I was a callow youth when I attended my first Bloomsday
event in New York City. I remember little about the setting except that it was
dark and much drink was taken.
From
the stage Frank McCourt related that while serving in the US Army in Germany he
was asked out by a lady officer much taken with his accent.
“Are you familiar with Joyce?” She
inquired over their first drink.
“No,”
Frank replied, “what does she look like?”
McCourt who would later become the
best-selling Irish writer of his generation had little notion of James Joyce,
whereas nowadays every Paddy that ever lifted a pen could quote from Ulysses
‘til the cows came home.
Take
yours truly, for instance, with three upcoming Joycean engagements; you could
posit that I’m a first class literary poseur or another poor soul afflicted
with Joyceitis.
James
Joyce himself profited little from his writing. His wife, Nora Barnacle,
complained that “them auld books caused nothing but trouble. You should have stuck
to the singing.” She had a point for at one Feis Ceoil he came in third place
to the great Count John McCormack.
But
Joyce never doubted his own brilliance. As a young man with nothing yet
published he told the world renowned WB Yeats that the poet was beyond help.
Joyce
was also an accomplished mooch who borrowed like it was going out of style. When
it came to creditors and landlords he was rarely more than one step ahead of
the hounds.
Hemingway
(a man who knew whereof he spoke) said that Joyce was a rummy of the first
order. And yet Sunny Jim was a drunk with discretion, for though he quaffed
white wine by the gallon, he would not touch a drop of red – for it reminded
him of blood.
Joyce
knew his women and wrote expertly - and intimately - about them. Every man
contemplating matrimony should read the last 30 pages of Ulysses when Molly Bloom
shares her thoughts. Some will go dashing back to the safe haven of
bachelorhood; many more will roar out “tally-ho!”
That’s
the power of Joyce and you will have two opportunities to experience the
wondrous Aedín Moloney inhabit the character of Molly in the coming weeks. First
up will be on June 11th at Barnes & Noble in Tribeca where she
will terrify the uptight in the company of Pete Hamill, Malachy McCourt and
yours truly.
This event will be sponsored by
Irish American Writers and Artists; however don’t bring your Grand-Aunt Fanny
unless she can handle unbridled womanhood in the raw, for Molly Bloom is a
woman of considerable appetites.
Aedín will reprise the role outside
Ulysses Folkhouse on Pearl Street on the afternoon of June 16th.
I
am often hailed as the world’s foremost male interpreter of the Ulysses
character, Gerty McDowell – being the only one certainly helps. I’ll be
unleashing Dirty Gerty, as she is commonly known, while leading a discussion on
Ulysses in Bryant Park Reading Room at lunchtime on June 16th.
All
these Joycean events are free in honor of Sunny Jimmy Joyce who never cared to
pay for anything himself. You should attend one or more for Ulysses is much
better heard than read.
Jot
down some quotes that tickle your fancy – and there will be many for Joyce put
the kitchen sink into “the world’s greatest novel.”
Then
on June 17th, in the solitude of your room, with a roaring hangover,
you can commit your favorite lines to memory.
Upon recovery, dressed in your best
seersucker suit and straw hat, head for your local saloon where you can mouth
off these priceless nuggets to the assembled shocked and awed peasants. Have no
qualms about accepting every free drink offered you, and demand copious buybacks
from your barkeep.
Ah
yes, God bless Jimmy Joyce, genius and freeloader, the month of June would not
be the same without him.
June 16
12:30-1:45pm, Bryant Park Reading Room, 42nd St./5th
Ave., NYC
June 16 2pm Ulysses Folk House, 95 Pearl St., NYC
June 16 11pm Celtic Crush, SiriusXM Radio - The Spectrum, Ch. 28, Bloomsday Show
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