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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Улисс
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- Стр. 244/821
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Glowing
wine
on
his
palate
lingered
swallowed
.
Crushing
in
the
winepress
grapes
of
Burgundy
.
Sun
’
s
heat
it
is
.
Seems
to
a
secret
touch
telling
me
memory
.
Touched
his
sense
moistened
remembered
.
Hidden
under
wild
ferns
on
Howth
below
us
bay
sleeping
:
sky
.
No
sound
.
The
sky
.
The
bay
purple
by
the
Lion
’
s
head
.
Green
by
Drumleck
.
Yellowgreen
towards
Sutton
.
Fields
of
undersea
,
the
lines
faint
brown
in
grass
,
buried
cities
.
Pillowed
on
my
coat
she
had
her
hair
,
earwigs
in
the
heather
scrub
my
hand
under
her
nape
,
you
’
ll
toss
me
all
.
O
wonder
!
Coolsoft
with
ointments
her
hand
touched
me
,
caressed
:
her
eyes
upon
me
did
not
turn
away
.
Ravished
over
her
I
lay
,
full
lips
full
open
,
kissed
her
mouth
.
Yum
.
Softly
she
gave
me
in
my
mouth
the
seedcake
warm
and
chewed
.
Mawkish
pulp
her
mouth
had
mumbled
sweetsour
of
her
spittle
.
Joy
:
I
ate
it
:
joy
.
Young
life
,
her
lips
that
gave
me
pouting
.
Soft
warm
sticky
gumjelly
lips
.
Flowers
her
eyes
were
,
take
me
,
willing
eyes
.
Pebbles
fell
.
She
lay
still
.
A
goat
.
No
-
one
.
High
on
Ben
Howth
rhododendrons
a
nannygoat
walking
surefooted
,
dropping
currants
.
Screened
under
ferns
she
laughed
warmfolded
.
Wildly
I
lay
on
her
,
kissed
her
:
eyes
,
her
lips
,
her
stretched
neck
beating
,
woman
’
s
breasts
full
in
her
blouse
of
nun
’
s
veiling
,
fat
nipples
upright
.
Hot
I
tongued
her
.
She
kissed
me
.
I
was
kissed
.
All
yielding
she
tossed
my
hair
.
Kissed
,
she
kissed
me
.
Me
.
And
me
now
.
Stuck
,
the
flies
buzzed
.
His
downcast
eyes
followed
the
silent
veining
of
the
oaken
slab
.
Beauty
:
it
curves
:
curves
are
beauty
.
Shapely
goddesses
,
Venus
,
Juno
:
curves
the
world
admires
.
Can
see
them
library
museum
standing
in
the
round
hall
,
naked
goddesses
.
Aids
to
digestion
.
They
don
’
t
care
what
man
looks
.
All
to
see
.
Never
speaking
.
I
mean
to
say
to
fellows
like
Flynn
.
Suppose
she
did
Pygmalion
and
Galatea
what
would
she
say
first
?
Mortal
!
Put
you
in
your
proper
place
.
Quaffing
nectar
at
mess
with
gods
golden
dishes
,
all
ambrosial
.
Not
like
a
tanner
lunch
we
have
,
boiled
mutton
,
carrots
and
turnips
,
bottle
of
Allsop
.
Nectar
imagine
it
drinking
electricity
:
gods
’
food
.
Lovely
forms
of
women
sculped
Junonian
.
Immortal
lovely
.
And
we
stuffing
food
in
one
hole
and
out
behind
:
food
,
chyle
,
blood
,
dung
,
earth
,
food
:
have
to
feed
it
like
stoking
an
engine
.
They
have
no
.
Never
looked
.
I
’
ll
look
today
.
Keeper
won
’
t
see
.
Bend
down
let
something
fall
see
if
she
.
Dribbling
a
quiet
message
from
his
bladder
came
to
go
to
do
not
to
do
there
to
do
.
A
man
and
ready
he
drained
his
glass
to
the
lees
and
walked
,
to
men
too
they
gave
themselves
,
manly
conscious
,
lay
with
men
lovers
,
a
youth
enjoyed
her
,
to
the
yard
.
When
the
sound
of
his
boots
had
ceased
Davy
Byrne
said
from
his
book
:
—
What
is
this
he
is
?
Isn
’
t
he
in
the
insurance
line
?
—
He
’
s
out
of
that
long
ago
,
Nosey
Flynn
said
.
He
does
canvassing
for
the
Freeman
.
