Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce & Beckett

James Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)

Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989)

Laughing Lhursday* – Pitch 'n' Putt

As tomorrow James Joyce will – not would! – celebrate his 142nd birthday, and as today is Laughing Lhursday, I think it is about time to once again post this glorious encounter of him and Samuel Beckett.

 James Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)

Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989)


* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

Beers & Books LXIX– Samuel Beckett

James Joyce was a synthesizer,
trying to bring in as much as he could.
I am an analyzer,
trying to leave out as much as I can.

 Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 November 1989)

Beckett rencontre Beckett

Rufus *19 December 1942

Samuel Beckett 13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989

Walter D. Asmus *1941

Waiting for Godot

Waiting for Godot

Samuel Beckett 13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989

Waiting for Godot

Laughing Lhursday* with Joyce and Beckett

Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989)

James Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941)

* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?
Nah.
It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.

Waiting for Sam

People are bloody ignorant apes.

Pah.

Charming spot. - Inspiring prospects. - Let's go.

We can't.

Why not?

We're waiting for Sam.

Ah. You're sure it was here?

What?

That we were to wait.

He said by the grave. Do you see any others?

He must be dead.

No more weeping.

We are always finding something, eh, Sean, to give us the impression we exist?

Yes, yes, we're magicians.

Happy birthday then, Sam! :)

Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989)

quaquaquaqua – time will tell

Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda with those who for reasons unknown but time will tell are plunged in torment plunged in fire whose fire flames if that continues and who can doubt it will fire the firmament that is to say blast hell to heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing but not so fast and considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished crowned by the Acacacacademy of Anthropopopometry of Essy-in-Possy of Testew and Cunard it is established beyond all doubt all other doubt than that which clings to the labors of men that as a result of the labors unfinished of Testew and Cunnard it is established as hereinafter but not so fast for reasons unknown that as a result of the public works of Puncher and Wattmann it is established beyond all doubt that in view of the labors of Fartov and Belcher left unfinished for reasons unknown of Testew and Cunard left unfinished it is established what many deny that man in Possy of Testew and Cunard that man in Essy that man in short that man in brief in spite of the strides of alimentation and defecation wastes and pines wastes and pines and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell fades away I resume Fulham Clapham in a word the dead loss per head since the death of Bishop Berkeley being to the tune of one inch four ounce per head approximately by and large more or less to the nearest decimal good measure round figures stark naked in the stockinged feet in Connemara in a word for reasons unknown no matter what matter the facts are there and considering what is more much more grave that in the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman it appears what is more much more grave that in the light the light the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman that in the plains in the mountains by the seas by the rivers running water running fire the air is the same and then the earth namely the air and then the earth in the great cold the great dark the air and the earth abode of stones in the great cold alas alas in the year of their Lord six hundred and something the air the earth the sea the earth abode of stones in the great deeps the great cold on sea on land and in the air I resume for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis the facts are there but time will tell I resume alas alas on on in short in fine on on abode of stones who can doubt it I resume but not so fast I resume the skull fading fading fading and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis on on the beard the flames the tears the stones so blue so calm alas alas on on the skull the skull the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the labors abandoned left unfinished graver still abode of stones in a word I resume alas alas abandoned unfinished the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the skull alas the stones Cunard (mêlée, final vociferations)

Barry McGovern     (Vladimir),
Johnny Murphy       (Estragon),
Alan Stanford          (Pozzo),
Stephen Brennan     (Lucky), 

Cover Story 0012 - A divine comedy

 

(A) Divine Comedy

Gargantua and Pantagruel
waiting for Godot

Pitch'n'Putt with Andrew'n'Calum

Postscriptum:
Oh sorry. Just notice: Correct title, wrong video. Or ...?

[...] full of nuts [...]

Part two

Happy 104th, Sam

Cascando
1
why not merely the despaired of
occasion of
wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren
the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives

2

saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love
the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending
I and all the others that will love you
if they love you

3

unless they love you

Samuel Beckett, *April 13th, 1906

Happy 103rd, Sam

Words [Trying to sing, softly]:

Age is when to man
Huddled o'er the ingle
Shivering for the hag
To put the pen in the bed
And bring the toddy
She comes in the ashes
Who loved could not be won
Or won not loved
Or some other trouble
Comes in the ashes
Like in that cold light
The faces in the ashes
That old starlight
On the earth again.

[Long pause.]

From Words and Music
Written in English and completed towards the end of 1961.
First broadcast on the BBC Third Programme on November 13th, 1962
Samuel Beckett (13 April 1906 - 22. December 1989)



Related:
Waiting for Sam

Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce 'n' Beckett

Pitch 'n' Putt with Joyce'n'Beckett

Waiting for Sam

People are bloody ignorant apes.

Pah.

Charming spot. - Inspiring prospects. - Let's go.

We can't.

Why not?

We're waiting for Sam.

Ah. You're sure it was here?

What?

That we were to wait.

He said by the grave. Do you see any others?

He must be dead.

No more weeping.

We are always finding something, eh, Sean, to give us the impression we exist?

Yes, yes, we're magicians.

Happy birthday then, Sam! :)