Friday, July 22, 2005

Massive Expansion Of Interweb Profile

A stack of theodolites, one of them mine.

(I'm slightly prouder of this. And let us not forget the glory days, nor erstwhile pop stardom.)

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Let's Get Nijinsky


Why 'unhemmed'?

It's an anal reference to Finnegans Wake, of all the things in the world, where Joyce rewrites the Lord's Prayer, or part of it, like this:

"In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of
Plurabilities, halved be her eve, her signtime sung, her rill be run,
unhemmed as it is in heaven."

Which is pretty cool, I think. Also I just like the idea of things
being unhemmed.

There is a slightly different version, however, on this page:

"In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!"

This version is corroborated on this rather extraordinary page. I need a copy of the book. I copied my version down from Hugh Kearney's Transitions (1988), page 43, sometime in the second half of 2003. And I could well have introduced some 'mistakes' of my own. I hope that it is 'signtime', and not 'singtime' - but on the other hand I hope that they are right about 'unhemmed as it is uneven'. As far as 'halved' and 'haloed' goes, I'd be happy with either.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Some lovely lody


One of the best!


When I put my finger to the hole they've cut for a dimmer switch
in a wall of plaster stiffened with horsehair
it seems I've scratched a two-hundred-year-old itch

with a pink and a pink and a pinkie-pick.

When I put my ear to the hole I'm suddenly aware
of spades and shovels turning up the gain
all the way from Raritan to the Delaware

with a clink and a clink and a clinky-click.

When I put my nose to the hole I smell the flood-plain
of the canal after a hurricane
and the spots of green grass where thousands of the Irish have lain

with a stink and a stink and a stinky-stick.

When I put my eye to the hole I see one holding horse dung to the rain
in the hope, indeed, indeed,
of washing out a few whole ears of grain

with a wink and a wink and a winkie-wick.

And when I do at last succeed
in putting my mouth to the horsehair-fringed niche
I can taste the small loaf of bread he baked from that whole seed

with a link and a link and a linky-lick.

(You can hear it here.)