antinomian be true to type."
FW2: "he was in his bardic memory low. All the time he kept on treasuring with condign satisfaction each and every crumb of trektalk, covetous of his neighbour's word"
If ever in the public interest delicate hints were put to him during a conversazione by wellwishers pleading with him to be a man such as: Do What is the meaning of that foreign word if you ever came across it, we think it is canaille?: or: did you anywhere captain, in your tales of travels happen to meet a gentleman by the name of something like Low Bugger who lives on loans & is 35 yrs of age?: he would begin without a sign of haste like a [first class] supreme prig with a vacant landlubber look to tell all the persons in the conversazione the whole lifelong story of his low existence explaining the meanings of all the other foreign words he used and telling every lie imaginable about all the other people in the story whom he met except the simple word and person they had asked him about until they were completely undeceived.
"captain" pseudo-respectful?
"tales of travels" ie talltales
"something like Low Bugger" (maybe a name-pun?)
VI.B6.49: "lives on loans & is 35" Crépieux-Jamin: Les Éléments de l'Écriture des Canailles 288: 'ses tares profondes l'ont précipité avec sa famille dans une misère noire. Il vit d'emprunt, de mendicité, et il a trente-cinq ans' (French 'his great defects have propelled him and his family into a black misery. He lives on loans, on begging, and he is thirty-five')
1882 + 35 = 1917
1923 - 35 = 1888
VI.B6.41: "haste" Crépieux-Jamin: Les Éléments de l'Écriture des Canailles 309: 'La précipitation que l'écriture révèle avec tant de sureté (1) est la hâte excessive que nous mettons dans nos résolutions et dans nos actions' (French 'The hurry which the writing reveals with such clarity (1) is the excessive haste we place in our resolutions and in our actions')
VI.B6.84: "prig" (i think J could fake this attitude when he needed to)
"captain... landlubber" never a ship's captain, then
VI.B6.81: "conversazione" Italian: conversation, assembly for discussion or recreation; intellectual gathering for discussion of arts or sciences
(but why an Italian word here?)
FW2: "and if ever... in the nation's interest, delicate tippits were thrown out to him... by some wellwishers vainly pleading... with the opprobrious papist about what about trying to... be a men... such as: Pray, what is the meaning, sousy, of that continental expression, if you ever came acrux it, we think it is a word transpiciously like canaille? or: Did you anywhere, kennel, on your gullible's travels... happen to stumble upon a certain gay young nobleman whimpering to the name of Low Swine who... lives on loans and is furtivefree yours of age?"
FW2: "without one sign of haste, like the supreme prig he was... he would pull a vacant landlubber's face... and begin to tell all the intelligentsia admitted to that tamileasy samtalaisy conclamazzione... the whole lifelong swrine story of his entire low cornaille existence... unconsciously explaining... the various meanings of all the different foreign parts of speech he misused and cuttlefishing every lie unshrinkable about all the other people in the story, leaving out, of course, foreconsciously, the simple worf and plague and poison they had cornered him about until there was not a snoozer among them but was utterly undeceived in the heel of the reel by the recital of the rigmarole."
Of course he disliked a good sensible row and once when he was called in as umpire in an octagonal argument among [...] the low evilsmelling washout always rubbed shoulders with the last speaker & [quite] fully agreed with all his heart with every word as soon as uttered & absorbed while he at once turned his attention to the next octagonist who managed to speak nudging him & [asking] imploring him out of his piteous eyes to fill up his tumbler for him. As recently as 20 years ago he was alternately kicked through the deserted village from 82 Dublin Square as far as the lefthand corner of Europa Parade by two groups of argumentalists who finally thought they had better be going home disgustedly one & all, reconciled to a friendship, fast & furious, solely on account of his perfect lowness. It was thus hoped that people might, after giving him a roll in the dust, pity & forgive him but--
VI.B10.97: "She is a washout"
VI.B6.33: "a washout"
VI.B10.89: "rub shoulders with" Irish Times 30Dec22: 'Resignation of Trinity's Chief Steward': 'We have kept Mr. Marshall's acquaintance with Royalty to the last. He rubbed shoulders (literally) with them on various occasions'
antagonist
 |
| "his piteous eyes" |
1924 - 20 = 1904
Oliver Goldsmith: The Deserted Village
VI.B6.85: "I might, after giving you a roll in the dirt, pity & forgive you"
FW2: "He went without saying that the cull disliked anything anyway approaching a plain straightforward standup or knockdown row and, as often as he was called in to umpire any octagonal argument among slangwhangers, the accomplished washout always used to rub shoulders with the last speaker and... agree to every word as soon as half uttered... and then at once focuss his whole unbalanced attention upon the next octagonist who managed to catch a listener's eye, asking and imploring him out of his piteous onewinker... to overflow his tumbletantaliser for him yet once more."
