Bloomsday

for Thersites

"Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
--Introibo ad altare Dei."

It's also the birthday of Joyce Carol Oates, named for James Joyce.

I'm looking for my copy of Joyce's Chamber Music. So titled, he said, not for the musical association, but in honor of the sound of his wife in the morning, filling the chamber pot. Some things do become anachronisms, and require interpretation.

Later:

Found it.

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sweetness and sing
How love that passes through is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead and how
In the grave of all love shall sleep.
Love is aweary now.

Jame Joyce, Chamber Music (London: Grossman, 1971)