Excerpts from The Prankquean
An uncreative poem using James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake
by Róisín Power Hackett. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in hedges, Something striking in his gaze peacock blue muslin was wound round smouldering bright yellow The veins stood out on his chair and said I am doing it. with the aid of his lower corner of the counter. It was of a night, late, lang time agone, He was Presently two young to meet them later , allow me to tell you, in the purest appearance , a piece of one little smahan: Just as they were naming the grass, His heart swelled Sh, applause from the spectators be back This is the way to the musicianlessness of the interiors; the Orange Tree land was ablaze. a finger on the moist pungent perfume lay all the way jauntily upon his ‘I know nothing . A pinch in time of the ideal, His imagination had so abstracted him a theory non too museyroom. talking about feats appearance. It was a night for hot punches. riot. Just one moment The prankquean. his most besetting of our eyes Sat down heavily fire nearly out. rise afterfall. When that round At the corner was drizzling down on The shadow of the wall he loathed returning. Wine-coloured lips were the evolution of society across the centuries, following time it in time. In my nabs, from his moustache urchins ran As I walked along what had happened afterwards in the dream. The lighted square of window: and night after night as I gaze up At the fire, smoking, talking of faints and worms; Tiresome old fool! – puff again theory Night after night I had gnomon in the Euclid and simony in the Catechism. slowly on the sunny up from my plate rudely into the grate. I nor the day seemed in dreamlifeboat, he looked at herds in the eclogues, spilling their green faded showers of snuff raised, pinned on crape. the Holy Lamb and the Parrot in Hell, bouquet tied to the door knocker was painted in sculpting and smothered in this great-coat. |
Pamphlet. Magazine - 2014 -