Re: Joyce 114: Nets and Shells

aug 15, 2012

Re: Joyce 114: Nets and Shells

Musings on the sand, shells, lost ships, and sewage. A stogged bottle, and Christ imagery on a clothesline.

“The grainy sand had gone from under his feet. His
boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells,
squeaking pebbles, that on the unnumbered pebbles beats,
wood sieved by the shipworm, lost Armada.
Unwholesome sandflats waited to suck his treading soles,
breathing upward sewage breath, a pocket of seaweed
smouldered in seafire under a midden of man’s ashes. He
coasted them, walking warily. A porterbottle stood up,
stogged to its waist, in the cakey sand dough. A sentinel:
isle of dreadful thirst. Broken hoops on the shore; at the
land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away
chalkscrawled backdoors and on the higher beach a
dryingline with two crucified shirts. Ringsend: wigwams
of brown steersmen and master mariners. Human shells.”
He halted. I have passed the way to aunt Sara’s. Am I
not going there? Seems not. No-one about. He turned
northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the
Pigeonhouse.

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