the secret relations of Tzara and Joyce, TT & JJ,

behind everyone's backJJ was writing Finnegans Wake whilst reading the prose poem of TT,


none of the English readers were aware of what it was he was pulling while do so..



 tthe Wake with its hundreds of pusn and anagrams, permutation s of hundred lettered wordsk


Its Optophone of the Optophane,


 takes the principles of Dadaism in poetry to a systematic  level systematic and continous  level of creation,





Now the great prose poetry of Tzara does

this but no English ear heard them,


Certainly JJ would not trnasalte them

he barely deigned to read them!


or acknowledge they existed!

but these secrets 


are known to me and others


TT was JJ


and likewise






Joyce reading from the Aeolus Episode of Ulysses recorded 1924

the story of the recording and Joyce's arrival at the studio is told in the Ellmann biography officially yet rumors abound regarding the superstitious Joyce entering the studio nervous and anxious at the thought of of thunder (or worse yet lightening) looming outdoors; in spite of all the recording went off without a hitch; judging by the results, which are fine, just refined, but alas, too rare! Aside from the two excerpts of Finnegans Wake and this there are no others, More's the pit


  it turns out turn table records are few far between as


_________________________________ 2

 And when JJoyce was arrested by the Gestapo for publication of Finnegans Wake which they read a s a code book for the allies he became Tristan Tzara to escape, go underground, joined the Resistance and continued publishing under the name of Tristan Tzara, who was as I remarked above his other true self which is not as unusual as it seems everyone has an other true self, or even their better self, as Bethune's described himself to the doctor. In China.  Even Henry Miller was in the action, on the lobby, on the line with her and I. with writing it's never one thing, person,place or time but many multiple numerous personalities and loves, personages, and fictive recreations of production, 




My interest in French poetry has waned as time goes one its steady beat and I simply think more and more than it is not the  language for poetry

  in spite of,

____________Maybe so and so was right and 

to be continued,

Next episode


WHo decided which language was preferable? and how and under what circumstances had the Latin getaway gotten into the English gotten?


Illuminations _ 'After the Flood'

____int his translation the writer tries to keep ______closer to Rimbaud's form ____of the prose poem.___________
After the Flood
Just as the idea of the Flood went subsiding,
A hare stopped in the swaying clover and flower bells, and said its prayer to the rainbow, through the spider’s web.
Oh! The precious stones that hid themselves, —the flowers that already were watching.
In the dirty main street, the stal
ls rose, and some hauled the boats to the sea piled up as on engravings,
Blood flowed, at Blue Beard’s, —in the slaughterhouses, in circuses, and where the seal of God white-washed the windows. Blood and milk flowed.
The beavers built. “Mazagrans” smoked in the coffee bars.
In the big house of glass still dripping, the mourning children looked on the wondrous pictures.
A door slammed; and, on the square of the hamlet, the child waved his arms, understood by the wind vanes and the cocks on steeples everywhere, in the bursting shower.
Madame *** set up a piano in the Alps. Mass and first communions were celebrated at the hundred thousand altars of the cathedral.
The caravans took off. And Hotel Splendor was built in the chaos of ices and polar night.
And from then on, the moon heard jackals howling through the deserts of thyme, —and the sabot-clad eclogues growling in the orchard. And, in the violet woods, Eucharis told me it was Spring.
Gush, pond; —Foam, roll on the bridge and over the woods; —black palls and organs, lightning and thunder, rise and roll; —waters and sorrows, rise and unleash the Floods.
For since they’ve gone, —oh, the burrowing stones, and the blooming flowers!—the boredom! And the Queen, the Witch who lights her blaze in the earthen pot, won’t ever want to tell us what she knows, that which we do not.
Arthur Rimbaud,
tr. Alex Rodallec


Another translation.

Après le Déluge ___

Après le Déluge
Aussitôt que l’idée du Déluge se fut rassise,
Un lièvre s’arrêta dans les sainfoins et les clochettes mouvantes et dit sa prière à l’arc-en-ciel à travers la toile de l’araignée.
Oh ! les pierres précieuses qui se cachaient, − les fleurs qui regardaient déjà.
Dans la grande rue sale les étals se dressèrent, et l’on tira les barques vers la mer étagée là-haut comme sur les gravures.
e sang coula, chez Barbe-Bleue, − aux abattoirs, − dans les cirques, où le sceau de Dieu blêmit les fenêtres. Le sang et le lait coulèrent.
Les castors bâtirent. Les “mazagrans” fumèrent dans les estaminets.
Dans la grande maison de vitres encore ruisselante les enfants en deuil regardèrent les merveilleuses images.
Une porte claqua, et sur la place du hameau, l’enfant tourna ses bras, compris des girouettes et des coqs des clochers de partout, sous l’éclatante giboulée.
Madame*** établit un piano dans les Alpes. La messe et les premières communions se célébrèrent aux cent mille autels de la cathédrale.
Les caravanes partirent. Et le Splendide-Hôtel fut bâti dans le chaos de glaces et de nuit du pôle.
Depuis lors, la Lune entendit les chacals piaulant par les déserts de thym,  − et les églogues en sabots grognant dans le verger.
Puis, dans la futaie violette, bourgeonnante, Eucharis me dit que c’était le printemps.
Sourds, étang, − Écume, roule sur le pont, et par dessus les bois; − draps noirs et orgues, − éclairs et tonnerres − montez et roulez; − Eaux et tristesses, montez et relevez les Déluges.
Car depuis qu’ils se sont dissipés, − oh les pierres précieuses s’enfouissant, et les fleurs ouvertes ! − c’est un ennui ! et la Reine, la Sorcière qui allume sa braise dans le pot de terre, ne voudra jamais nous raconter ce qu’elle sait, et que nous ignorons.
  Arthur Rimbaud wrote this when he was somewhere between 17 and 18 .. It was the first prose poem of Les Illuminations which is either the last or second last book of poems that he wrote. Rimbaud won no prizes, nor received no grants for his life or work. He gave up writing poetry at 18 for good. He died at the age of 37.
   First poem of Illuminations Arthur Rimbaud

After the idea of the Flood.


