William Close plays the Earth Harp at the Temple of Transition Burning Man 2011

As good as it gets department.

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Bloomsday 2012 – The Joycean Works Enter Public Domain

Joyce’s works are entering the public domain.

Why Bloomsday Is Special This Year!

Here is the beginagaining of Ulysses. I strongly recommend that everyone who loves literature give this one a go. It is not an easy read, but rewarding on many levels. Do not be intimidated by it, just jump in and go, and if you aren’t getting it, just move forward until something grabs your eye. And never, ever, underestimate Mr Joyce’s penchant for irony and humour. Whether this is a serious classic or a classic to be taken seriously, don’t forget the Irish love to have fun.

STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

– Introibo ad altare Dei.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:

– Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the bowl smartly.

– Back to barracks, he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

– For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

– Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

– The mockery of it, he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek.

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

– My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

– Will he come? The jejune jesuit.

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

– Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

– Yes, my love?

– How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

– God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus; you have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

– He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

– A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

– I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

– Scutter, he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper pocket, said:

– Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly. Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

– The bard’s noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can’t you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.

– God, he said quietly. Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbour mouth of Kingstown.

– Our mighty mother, Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptly his great searching eyes from the sea to Stephen’s face.

– The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That’s why she won’t let me have anything to do with you.

– Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.

– You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I’m hyperborean as much as you. But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you.

He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips.

– But a lovely mummer, he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest mummer of them all.

He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.

Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its loose brown grave-clothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a great sweet mother by the well-fed voice beside him. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.

Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.

– Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?

– They fit well enough, Stephen answered.

Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.

– The mockery of it, he said contentedly, secondleg they should be. God knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair stripe, grey. You’ll look spiffing in them. I’m not joking, Kinch. You look damn well when you’re dressed.

– Thanks, Stephen said. I can’t wear them if they are grey.

– He can’t wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can’t wear grey trousers.

He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

– That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. He’s up in Dottyville with Conolly Norman. General paralysis of the insane.

He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong wellknit trunk.

– Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard.

Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by a crooked crack, hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.

– I pinched it out of the skivvy’s room, Buck Mulligan said. It does her all right. The aunt always keeps plain-looking servants for Malachi. Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.

Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen’s peering eyes.

– The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If Wilde were only alive to see you.

Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:

– It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen’s and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them.

– It’s not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly. God knows you have more spirit than any of them.

Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The cold steelpen.

– Cracked lookingglass of a servant. Tell that to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He’s stinking with money and thinks you’re not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise it.

Cranly’s arm. His arm.

Continued here.

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Party At Cafe Cleopatra Saturday Night

Venez prendre part à une Victorieuse Célébration du Café Cléopâtre avec spectacles burlesques animé par la fabuleuse Reena!

Nous vous attendons samedi le 26 mars
spectacle à 21h
(les portes ouvrent à 20h),
une donation minimum de $5 est suggéré
qui ira en support de l’organization Stella
Au nom de l’équipe pour Sauvez la Main, nous vous remercions de votre support au court des 2 dernières années.

*** This is an invitation to celebrate at Café Cleopatra’s Victory Party and burlesque show, hosted by the fabulous Reena!
Everyone who supports local culture, heritage, and burlesque entertainment are invited to raise a glass, celebrate, and hear about the artists’ next step in saving “The Main” national historic site from further devastation and demanding their say in the development of the Quartier des Spectacles.

Saturday March 26th / Samedi le 26 mars
doors open: 8pm / portes ouvrent: 20h00
showtime: 9pm / spectacles: 21h00
admission: 5$ a la porte / at the door

CABARET CLEO, 1230 ST-LAURENT (2nd floor / 2ème étage)
$5 at the door, proceeds to go to the Stella organization

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A Christmas Party

Join us on
Monday December 20th
at Café ThEATre,
a great new venue downtown.
5:30pm – 10:30pm
Included in the $10 ticket price, you’ll enjoy assorted hors d’oeuvres, cheeses, assortment of warm sandwiches, fondue suisse, a glass of wine or beer.
See their amazing menu at http://www.cafetheatre.biz
(extra drinks available at discounted prices).

Door prizes include $100 gift certificates for Spa Atmosphere.
But,…You must RSVP for this event before December 17th!

(Subsidies available to anyone in financial need).
Kids are welcome and get to eat free! Get a second chance to win by confirming your attendance early and also, by bringing a toy or non perishable contribution to the Welcome Hall Mission’s food basket program.

IT’S CHRISTMAS IN THE VILLAGE DES TANNERIES!

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Happy Canada Day!

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Bonne Fete, Quebec!!!

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Lights Out Party On Mount Royal

In the mail from Gilles Chiasson.

Hi Everyone,

You are all invited to join in the first Mount Royal Lights Out Earth Day Party to be held at the observation deck atop the mountain by the main chalet overlooking downtown Montreal for 8:30pm, ’til 9:30pm. This will give us all a chance to watch the city go dark, then an hour later turn on, allowing us to witness the implication of sustainability in concrete terms.

You are asked, in the spirit of the affair to turn off all your electric before you leave, then take public transit and join us for the event. Bring binoculars and anything you might want to share with others. Ultimately, it would be nice to make this an annual tradition so let’s give it a great send off!

No RSVP needed, just show up!

