On Ulysses

I am writing a book, said James Joyce.

Oh, said Frank Budgeon, his friend. How's it going?

I have been working hard on it all day Joyce replied.

Ah, said Budgeon.
Seeking the 'mot juste'...

Indeed.
I am writing the Lestrygonians: my hero encounters silk petticoats hanging in a shop window.


"Perfume of embraces all him assailed.
With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore."

~ ~ ~ ~

I see, said Budgeon...


Lifted from : The Creators - Daniel J. Boorstin

 

[David Ruskin]

The fragrance could have been L'Air de Rien before it was trashed. Slightly dirty underwear, badly laundered; slightly dirty second hand garments. Or Muscs Kublai Khan, sweaty skin smell. "Perfume of embraces" indeed.