__its Charpentier : Sonate à huit. #1/3

dada if I say it is _______________the Calm serene one preceding the quivering wild one!

: Sonate à huit. Orchestre des Folies Françoises - Patrick
Cohen-Akenine. Violons : Patrick Cohen-Akenine, Léonor de Recondo ;
Flutes : Jocelyn Daubigney, Stéfane Troffaes ; Viole : Christine
Plubeau ; Basse de violon : François Poly ; Théorbe : Pascal Monteilhet ;
Clavecin : Isabelle Sauveur (not Béatrice Martin !). Réalisation :
Olivier Simonnet. A l'Opéra Royal du Château de Versailles.

Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover? this is getting a bit ...


this is getting a bit  ...

         yes it is  so

                                 what herald holds her hat

                  if she thinks making love to someone'll help she's wrong

                         she's in the long arms

                      of another woman

                                whose loving sighs

                                        and that extra moment of opening world

                                               space categorized by the tip of her finger

                                                         your mouth makes for  a same lover's kiss

                                                              a kiss you never had except from another woman

                                                                            whose loving arms your wondered for all night

                                                                                            tonight each night holding

                                                                                                           round the wondering

                                                                                                              of cheap rent

                                                                                                                because three was one

                                                                                                                                     was two

                                                                                                                            because it was

                                                                                                                   you and me



Re: Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?

the Prophetic Books.. On Homer's Poetry... William Blake ...

William Blake (1757–1827).  The Poetical Works.  1908.

Appendix to the Prophetic Books
On Homer’s Poetry
A poem must necessarily be a perfect Unity, but why Homer’s is peculiarly so I cannot tell: he has told the story of Bellerophon, and omitted the Judgement of Paris, which is not only a part but a principal part of Homer’s subject.

  But when a work has Unity, it is as much in a part as in the whole. The Torso is as much a Unity as the Laocoon.
  As Unity is the cloak of Folly, so Goodness is the cloak of Knavery. Those who will have Unity 

exclusively in Homer come out with a Moral like a sting in the tail. Aristotle says Characters are

either good or bad; now Goodness or Badness has nothing to do with Character. An apple tree, a pear tree, a horse, a lion are Characters; but a good apple tree or a bad is an apple tree still: a horse is not

more a lion for being a bad horse; that is its Character: its Goodness or Badness is another consideration.

  It is the same with the Moral of a whole poem as with the Moral Goodness of its parts. Unity and

Morality are secondary considerations, and belong to Philosophy and not to poetry, to Exception and

not to Rule, to Accident and not to Substance. The Ancients called it eating of the Tree of Good and Evil.
  The Classics! it is the Classics, and not Goths nor Monks, that desolate Europe with wars.

Note 1. This and the following piece are engraved on a single plate, in Blake’s Illuminated Printing, circa 1817. [back]

Hans Richter 1928 Dadaist Film

this film is dedicated to Columbus Ohio Street Performer Th' Rocknroll Reverend, who on the night

of March 1st 2011 during a performance on the corners of 5th and High Streets, was beaten by two

unknown assailants who were instructed by a young man and his overweight "Trick" to beat him. Th'

Rev then made his way to a local tobacco store                                                                                                        where he was molested by an elderly hippie with a

                                                                                           blonde fright wig. Th' Reverend was last seen wearing an Elephant Trunk, Red,White and Blue Top

Hat. White Hooded Terry Cloth Robe and Indian Moccasins. Anyone with any information to this

Crime please Contact the Columbus Ohio Police. And the next time you see Th' Rev, Don't take his 

                                                               coffee...Just give him a cigarette!






Artist who works in several mediums 


  1. Doan become Blase about the cendres! senders! O shoulder!
  2. The seconde time I was the TransSibErIan Train you were 16. Wenting east and west lack and berth.
  3. O saw can you sea the translate banging machine?
  4. "O, you mean the struggle for love and the sowiveall of the prettiest?" - legsbrewster: Joyce on marriage? F…
  5. “And you’ll see if I’m selfthought.” - From James Joyce’s ‘Finnegans Wake’ (p. 147) 
  6. “Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were…” 
  7. champagnechildren: “He thought that he was sick in his heart if you could be sick in that place.” — James Joy… 
  8. stellavine: ‘Nora’ 51 x 56cmAcrylic on canvas2011(Nora Barnacle - Joyce) O~ this is charmin~ 
  9. camberwellfoxes: Meet The Joyces James, Nora, Lucia and Georgio Joyce dining Camberwell Foxes Radio & Blog A…
  10. schadenfreudist: Of course, Nora was quite a looker herself. Indeed!
  11. If it gets any colder and windier then this city'll just clamber and become an igloo!