<> Greacen009 Unpublished Poems Greacen Estate 19 Jan Linen Hall Library Wednesday, March 16, 2016 TIFF Greacen009 Manuscript James Joyce English https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/greacen009 Linen Hall Library Linen Hall Library Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Greacen009_0.jpg LHL Archive James Joyce Let us recall that bitter, dogged Dubliner, Jamese Joyce, Whose yeasty chaos travelled Europe in his aching brain. Trieste, Zurich, Paris, Rome and other cities Knew the young exile buoyed on anger and contempt For all that was provincial, meanly self-sufficing. A furnace blazed in his mind’s core perpetually And would not give him rest from constant labour Until the multi—imaged soul cascaded many thousand words Barbed and pristine with a febrile, love-hate energy. Silence, exile,cunning - those sharp keys he cut To unlock the obdurate gates to Europe, These keys made in his Dublin prison in friend-wasted days, When Ibsen, Jonson, Hauptmann floodlit each chamber of his mind And he determined not to honour those fierce claims Of country, family and church: I will not serve. Then think of him, half-blind and penniless in European towns Rocked by the restive daemon of creativeness, Showing a will inflexible against the little streets With hatred in their piping, rabble voices, He ceaselessly dredging an oceanic mind for images To haunt our splintered century and show us to ourselves, Crying aloud with all the anguish of our time. Text