That with some our prowed invisors   Leave a comment

(2.3.316.2-2.3.329.12)

The pub yarn: a synaptically excited blending experience?

Joyce gives us “The tale of Kerse the Tailor and the Norwegian Captain.” One of my own favourites makes for surreal listening. I heard it in an orange tent that was pitched on arctic tundra, from a bearded man in an Arran sweater, who sat practicing his chanter and blethering away between tunes in Scots. He was  drunk with boredom rather than booze. We’d been camped in the Arctic for 3 weeks. The weather was dire. We slept for 16 hours a day… His was the story of a Glaswegian cycle club that got run over by a juggernaut whilst training in early morning fog. Bikes and men were scattered like skittles. Bodies were squashed. And then more casualties were incurred as the juggernaut driver reversed, to find out what he’d hit.

Like the chanter sections in”The Story of the Squashed Scots Cyclists”, there is a drone in “The tale of Kerse the Tailor and the Nowegian Captain.” “Sayd he. Sayd he. Sayd he.” Drones lick rhythm into a tale… A flatmate of mine from Belfast used “so he did”  as his drone. The Scot’s bard Mathew Fitt uses “aye I ken” as the drone in his performance poem “Ken”. Does everyone have a personal drone?

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Posted December 9, 2010 by R.H.H. Nisbet in Finnegans Wake Audio Recording, rhetoric

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