À propos de James Joyce

Pour piano préparé et bande

05.03.2010

[13'45"]

 

Comme un échantillon fixé à l'une et l'autre de ses extrémités - Les fibres tendues laissent apparaître de nouveaux espaces et donnent au déroulement d'un court récit une autre géographie, une multitude de parcours au sein même d'un tracé plus ancien - superposition de cartes, superposition d'échelles - confusion des rapports chronologiques et logiques…

 

[...]Fieluhr? Filou![...]Anna was, Livia is Plurabelle’s to be[...]Oronoko![...]Hircus Civis Eblanensis![...]You did, you did, I need, I need[...]Bifor! Bifur![...]Ussa, Ulla, we’re ubas all![...]Ireland sober is Ireland stiff[...]Ordovico or viricordo[...]Well you know or don’t you kennet or haven’t I told you every telling has a taling and that’s the he and the she of it. Look, look, the dusk is growing. My branches lofty are taking root. An my cold cher’s gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at? It saon is late. ‘Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw Waterhouse’s clogh. They took it asunder, I hurt thum sigh. When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach! I’d want to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There the Belle for Sexatoitez! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out the clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And grant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay, we will. Flip! Spread on your bank and I’ll spread mine on mine. Flep! It’s what I’m doing. Spread! It’s churning chill. Der went is rising. I’ll lay a few stones one the hostel sheets. A man and his bride embraced between them. Else I’d have sprinkled and folded them them only. And I’ll tie my butcher’s apron here. It’s suety yet. The strollers will pass it by.[...]Six shifts, the kerchiefs, nine to hold to the fire and this for the code, the convent napkins twelve, one baby’s shawl. Good mother Jossiph knows, she said. Whose head? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer, say? In kingdome gone or power to come or gloria be to them farther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more again lost alla stranger.[...]Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, the load is with me![...]Ho, Lord! Twins of his bosom. Lord save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daughters of. Whawk?[...]Holy Scamander[...]Teems of times and happy returns. The seim anew[...]Forgivemequick, I’m going! Bubye![...]Die Eve, little Eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We’ll meet again, we’ll part once more. The spot I’ll seek if the hour you’ll find[...]

 

-James Joyce-