Peace
Gil

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Party in Les Tanneries Tuesday Night

À tous nos voisins, amis et partenaires
Nous vous souhaitons de très joyeuses fêtes et une excellente année en 2010!

Nous sommes reconnaissants de tous vos efforts avant, durant et depuis le procésus du BAPE et nous sommes fiers de pouvoir vous inviter à notre fête de noël qui aura lieu
Mardi le 29 décembre à partir de 18 hres
Chez Nathalie au 780 St-Rémi.

Comme à chaque année, on vous invite d’apporter un plat et votre boisson préférée.
On vous attend avec amitié, joie, musique et de belles surprises!

SVP confirmer et obtenir les détails du locale
en laissant un message au 514-440-2282

http://www.villagedestanneries.com/apps/blog/

To all our neighbors, friends and partners
We wish you a happy holiday season and the best of all good things in 2010!

We are grateful for all the time and effort spent prior to, post and throughout the BAPE process
and we would love for you to join us at our annual Christmas Party on
Tuesday December 29th as of 6pm
at Nathalie’s in the 780 St-Remi lofts

Bring a dish to share and your favorite beverage and expect
an evening of fun, friendship, good music and even surprises.

Please cal 514-440-2288 to confirm and to obtain the exact address

http://www.villagedestanneries.com/apps/blog/

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Midnight Mass

I guess they often refer to it as Christmas Eve Mass these days. Haven’t been to this since I was a kid, so figured I was overdue, and headed over to Notre Dame des Sept Douleurs around 10pm.
Got caught up in the architecture, the symmetry and the detail. The church was probably built by the best and most experienced workers, donated time, and tons of community support and funding. God’s own house. You could get things like this done with that kind of backup.
My generation grew up getting a glimpse of the power and glory of the Catholic church before it began melting away. Seems so impotent now, like some odd fringe group who just happen to own these enormous, ridiculously beautiful buildings.
The service is nice. The priest even gets a few laughs here and there. The organ plays and there is a fine choir. The children run up for communion first as if there are gifts to be opened, and the adults follow shortly after. It’s Christmas Eve and all’s well in the world right now.

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Post BAPE Party and Les 2 Pierres

The I Survived The BAPE pot luck went on last Sunday after being thunderstormed out the day before. But more than just a get together it was an occasion to reflect and make a truly wonderful gesture – the planting of Les 2 Pierres! And a good time it was!

Jody Negley explains,
“We wanted to celebrate surviving the grueling BAPE process, as well as acknowledge the contributions and sacrifices that many of our members and supporters have made over the past year. Our collective battle against the MTQ’s plan to displace 400 + people from their home in order to rebuild a highway access road, putting the flow of car traffic before people.

Planting two Tamarack trees in the MTQ space on Cazelais street North was for local area residents a symbol of resistance and resolve… A message if you will: We’re not going anywhere. We’re here to stay.

We decided to call the trees Les 2 Pierres to honour architect Pierre Brisset, one of the movement’s most ardent and vocal critics re expropriations and Pierre Gauthier, Concordia professor of Geography and Urban Planning, who has rallied the university milieu in the fight for sustainable inter-modal transportation alternatives to the MTQ plan.”

And here are some excellent photographs of the occasion by Andre Denis.

These are the buildings that would be torn down under the current Turcot plan.

The famous Biker’s Garden.

One of the Pierres planting one of Les 2 Pierres.



And finish up with the obligatory neighborhood album cover shot.

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Party On Saturday

I Survived The Bape at the Biker’s Garden on Cazelais, Saint Henri, Saturday, July 11, 5-9, BYOB.

Rappel
Ça fête dans le Village des Tanneries!

Samedi le 11 juillet entre 17hres et 21 hres
au jardin des motards

Cette soirée sera l’occasion de fêter entre voisins et voisines, d’échanger de l’information sur la situation, sur des éventuelles expropriations, sur ce que nous voulons faire pour le quartier et pour son avenir.

Nous vous proposerons aussi de prendre des photos et de signer une déclaration commune :

« Des voisins, pas des autos ».
Venez nombreux et nombreuses !!

Tables d’information – Photos– Signature d’une déclaration commune– Surprises…
Chers voisins et amis
Un très grand merci de la part de tous les résidents
du 780 et de la rue Cazelais
pour votre appui et votre généreuse implication ces derniers mois.
Maintenant que nous avons survécu le BAPE ensemble,
il faut que nous fêtons ensemble aussi!
Espérant que vous serez parmi nous

Samedi le 11 juillet de 17-21hres

C’est un POTLUCK BYOB
SVP confirmer votre présence et ce que vous prévoyez apporter avec Lorraine Krupa
tél: 514-583-9603
oubien voir le babillard du site internet (section commentaires)
et inscrire un plat

http://www.freewebs.com/villagedestanneries/apps/blog/show/1256088-i-survived-the-bape-party-#comments

voir l’invitation ci dessous

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Happy Canada Day

And have a good move.

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Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!

See you at the parade!

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Let’s Paint The Riviere Saint Pierre Across Turcot!!

Turcot won’t be available for long. There are hardly any cities in the world capable of doing this project – who has that kind of land empty so close to the city center? Does anyone have any ideas on how to proceed?

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Obama Elected President!

I am truly delighted to have lived to see this. My life of observing politics pretty much began with JFK getting assasinated, so I am quite pleased to see such a mind boggling moment of optimism and opportunity happen on this planet.

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