The Cantos
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- a leaf in the current condom full of black beetles hate is not born in the trenches i cannot make it cohere i have tried to write paradise indulge the banter pound for pound pull down thy vanity she is an octopus the great ball of crystal the hells move in cycles the temple is holy because it is not for sale the vines burst from my fingers thought is a labyrinth unexpected excellent sausage
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Just read 51 again. You're right, the first part on usury is straightforward, but after that there's that section on fly fishing (?), which I suppose is a collage thing but not sure how/if it relates to usury, and then the final section is very difficult indeed.
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Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Maybe if I'd read the previous 50 cantos I'd understand it better. I think those ones you posted the other day might have been better selections for an anthology as stand-alone reads.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Well I've gone and ordered the big cantos book now anyway - second hand as new copy for €13, couldn't resist.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Whoa, cantos 14 & 15! Sort of reminds me of Burroughs a bit with the talking arseholes and suchlike. "Condom full of black beatles"!!!
Was not expecting this tbh.
Was not expecting this tbh.
luka
Well-known member
I always say the cut ups are Eliot. Burroughs is pulp Eliot
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
The Waste land and Burroughs are the only things I've read I can compare this to so far.
Love THE PERSONNEL CHANGES interjection (doesn't really matter who's in charge, the system is the same, I suppose it's saying)
Canto 14's a great rant. I'll post it here for others to enjoy:
--------------------------------------------
Io venni in luogo d'ogni luce muto;
The stench of wet coal, politicians
. . . . . . . . . . e and. . . . . n, their wrists bound to
their ankles,
Standing bare bum,
Faces smeared on their rumps,
wide eye on flat buttock,
Bush hanging for beard,
Addressing crowds through their arse-holes,
Addressing the multitudes in the ooze,
newts, water-slugs, water-maggots,
And with them. . . . . . . r,
a scrupulously clean table-napkin
Tucked under his penis,
and. . . . . . . . . . . m
Who disliked colioquial language,
stiff-starched, but soiled, collars
circumscribing his legs,
The pimply and hairy skin
pushing over the collar's edge,
Profiteers drinking blood sweetened with sh-t,
And behind them. . . . . . f and the financiers
lashing them with steel wires.
And the betrayers of language
. . . . . . n and the press gang
And those who had lied for hire;
the perverts, the perverters of language,
the perverts, who have set money-lust
Before the pleasures of the senses;
howling, as of a hen-yard in a printing-house,
the clatter of presses,
the blowing of dry dust and stray paper,
fretor, sweat, the stench of stale oranges,
dung, last cess-pool of the universe,
mysterium, acid of sulphur,
the pusillanimous, raging;
plunging jewels in mud,
and howling to find them unstained;
sadic mothers driving their daughters to bed with decrepitude,
sows eating their litters,
and here the placard ΕΙΚΩΝ ΓΗΣ,
and here: THE PERSONNEL CHANGES,
melting like dirty wax,
decayed candles, the bums sinking lower,
faces submerged under hams,
And in the ooze under them,
reversed, foot-palm to foot-palm,
hand-palm to hand-palm, the agents provocateurs
The murderers of Pearse and MacDonagh,
Captain H. the chief torturer;
The petrified turd that was Verres,
bigots, Calvin and St. Clement of Alexandria!
black-beetles, burrowing into the sh-t,
The soil a decrepitude, the ooze full of morsels,
lost contours, erosions.
Above the hell-rot
the great arse-hole,
broken with piles,
hanging stalactites,
greasy as sky over Westminster,
the invisible, many English,
the place lacking in interest,
last squalor, utter decrepitude,
the vice-crusaders, fahrting through silk,
waving the Christian symbols,
. . . . . . . . frigging a tin penny whistle,
Flies carrying news, harpies dripping sh-t through the air.
The slough of unamiable liars,
bog of stupidities,
malevolent stupidities, and stupidities,
the soil living pus, full of vermin,
dead maggots begetting live maggots,
slum owners,
usurers squeezing crab-lice, pandars to authori
pets-de-loup, sitting on piles of stone books,
obscuring the texts with philology,
hiding them under their persons,
the air without refuge of silence,
the drift of lice, teething,
and above it the mouthing of orators,
the arse-belching of preachers.
And Invidia,
the corruptio, fretor, fungus,
liquid animals, melted ossifications,
slow rot, fretid combustion,
chewed cigar-butts, without dignity, without tragedy
. . . . .m Episcopus, waving a condom full of black-beetles,
monopolists, obstructors of knowledge.
obstructors of distribution.
