I haven’t shared many thoughts on my experience of reading Ulysses. This has been more out of sheer laziness than a lack of commentary. I will try to be more forthcoming in the future.
To get started, one of my favorite things about the book is that Joyce basically invents his own language. I don’t think Ulysses was written in English, really, it is written in Joycean, an ever changing, ever surprising mixture of different tones, colloquialisms, rhythms, and sounds. I truly loved his descriptions of the sea, especially as a poet.
The following poem doesn’t owe much to Joyce, especially as it is not particularly experimental as far as language is concerned, but it is my response to walking along the beach on a turbulent spring day.
Sea Green
We watch the waves crunch
like soft gears on the beach,
a mouth full of froth and sand.
The meek Mediterranean wants
to be an ocean today, beats
its chest with white fists,
eats the land with fury,
and howls deeply. The sky
is a flash and muffle, the sun
has come and gone, gold
mixes with grey reflections,
cold green, vague blue, the water
is pale and moody, the color
of the lip of a china tea cup.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment