Finnegans Wake
@finnegansreader
— Lewd’s carol!
- og fra Roald Dahls BFG:
"Sophie took the book out of his hand. 'Nicholas Nickleby' she read aloud.
'By Dahl's Chickens', the BFG said.
'By who?' Sophie said."
Viser opslag med etiketten James Joyce. Vis alle opslag
Viser opslag med etiketten James Joyce. Vis alle opslag
onsdag den 20. juli 2016
Yndlingsforfatterpuns
- og fra Roald Dahls BFG:
"Sophie took the book out of his hand. 'Nicholas Nickleby' she read aloud.
'By Dahl's Chickens', the BFG said.
'By who?' Sophie said."
fredag den 29. april 2016
Da politet arresterede kommunisterne og kidnappede Ulysses
- fra Søren Gyldendal-Prismodtager Morten Møllers anbefalelsesværdige, meget spændende og gådefulde og -besværgende og -respekterende biografi Hvem er Nielsen. En fortælling om kommunisten og modstandslederen Børge Houmann, 2012 (se i øvrigt min Bogholderi-note i WA Bøger i dag)
Side 30-32:
"Andet fra den boksende oversætters hånd (Houmann (1902-1994) boksede og skrev en bog om sportsgrenen, foruden en roman og flere digtsamlinger LB)? Jo, i 1932 begyndte han på Cai M. Woels inittiativ oversættelsen af den irske forfatter James Joyces hovedværk Ulysses. inden det ganske krævende arbejde var færdigt, havde Woels Forlag imidlertid drejet nøglen om, og Houmann måtte søge alternative udgivelsesmuligheder til det digre værk. men det var ikke let at overbevise kritiske forlæggere om James Joyces uundværlighed på det danske bogmarked, og som forlæggeren Henrik Koppel i november 1932 skrev til hårdtarbejdende oversætter:
""Jeg har nu læst James Joyces bog, der har interesseret mig meget, men jeg er svært bange for, at denne bog vil gå langt over hovedet på det danske publikum, hvor interessant det end er. Der er en så kolossal forskel på det dannelsesniveau, hvori disse unge mennesker bevæger sig og det danske lidt seminaristiske publikum, at jeg er overbevist om, at bogen ville virke som kaviar for hoben. Det ville derfor, efter min opfattelse, være et alt for risikabelt eksperiment at udsende bogen i dansk oversættelse, og jeg tør ikke påtage mig opgaven."
To år senere blev der holdt stor forfatterkongres i Sovjetunionen. Her angreb den "uofficielle talsmand for Kreml", Karl Radek, i stærke vendinger James Joyces forfatterskab, som efter Radeks opfattelse ikke levede op til den sovjetdikterede "socialistiske realisme", der pålagde forfatteren at levere "en sandfærdig, historisk konkret afbildning af virkeligheden i den revolutionære udvikling". Der var på kongressen ikke enighed om fordømmelsen af Joyce, men for Houmann, som i mellemtiden var blevet leder af DKP's forlagsvirksomhed, øgede det næppe lysten til at få bogen udgivet. Da et andet dansk forlag, Martins Forlag, i 1935 viste interesse for at udgive Ulysses, blev Houmanns oversættelse ikke udnyttet.
Den socialistiske realisme, som gav kunsten en opdragende funktion i skabelsen af en revolutionær arbejderklasse, vandt dog aldrig for alvor indpas blandt danske kommunister, og i januar 1941 - da Karl Radek som så mange andre var blevet udrenset under Stalins skueprocesser - skrev Houmanns partifælle Peter P. Rohde i Politiken: "Danske læsere løber nu ingen risiko for at at forspise sig i Joyce, ingen stavelse af hans værker er udkommet på dansk, skønt forfatteren Børge Houmann har en oversættelse af Ulysses liggende i sin skrivebordsskuffe - dette til oplysning for eventuelt interesserede forlæggere."