FW2: "as very recently as some thousand rains ago he was... soggert all unsuspectingly through the deserted village... from... 81 bis Mabbot's Mall as far as Green Patch beyond the brickfields of Salmon Pool by rival teams of slowspiers counter quicklimers who finally... thought... they had better be streaking for home... with thanks for the pleasant evening, one and all... reconciled... to a friendship, fast and furious, which merely arose out of the noxious pervert's perfect lowness. Again there was a hope that people... after first giving him a roll in the dirt might pity and forgive him... but"
He never could be dragged to play rational national flesh & blood games such as hat in the ring, Shiela Harnett & her cow, here's the fat to grease the priest's boots & it's now notoriously known how on that surprisingly bloody Sunday when the grand germogall [battle] all star bout was gaily raging between those fighting men extraordinary & Irish eyes of blue were smiling he fled for his bare life corked himself up in his inkbottle badly the worse for drink and hid under a bedtick with his face enveloped in an overcoat semiparalysed by all the shemozzle where under the sacred shield of coward with his face & trousers changed colour every time a gat croaked.
VI.B10.97: "Sheila Harnett" Irish Times 6Jan23: 'a charge of taking part in an attack on National troops... Sheila Harnett... lodged in the county jail'
VI.B6.35: "star bout"
1917 film 'Jerry's Star Bout'? or 1908 play?
song: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling ♬
Irish love for a fight?
VI.B10.29: "the worse for drink" Leader 11Nov22: 'Current Topics (on 'the drink evil')': 'poor fellows... make their way home as best they can in the small hours of the morning much the worse of drink... the constable arrived back at the barrack the worse of drink!'
"enveloped" like a letter?
"his face... his face"
VI.B6.33: "shemozzle" Slang: rumpus, complication
"sacred shield" cliche goes back to classics
'sacred shield of cowardice' in Junius [wiki] (his style gets its own section of U-Oxen)
VI.B6.35: "croak with a gat (shoot)" 1920s US gangster slang: gat = revolver; croak = kill, die
FW2: "Darkies never done tug that coon out to play non-excretory, anti-sexuous, misoxenetic, gaasy pure, flesh and blood games... like... Hat in the ring... Sheila Harnett and her cow... Here's the fat to graze the priest's boots"
FW2: "Now it is notoriously known how on that surprisingly bludgeony Unity Sunday, when the grand germogall allstar bout was harrily the rage between our weltingtoms extraordinary... and Irish eyes of welcome were smiling... the scut... fled like a leveret for his bare lives... kushykorked himself up tight in his inkbattle house, badly the worse for boosegas... where... he collapsed carefully under a bedtick from Schwitzer's, his face enveloped into a dead warrior's telemac... hemiparalysed by the tong warfare and all the shemozzle... his cheeks and trousers changing colour every time a gat croaked."
A drug addict, too, his manner when he was at a loose end was to write strings of honourable, learned, highplaced neoclassical initials after his name while, if you could only have seen into his den, whenever he made believe to read one of his tattered chapbooks he did nothing but turn over three or 4 pages at a time growling because what with the bad light the dirty print, the torn page, the scum in his eyes, the drink in his stomach, the rats in his garret and the hullabaloo in his ears he was not fit to memorise as much as a word a minute Was there ever heard of such low down blackguardism?
"when he was at a loose end" = bored? undecided?? (it seems to imply he needed money for drugs, but that's not the definition)
loose end of strings, highplaced after name?
"neoclassical" (how can initials be neoclassical?)
VI.B10.105: "memorise" (not his own writing in the books, then?)
FW2: "he had flickered up and flinnered down into a drug and drunkery addict growing megalomane of a loose past. This explains the litany of septuncial lettertrumpets, honorific, highpitched, erudite, neoclassical, which he so loved as patricianly to manuscribe after his name."
FW2: "It would have diverted, if ever seen, the shuddersome spectacle of this semidemented zany amid the inspissated grime of his glaucous den making believe to read his usylessly unreadable Blue Book of Eccles... turning over three sheets at a wind, telling himself... what with the murky light, the botchy print, the tattered cover, the jigjagged page... the scum on his tongue, the drop in his eye... the drink in his pottle... the rats in his garret... the hullabaloo and the dust in his ears... he was hardset to mumorise more than a word a week... Was there ever heard of such lowdown blackguardism?"
Nabuchadonosor himself had not such a high & mighty opinion of himself as had this mental defective who bragged on one occasion to an interlocutor in a bar that he was aware of no other person either exactly unlike or precisely the same as what I know or imagine I am myself. After bloody Sunday, though every door in muchtried Lucalizod was smeared with generous gore and every cobbleway slippery with the blood of heroes, the low waster never had the pluck to venture out while everyone else of the city throng, slashers and sliced alike, waded about on their usual avocations for the only once he took a peep through his keyhole to find out whether conciliation was forging ahead or falling back and why he found himself looking into the barrel at point blank range of an irregular revolver of the bulldog pattern of some unknown quarreler who supposedly had been told off to shade Shem shd he [come] stir out awhile to be creased. Lowness visibly oozed out from this dirty little beetle for the very first instant the Thornton girl with her Kodak saw the as yet unremunerated national apostate who was genuinely [guns] gun & camera shy, taking a short cut when returning from a funeral into Patatapapaveri's fruiterer & florist by the wrong goods entrance, she knew he was of a bad fast man by his walk on the spot.
