Finnegans Wake Notes

007.01 rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvy-

007.02 long night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells,

007.03 her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him.

007.04 With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all

007.05 them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a tea-

007.06 ry turty Taubling*. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gifs

007.07à gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the

007.08 kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down

007.09 but grinny sprids the boord*. Whase on the joint of a desh? Fin-

007.10 foefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpan-

007.11 try's Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle?

007.12 A glass of Danu U'Dunnell's* foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But,

007.13 lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through

007.14 that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for

007.15 he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene.

007.16 Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Ag-

007.17 apemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt

007.18 away. So that meal's dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and

007.19 goodridhirring.

[007.20-008.08]: he sleeps under Dublin — entrance to the museum.

007.20 Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined a-

007.21 slumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the trout-

007.22 ling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on. Hic cubat 

007.23 edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters,

007.24 reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a

007.25 pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we

007.26 mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid

007.27 piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh!

007.28 Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple

007.29 Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yu-

007.30 thner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass,

007.31 stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the maga-

007.32 zine wall*, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl.

007.33 While over against this belles' alliance beyind Ill Sixty, ollol-

007.34 lowed ill! bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tarabom, lurk the

007.35 ombushes, the site of the lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hock-

007.36 ums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view is

Summary Page 7:

Annie’s flutelike trochees wake him. Grace before glutton; Amen. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the boord (The key theme of the Wake: in a communion feast the substance of All-Father is served by All-Mother to the universal company).  Fish, bread, and ale are placed around the bier. But the moment you would quaff off the drink and sink tooth into the food (the communion drink and food of his flower-white body), behold, he is smolten in our midst. The Wake scene, like a fadeout, melts away. Yet, we may still behold the brontoichthyan* form oudined in the contours of the land: a giant hill recumbent by the stream he loved, HCE beside his ALP. [The Wake scene, having withdrawn into the world interior, is now to be thought of as constituting the substratum of all existence. It is the arche¬ typal Form ot all forms. Through the next seventeen pages (7—23) are to be studied various evidences, geographical and historical, of the fallen Finnegan’s all suffusing, all-feeding, slumberous presence. Not only the landscape is to be reviewed (7, 10, 12, 14, 23) but typical epochs of human history (8-10), medieval history (13—14), prehistory (15-20); also, a few frag¬ ments of folklore (20—23); a comical vaudeville song; and the dump heap in our own backyard (19). As the eye regards each, it slightly disintegrates to re¬ veal an unmistakable trait or two of the grotesque Finnegan within.

[First, the landscape:] The head of him can be seen at Ben Ffowth. Ffis clay feet swarded in grass, stick up, not far from Chapelizod, where he last fell on them—By the Magazine Wall, where the Maggies seen all, while the three spying soldiers lay in ambush j