Mark André ’s Reviews > Finnegans Wake > Status Update

... and the rhymers’ world was with reason the richer for a wouldbe ballad, to the balledder of which the world of cumannity singing owes a tribute for having placed on the planet’s melomap his lay of the vilest bogeyer but most attractionable avatar the world has ever had to explain for.

If you only were there to explain the mean- ing, best of men, and talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Findrinny Fair. What with reins here and ribbons there all your hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at sea or swooped through the blue like Airwinger’s bride.

Were I a clerk designate to the Williamswoodsmenufactors I’d poster those pouters on every jamb in the town. She’s making her rep at Lanner’s twicenightly. With the tabarine tamtammers of the whirligigmagees. Beats that cachucha flat. ’Twould dilate your heart to go.

Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed ant loved end left. Forsin. (...) In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that en- tails the ensuance of existentiality.

And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truath I’m tallin yei*) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake.

But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finichel Only a fadograph of a yestem scene.

Stay us wherefore in our search for righteousness, O Sustainer, what time we rise and when we take up to toothmick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and at the fading of the stars! For a nod to the nabir is better than a wink to the wabsanti.

Bygmester Finnegan, ... lived in the broadest way immarginable ...
(one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly stock it out again, by the might of moses, the very water was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!)

... oystrygods gaggin fishygods!
[...]
Assiegates and boomeringstroms.
[...]
What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and ventilated!
[...]
... the skysign of soft advertisement! But waz iz? Iseut.^ Ere were sewers.^ The oaks of aid now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.

... where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since devlins first loved livvy.