This
year’s online Bloomsday seminar via Facebook was a global conversation in the
privacy of our own screens. Each of the eighteen short films, released online
by Bloomsday in Melbourne at the hour set for each episode, were treated as the
‘papers’ to prompt online discussion. Episode 14 included contributions by Sian
Cartwright, Michael Cooney, Jennifer Sarah Dean, Frances Devlin Glass, and Ben
Frayle, whose initials appear where their thoughts are represented in these
analecta.
The
more slowly we read Ulysses, and it’s more so in the Wake, we realise Joyce is
conducting an orchestra of wildly different voices, discourses, registers in
his novels. (FDG) Furthermore, this and other later episodes are already
inventing the language of Wakese. What is language at all, Joyce asks, that it
is so protean and transitory?
There
are not many writers in English who can do what Joyce does. The main one is
Shakespeare. It’s the ability to choose the form, technique, style that suits a
particular person, place, situation, that is always something different but
appropriate. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ is a good example of a multiplicity of
poetry forms used to enact comedy. Most writers do what they do. They hear their
character’s voice, provide an approximate rendition (Dickens, for example), but
few can do this sustained range and pull it off.
We
all do voices in daily life, routinely, e.g. taking off a politician, mocking a
teacher, knowing whether you are listening to the ABC or 3AW, reading Byron or
a children’s book. But his range is generally much broader and better informed,
richer than most. (FDG) This is what we do in Australia, sure enough. But what
if we went to live in Trieste, in isolation, hearing Italian, German, and
French all day, while writing a book that reproduces the perfect idiom of
Australian English on every page? Would our send-up of Potato be convincing?
Could we get the exact intonation of a conversation on a tram, or the outer on
Saturday afternoon?
Fecundation!
(MC) Feck-undation! Fact-undulation! Fiction-adulation! Fog-and-fashion!
Bawdy
song rubs shoulders with fragments of Dante’s Paradiso, and why not? (FDG) It
makes more sense of Oxen, which granted is a showpiece yet an overt indication
of his modus operandi. Joyce once said Ulysses is about matters of style. It
isn’t just that, it’s about everything under the sun, but he’s saying this from
his artist’s point of view. The content can take care of itself, it’s how it is
to be written that is the question, if you are Joyce the artist.
What
do we make of Joyce’s canter through period writing styles of English? What do
we make of Joyce’s carousal through writing styles of English? What do we make
of his parturition of English? What do we make of Joyce’s counterintuitive
counterfeited countersigned counterpoint counterlunch account of uncountable periods
of English writing styles? What do we make of Joyce’s recounting of them?
And that’s just English.
Aren’t
there easier ways of describing drunken medical students in a maternity
hospital during a three-day birth? Yes yes yes.
If
we discuss this episode, is it preferable to do so in Elizabethan English? Or
should all discourse forthwith be conducted solely using Wildean paradox? Are
we through with Wilde and his paradoxes? This episode makes us aware of our consciousness
of our own language use. We cannot respond in genuine Elizabethan English, even
if we tried. Whatever we said would be a contrivance, however elegant. In 2020,
we can only respond in the English of the global pandemic. History is a
nightmare I wish to rewrite in best 21st century English. Our
paradoxes will be our kinds of paradoxes. They will outwit all previous
paradox. I wish I’d said that. You will, Oscar, you will.
So
that’s cheers and hearty congratulations on the birth of Mina Purefoy’s thirteenth
child. (SC) Of all the stages of life, birth is the most crucial. Language and
prose were themselves born into the world yet the base biological desires are
still predominant, even in the most educated persons. (BF)
Great
team effort. (JSD) Indeed, and how curious that control and loss of control
co-exist so intimately in the history of a language. The language of the
theatre is highly controlled, even as it describes such realities as
drunkenness, stupidity, chaos, collapse. It’s a veritable paradox.
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