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Джойс читает отрывок из "Finnegans Wake" — аудиозапись
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Anna Livia Plurabelle. The Orthological Institute, Cambridge, UK. Sound disc, 12 inches.
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В августе 1929 года Джойс посетил Лондон для визита к офтальмологу. В Лондоне он встретил своего друга и почитателя C.K. Ogden, который работал в Ортологическом институте и уговорил Джойса отправится в институт, что бы сделать запись последней главы Anna Livia. Текст был подготовлен на карточках в пол дюйма высоты, но освещение в студии было такое слабое, что Джойс с трудом прочел написанное. Тем не менее запись состоялась и является единственной, где Джойс читает текст из Finnegans Wake. Впоследствии запись была произведена на 12-дюймовую пластинку.
Текст аудиозаписи:
PAGE 213 Well, you know or don't you kennet or haven't I told you |
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every telling has a taling and that's the he and the she of it.
Look, |
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look, the dusk is growing! My branches lofty are taking root. |
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And my cold cher's gone ashley. Fieluhr? Filou! What age is at? |
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It saon is late. 'Tis endless now senne eye or erewone last saw |
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Waterhouse's clogh. They took it asunder, I hurd thum sigh. |
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When will they reassemble it? O, my back, my back, my bach! |
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I'd want to go to Aches-les-Pains. Pingpong! There's the Belle |
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for Sexaloitez! And Concepta de Send-us-pray! Pang! Wring out |
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the clothes! Wring in the dew! Godavari, vert the showers! And |
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grant thaya grace! Aman. Will we spread them here now? Ay, |
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we will. Flip ! Spread on your bank and I'll spread mine on mine. |
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Flep! It's what I'm doing. Spread ! It's churning chill. Der went
is |
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rising. I'll lay a few stones on the hostel sheets. A man and his
bride |
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embraced between them. Else I'd have sprinkled and folded them |
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only. And I'll tie my butcher's apron here. It's suety yet. The |
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strollers will pass it by. Six shifts, ten kerchiefs, nine to
hold to |
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the fire and this for the code, the convent napkins,twelve, one |
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baby's shawl. Good mother Jossiph knows, she said. Whose |
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head? Mutter snores? Deataceas! Wharnow are alle her childer, |
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say? In kingdome gone or power to come or gloria be to them |
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farther? Allalivial, allalluvial! Some here, more no more, more |
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again lost alla stranger. I've heard tell that same
brooch of the |
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Shannons was married into a family in Spain. And all the Dun- |
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ders de Dunnes in Markland's Vineland beyond Brendan's herring |
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pool takes number nine in yangsee's hats. And one of Biddy's |
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PAGE 214 beads went bobbing till she rounded up lost histereve with a |
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marigold and a cobbler's candle in a side strain of a main drain |
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of a manzinahurries off Bachelor's Walk. But all that's left to the |
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last of the Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and between |
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is one kneebuckle and two hooks in the front. Do you tell me. |
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that now? I do in troth. Orara por Orbe and poor Las Animas! |
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Ussa, Ulla, we're umbas all! Mezha, didn't you hear it a deluge of |
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times, ufer and ufer, respund to spond? You deed, you deed! I |
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need, I need! It's that irrawaddyng I've stoke in my aars. It all |
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but husheth the lethest zswound. Oronoko ! What's your trouble? |
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Is that the great Finnleader himself in his joakimono on his statue |
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riding the high horse there forehengist? Father of Otters, it is |
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himself! Yonne there! Isset that? On Fallareen Common? You're |
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thinking of Astley's Amphitheayter where the bobby restrained |
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you making sugarstuck pouts to the ghostwhite horse of the |
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Peppers. Throw the cobwebs from your eyes, woman, and spread |
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your washing proper! It's well I know your sort of slop. Flap! |
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Ireland sober is Ireland stiff Lord help you, Maria, full of grease, |
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the load is with me! Your prayers. I sonht zo! Madammangut! |
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Were you lifting your elbow, tell us, glazy cheeks, in Conway's |
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Carrigacurra canteen? Was I what, hobbledyhips? Flop! Your |
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rere gait's creakorheuman bitts your butts disagrees. Amn't I |
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up since the damp dawn, marthared mary allacook, with Corri- |
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gan's pulse and varicoarse veins, my pramaxle smashed, Alice |
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Jane in decline and my oneeyed mongrel twice run over, soaking |
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and bleaching boiler rags, and sweating cold, a widow like me, |
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for to deck my tennis champion son, the laundryman with the |
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lavandier flannels? You won your limpopo limp fron the husky |
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hussars when Collars and Cuffs was heir to the town and your |
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slur gave the stink to Carlow. Holy Scamander, I sar it again! |
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Near the golden falls. Icis on us! Seints of light! Zezere! Subdue |
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your noise, you hamble creature! What is it but a blackburry |
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growth or the dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are |
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you meanam Tarpey and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now, |
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thank all, the four of them, and the roar of them, that draves |
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that stray in the mist and old Johnny MacDougal along with |
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PAGE 215 them. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat |
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coasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or |
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my Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of |
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the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in |
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your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll |
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seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue |
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milk's upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you, |
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pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to |
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jurna's end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the sha- |
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dows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy- |
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valley way. Towy I too, rathmine. |
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Finnegans Wake — Anna Livia (mp3) (2,3 mb) (5m 40s)
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