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| Bull Dog revolver |
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| 1923 Kodak $17 |
Italian patata: potato
Italian papaveri: poppies
FW2: "Neither... Nero or Nobookishonester himself, ever nursed such a spoiled opinion of his monstrous marvellosity as did this mental and moral defective... who was known to grognt... that he was awoopf (parn me!) aware of no other shaggyspick, other Shakhisbeard, either prexactly unlike his polar andthisishis or procisely the seems as woops (parn!) as what he fancied or guessed the sames as he was himself"
FW2: "After... that bloody Swithun's day, though every doorpost in muchtried Lucalizod was smeared with generous erstborn gore and every free for all cobbleway slippery with the bloods of heroes... our low waster never had the common baalamb's pluck to stir out and about the compound while everyone else of the torchlit throng, slashers and sliced alike, mobbu on massa, waaded and baaded around... on their bonafide avocations... for the only once... he did take a tompip peepestrella through a threedraw eighteen-hawkspower durdicky telescoop... out of his westernmost keyhole... with an eachway hope in his shivering soul... of finding out for himself... whether true conciliation was forging ahead or falling back... and... he found himself... at pointblank range blinking down the barrel of an irregular revolver of the bulldog with a purpose pattern handled by an unknown quarreler who, supposedly, had been told off to shade and shoot shy Shem should the shit show his shiny shnout out awhile to look facts in their face before being holed and creased."
FW2: "lowness... visibly oozed out thickly from this dirty little blacking beetle, for the very fourth snap the Tulloch-Turnbull girl with her coldblood kodak shotted the as yet unremuneranded national apostate, who was cowardly gun and camera shy, taking what he fondly thought was a short cut... after having buried a hatchet not so long before, by the wrong goods exeunt... into Patatapapaveri's, fruiterers and musical florists... she knew the vice out of bridewell was a bad fast man by his walk on the spot."
Furthermore the low creature was a selfvaletter, having got up a kitchenette & fowlhouse for the sake of the eggs in what was meant for a closet. And hear this more. At the time of his last disappearance in public petty constable Sigurdsen, who had been detailed to save him from lynch law & mob mauling, greeted him just as he was butting in through the door with a hideful saying as usual: Wherefore have they that a dog [here] mean herring? All Shem said was: Search me. The peace officer was literally astounded at the capaciousness of the wineskin & even more so when informed by the human outcome of drink & dirt that she was merely bringing home 2 gallons of porter to his mother. But enough of lowness to base for words. We cannot stay here all day discussing Mr. Shem the Penman's thirst
Danish 'Hvorledes har De det i dag, min sorte herre?': How are you today, my dark sir?
FW2: "Of course our low hero was a selfvaleter by choice of need so up he got up whatever is meant by a Stourbridge clay kitchenette and lithargogalenu fowlhouse for the sake of akes... in what was meant for a closet."
FW2: "Petty constable Sistersen... who had been detailed from pollute stoties to save him... from the ligatureliablous effects of foul clay in little clots and mobmauling on looks, that wrongcountered the tenderfoot... just as he was butting in rand the coyner of bad times under a hideful between the rival doors... greeting for grazious oras as usual: Where ladies have they that a dog meansort herring? Sergo, search me, the incapable reparteed"
FW2: "The allwhite poors guardiant... was literally astundished... at the caledosian capacity for Lieutuvisky of the caftan's wineskin and even more so during, upon looking his bigmost astonishments, it was said him, aschu, fun the concerned human outgift of the dead med dirt, how that... he was namely coon at bringher at home two gallonts, as per royal, full poultry till his murder."
FW2: "But... enough of such porterblack lowness, too base for printink! ...We cannot... stay here for the residence of our existings discussing Tamstar Ham of Tenman's thirst."
Primum flens et gemens in manum suam evacuavit (sh-t in his hand, sorry) postea stercus proprium, quod apellavit dejectiones meas, exoneratus in poculum tristitiae posuit, eodem lentiter et melliflue minxit psalmum qui incipit Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis magna voce cantitans (did a p-ss, says he was dejected, asks to be exonerated) demque ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis, jucunditate encaustum sib fecit indelibilem (speaking of O'Ryan, the devil's own ink)
FW2: "Primum... flens et gemens, in manum suam evacuavit (...crap in his hand, sorry!), postea... exoneratus... stercus proprium, quod appellavit deiectiones suas, in vas olim honorabile tristitiae posuit, eodem... lente ac melliflue minxit, psalmum qui incipit: Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis: magna voce cantitans (did a piss, says he was dejected, asks to be exonerated), demum ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis iucunditate... encaustum sibi fecit indelibile (faked O'Ryan's, the indelible ink)."
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