Den opfordring tog en risikovillig forlægger til sig, Et prøveark blev sat, og Houmann havde efter eget udsagn sin oversættelse liggende i DKP's hovedkvarter på Nørrebro til en sidste gennemlæsning inden trykningen. Dér lå den, da dansk politi den 22. juni 1941 på besættelsesmagtens ordre mødte op og ransagede forretningsfører Børge Houmanns kontor. Forretningsførerens ejendele blev konfiskeret, og oversættelsen røg med i købet. Den er trods Houmanns ihærdige eftersøgning ikke siden lokaliseret. Mange hundrede timers arbejde var spildt - udsigten til erstatning for tabt arbejdsfortjeneste forekom stærk begrænset.
I 1949 udkom i stedet Mogens Boisens roste oversættelse. Men Ulysses, en af det 20. århundredes store klassikere, fandt sin første danske oversætter i en 30-årig trafikassistent fra DSB.
Side 188:
"Kildematerialet på Houmanns færden i disse kritiske måneder er yderst sparsomt, men var han eller Frode Jakobsen blevet arresteret, havde Frihedsrådet næppe overlevet. Da Houmann i december 1944 atter turde mødes med kollegerne i rådet og vad engelskprofessor C.A. Bodelsen (Anders' far LB) fra Frit Danmark overtage Mogens Fogs plads, var det tegn på, at den værste krise syntes overvundet.
Netop Bodelsen og Houmann mødtes kort efter på en hemmelig adresse i Brønshøj. Mens de ventede på Frode Jakobsen, faldt de i sank om deres fælles passion for Jpyce og mindedes, at Houmann i forbindelse med sin oversættelse Ulysses i de tidlige 30'erne havde søgt råd hos den kyndige Bodelsen. Houmann var på dette tidspunkt under et enormt pres, oplevede sin folk blive arresteret, tortureret og henrettet, levede fra dag til dag i uvished om sin egen skæbne - men tog sig altså alligevel tid til en diskussion om et forførende forfatterskab. Det var den borgerlige professor og den lyriske kommunist i intellektuel konversation om modernistisk avantgarde-prosa. Midt i en julemåned, hvor godt 1300 danske modstandsfolk blev arresteret af besættelsesmagten."
Side 30-32:
"Andet fra den boksende oversætters hånd (Houmann (1902-1994) boksede og skrev en bog om sportsgrenen, foruden en roman og flere digtsamlinger LB)? Jo, i 1932 begyndte han på Cai M. Woels inittiativ oversættelsen af den irske forfatter James Joyces hovedværk Ulysses. inden det ganske krævende arbejde var færdigt, havde Woels Forlag imidlertid drejet nøglen om, og Houmann måtte søge alternative udgivelsesmuligheder til det digre værk. men det var ikke let at overbevise kritiske forlæggere om James Joyces uundværlighed på det danske bogmarked, og som forlæggeren Henrik Koppel i november 1932 skrev til hårdtarbejdende oversætter:
""Jeg har nu læst James Joyces bog, der har interesseret mig meget, men jeg er svært bange for, at denne bog vil gå langt over hovedet på det danske publikum, hvor interessant det end er. Der er en så kolossal forskel på det dannelsesniveau, hvori disse unge mennesker bevæger sig og det danske lidt seminaristiske publikum, at jeg er overbevist om, at bogen ville virke som kaviar for hoben. Det ville derfor, efter min opfattelse, være et alt for risikabelt eksperiment at udsende bogen i dansk oversættelse, og jeg tør ikke påtage mig opgaven."
To år senere blev der holdt stor forfatterkongres i Sovjetunionen. Her angreb den "uofficielle talsmand for Kreml", Karl Radek, i stærke vendinger James Joyces forfatterskab, som efter Radeks opfattelse ikke levede op til den sovjetdikterede "socialistiske realisme", der pålagde forfatteren at levere "en sandfærdig, historisk konkret afbildning af virkeligheden i den revolutionære udvikling". Der var på kongressen ikke enighed om fordømmelsen af Joyce, men for Houmann, som i mellemtiden var blevet leder af DKP's forlagsvirksomhed, øgede det næppe lysten til at få bogen udgivet. Da et andet dansk forlag, Martins Forlag, i 1935 viste interesse for at udgive Ulysses, blev Houmanns oversættelse ikke udnyttet.
