Bloomsday Poem

Ok, so you're all Joyced out but I've just remembered this I wrote after I last read 'Ulysses' in 2001 when I was living in the North Laines in Brighton. It's absolute rubbish, I know, and deservedly unpublished, but I like it for the fact that it shows I was willing to experiment a little with the style of poetry I was writing back then, and I share it in the spirit of celebrating all things - high and low - Joycean.

Just Nipping Out

Rain in the air. Face. Cobbles wet.
Who’s that? Hannah? No.
Girl at school, left bike in her garage.
Brother friends with her brother,
listened to ska music together.

Three saffron rice for price of two.
Poor quality olive oil.
Wouldn’t sell their best, would they.
Perugina. Perugia. Bought selected
William Blake there. Simple in Italian.

Closed. That aloof young guy
unpacking boxes, putting books out.
O well. Bit cloudy for sunglasses.
Great rack. Tight T-shirt.
Wonder about her boyfriend.

Could buy body lotion for Jane.
What was it: camomile or aloe vera?
Home soon. Bread shop closing.
Always nervous entering this one.
Unwelcoming. Overprice their poetry.

Belonged to dead people mostly.
Stand here till rain passes.
Thought Rutger Kopland was Danish.
Big feet. Should’ve brought coat.
Eased up. Doesn’t matter anyway.

Watch out! One-way street. Twat.
Nothing much up here. Probably is.
Walking faster now. Blue door.
Currant buns under grill.
Smell of toasted cinnamon. Umber.

16 June, 2001

©2012 Dan Wyke


  1. It's absolute rubbish to say this is "absolute rubbish" ...


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