“An' the gobble-uns 'll git you . . . Ef you . . . Don't . . . Watch . . . Out!"
“No memory of having starred atones for later disregard . . . "
(You'll find my reading of Frost's Mending Wall by clicking on the link.)
James Joyce: Finnegans Wake (The Ballad of Persse O'Reilly)
For this year's challenge, I open my dog-eared copy of Finnegans Wake to page 44, to croak out my rendition of “The Ballad of Persse O'Reilly". *
(*From the French perce-oreille - or earwig, hence the cognomen of the hero of our story: Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker, whose rumored nefarious deeds are recounted herein.)
As with my previous entries from 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018 - don't overthink it, just enjoy the ride.
For Halloween: A classic horror story from Mister Poe . . .
For April Fool’s Day . . .
Lewis Carroll: A Mad Tea-Party, from “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”
James Joyce: Finnegans Wake (Shem the Penman)
It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and time for my fourth annual reading from James Joyce’s linguistically challenging masterpiece.
This year, I turn to page 169, with the beginning of Joyce’s unflattering (and somewhat autobiographical) portrait of Shem the Penman.
As I’ve cautioned in my previous entries
from 2015, 2016 and 2017 . . .
Don’t try to figure it out. Just enjoy the ride.
From Stave II of Dickens’ classic . . .
Ebenezer Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Past visit some old friends.
Charles Dickens: Mr. Fezziwig’s Ball, from “A Christmas Carol”
(You can hear my reading of Scrooge’s encounter with Marley’s Ghost here.)
A little dark humor from the Master of the Macabre . . .
James Joyce: Finnegans Wake (Jarl van Hoother and the Prankquean)
’Tis St. Patrick’s Day, and time for my third annual assault on Finnegans Wake.
This year, I open the Wake to page 21, and the tale of Jarl van Hoother and the Prankquean.
As with the 2015 and 2016 challenges, bluffing is permitted, encouraged . . . and mandatory.
Don't worry if much of this is incomprehensible. Because if it did make perfect sense, it would mean one of two things:
a.) You’ve had a wee bit too much Guinness and need to slow down, or . . .
b.) You are James Joyce, and have been dead for the past 76 years.