Den socialistiske realisme, som gav kunsten en opdragende funktion i skabelsen af en revolutionær arbejderklasse, vandt dog aldrig for alvor indpas blandt danske kommunister, og i januar 1941 - da Karl Radek som så mange andre var blevet udrenset under Stalins skueprocesser - skrev Houmanns partifælle Peter P. Rohde i Politiken: "Danske læsere løber nu ingen risiko for at at forspise sig i Joyce, ingen stavelse af hans værker er udkommet på dansk, skønt forfatteren Børge Houmann har en oversættelse af Ulysses liggende i sin skrivebordsskuffe - dette til oplysning for eventuelt interesserede forlæggere."
Den opfordring tog en risikovillig forlægger til sig, Et prøveark blev sat, og Houmann havde efter eget udsagn sin oversættelse liggende i DKP's hovedkvarter på Nørrebro til en sidste gennemlæsning inden trykningen. Dér lå den, da dansk politi den 22. juni 1941 på besættelsesmagtens ordre mødte op og ransagede forretningsfører Børge Houmanns kontor. Forretningsførerens ejendele blev konfiskeret, og oversættelsen røg med i købet. Den er trods Houmanns ihærdige eftersøgning ikke siden lokaliseret. Mange hundrede timers arbejde var spildt - udsigten til erstatning for tabt arbejdsfortjeneste forekom stærk begrænset.
I 1949 udkom i stedet Mogens Boisens roste oversættelse. Men Ulysses, en af det 20. århundredes store klassikere, fandt sin første danske oversætter i en 30-årig trafikassistent fra DSB.
Side 188:
"Kildematerialet på Houmanns færden i disse kritiske måneder er yderst sparsomt, men var han eller Frode Jakobsen blevet arresteret, havde Frihedsrådet næppe overlevet. Da Houmann i december 1944 atter turde mødes med kollegerne i rådet og vad engelskprofessor C.A. Bodelsen (Anders' far LB) fra Frit Danmark overtage Mogens Fogs plads, var det tegn på, at den værste krise syntes overvundet.
Netop Bodelsen og Houmann mødtes kort efter på en hemmelig adresse i Brønshøj. Mens de ventede på Frode Jakobsen, faldt de i sank om deres fælles passion for Jpyce og mindedes, at Houmann i forbindelse med sin oversættelse Ulysses i de tidlige 30'erne havde søgt råd hos den kyndige Bodelsen. Houmann var på dette tidspunkt under et enormt pres, oplevede sin folk blive arresteret, tortureret og henrettet, levede fra dag til dag i uvished om sin egen skæbne - men tog sig altså alligevel tid til en diskussion om et forførende forfatterskab. Det var den borgerlige professor og den lyriske kommunist i intellektuel konversation om modernistisk avantgarde-prosa. Midt i en julemåned, hvor godt 1300 danske modstandsfolk blev arresteret af besættelsesmagten."
søndag den 27. maj 2012
Romanen på væggen
De 5 kunstværker (men desværre ikke billeder af dem, I må derop og se løs med egne øjne), jeg udvalgte til min WALK AND TALK i går på Louisianas udstilling af nyerhvervelser 2009-2011, Pink Caviar, og de 5 romaner og uddrag fra samme, jeg kontrasterede dem med:
Marcel van Eeden: Witz, 2009
(installation med og "om" personer, der hedder Witz til efternavn i telefonbogen for New York)
+
Martin Larsen: Monogrammer 1-8, 2007:
Sibel Hoffmann
Paulowa Lauritsen
Maheen Sommer
Hans-Henrik Overgaard
Jensmine Ravn
Alesandr Johnsen
Salahdin-Arbi Sørensen
Malaine Petersen
Suzann Nissen
-
Simon Evans: Everyone, 2011
(collage med forbindelseslinjer mellem et utal af personer, private og kulturelle relationer)
+
Charles Dickens: Our Mutual Friend, 1864-65:
The majority of the guests were like the plate, and included several heavy articles weighing ever so much. But there was a foreign gentleman among them; whom Mr Podnsap had invited after much debate with himself - believing the whole European continent to be in mortal alliance against the young person - and there was a droll disposition, not only on the part of Mr Podsnap but of everybody else, to treat him as if he were a child who was hard of hearing.