Love THE PERSONNEL CHANGES interjection (doesn't really matter who's in charge, the system is the same, I suppose it's saying)
Canto 14's a great rant. I'll post it here for others to enjoy:
--------------------------------------------
Io venni in luogo d'ogni luce muto;
The stench of wet coal, politicians
. . . . . . . . . . e and. . . . . n, their wrists bound to
their ankles,
Standing bare bum,
Faces smeared on their rumps,
wide eye on flat buttock,
Bush hanging for beard,
Addressing crowds through their arse-holes,
Addressing the multitudes in the ooze,
newts, water-slugs, water-maggots,
And with them. . . . . . . r,
a scrupulously clean table-napkin
Tucked under his penis,
and. . . . . . . . . . . m
Who disliked colioquial language,
stiff-starched, but soiled, collars
circumscribing his legs,
The pimply and hairy skin
pushing over the collar's edge,
Profiteers drinking blood sweetened with sh-t,
And behind them. . . . . . f and the financiers
lashing them with steel wires.
And the betrayers of language
. . . . . . n and the press gang
And those who had lied for hire;
the perverts, the perverters of language,
the perverts, who have set money-lust
Before the pleasures of the senses;
howling, as of a hen-yard in a printing-house,
the clatter of presses,
the blowing of dry dust and stray paper,
fretor, sweat, the stench of stale oranges,
dung, last cess-pool of the universe,
mysterium, acid of sulphur,
the pusillanimous, raging;
plunging jewels in mud,
and howling to find them unstained;
sadic mothers driving their daughters to bed with decrepitude,
sows eating their litters,
and here the placard ΕΙΚΩΝ ΓΗΣ,
and here: THE PERSONNEL CHANGES,
melting like dirty wax,
decayed candles, the bums sinking lower,
faces submerged under hams,
And in the ooze under them,
reversed, foot-palm to foot-palm,
hand-palm to hand-palm, the agents provocateurs
The murderers of Pearse and MacDonagh,
Captain H. the chief torturer;
The petrified turd that was Verres,
bigots, Calvin and St. Clement of Alexandria!
black-beetles, burrowing into the sh-t,
The soil a decrepitude, the ooze full of morsels,
lost contours, erosions.
Above the hell-rot
the great arse-hole,
broken with piles,
hanging stalactites,
greasy as sky over Westminster,
the invisible, many English,
the place lacking in interest,
last squalor, utter decrepitude,
the vice-crusaders, fahrting through silk,
waving the Christian symbols,
. . . . . . . . frigging a tin penny whistle,
Flies carrying news, harpies dripping sh-t through the air.
The slough of unamiable liars,
bog of stupidities,
malevolent stupidities, and stupidities,
the soil living pus, full of vermin,
dead maggots begetting live maggots,
slum owners,
usurers squeezing crab-lice, pandars to authori
pets-de-loup, sitting on piles of stone books,
obscuring the texts with philology,
hiding them under their persons,
the air without refuge of silence,
the drift of lice, teething,
and above it the mouthing of orators,
the arse-belching of preachers.
And Invidia,
the corruptio, fretor, fungus,
liquid animals, melted ossifications,
slow rot, fretid combustion,
chewed cigar-butts, without dignity, without tragedy
. . . . .m Episcopus, waving a condom full of black-beetles,
monopolists, obstructors of knowledge.
obstructors of distribution.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Depending on what your expectations are of how much you should take in and understand and research on first read, I don't actually think this book is too hard to get into. I've just been reading each one along with the Wikipedia summary to give me a rough idea, looked up a couple of people (that cantos project website Luka shared is good for skimming through as well) ,
but not in depth, and I'm really enjoying it so far. Obviously it's a difficult book, but I'm finding it a lot more accessible than, say, Ulysses or something.
but not in depth, and I'm really enjoying it so far. Obviously it's a difficult book, but I'm finding it a lot more accessible than, say, Ulysses or something.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
This book is making me want to learn Italian, it's beautiful to read even when you don't understand it.
craner
Beast of Burden
I have lots of films waiting for you to watch.
woops
is not like other people
sinister
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
This is where I'm up to now. Torn between going back over at least some of them again with more note reading, or just bashing on, but the next section looks a lot more boring.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
I really like the use of all the different languages, I think it's important to read through them even if you don't bother looking up all the translations because their rhythms seem to be informing the rhythm of the English too, or at least it seems to have that affect on me when I read it and I guess is intentional.
Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Yeah I might have to, just casting my eye over the next few cantos and the American stuff looks a lot less interesting than all the classical mythology and Italian Renaissance gear.