As a delicate concession to this unfortunately-born foreigner, Podnsap, in receiving him, had presented his wife as 'Madame Podsnap;' also his daughter as 'Mademoiselle Podsnap,' with some inclination to add 'ma fille' in which bold venture, however, he checked himself. The Veneerings being at that time the only other arrivals, he had added (in a condescendingly explanatory manner), 'Monsiuer Vey-nair-reeng,' and had then subsided into English.
'How Do You Like London?' Mr Podsnap now inquired from his station as host, as if he were administering something in the nature of a powder or potion to the deaf child; 'London, Londres, London?'
The foreign gentleman admired it.
'You find it Very Large?' said Mr Podsnap, spaciously.
The foreign gentleman found it very large.
'And Very Rich?'
The foreign gentleman found it, without doubt, enormément riche.
'Enourmously Rich, We say,' returned Mr Podsnap, in a condescending manner. 'Our English adverbs do Not terminate in Mong, and We Pronounce the 'ch' as if there were a 't' before it. We say Ritch.'
'Reetch,' remarked the foreign gentleman.
-
Eliot Hundley: A Cairn of Cyssonema, 2009
(kæmpe collagebillede med mange fjer og fotos på nåle)
+
James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922:
So warm. His right hand once more slowly went over again: choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it must be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, sneaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like that. Those Cinghalese lobbing around in the sun, in dolce far niente. Not doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelwe. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic Gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah, in the dead sea, floating on his back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: so thick with salt. Because of the weight of the water, no, the weight of the body in the water is equal to the wight of. Or is it the volume is equal of the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is weight reallly when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second, per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.
-
Michael Majerus: Ohne titel/ Studio Wall, 1996-2002 (kan ses i Politiken i dag)
6 x 5 kvadratiske grelt kulørte, abstrakte/figurlige malerier
+
Per Kirkeby: 2,15, 1967
Princess Alessandro, twenty-six years old, married to Prince Ruspoli, is the golden-haired, golden girl of Europe. She looks so young it is hard to believe she has been married five years and has three children. She is a little heady for a royal princess. She is, inevitably, a public person.
Vinden havde bidt sig ind i hans blå øjne. Sandet havde slidt ..
Ørekule, Jettebrink, Hundevangsfald, Hundevængeklint, Fruerstuefald, Vidskud, Skrædderrende, Lille Steilebjerg, Steilefald, Store Steilebjerg, Grårygfald, Gråryg, Nellerende, Nellerendenakke, Sommerfald, Sommerspir, Sandfald, Sandpynt, Græder.
-
Wolfgang Tilmans: Freischwimmer 130, 2009
Stor, grøn-blåt foto af sædceller i kaotisk aktion
+
Laurence Sterne: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, 1759-63
I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when the begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing; - that not only the production of a rationel Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind; - and for, aught they know to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost: - Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly, - I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me. - Believe me, good folks, this is not so inconsiderable a thing as many of you may think it; - you have all, I dare say, heard of the animal spirits, as how they are transfused from father to son &c. &c. - and a great deal to that purpose: - Well, you may take my word, that nine parts in ten of a man's sense or his nonsense, his successes and miscarriages in this world depends upon their motions and acitivity, and the different tracts ands trains you put them into, som that when they are once set a-going, whether right or wrong, 'tis not a halfpenny matter, - away they go cluttering like hey-go-mad; and by treading the same steps over and over again, they presently make a road of it, as plain and as smooth as a garden-walk, which, when they are once used to, the Devil himself sometimes shall not be able to drive them off it.
Pray, my dear, quoth my mother, have you forgot to wind up the clock? - Good G-! cried my father, making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice in the same time, - Did ever a woman, since the creation of the world, interrupt a man with such a silly question? Pray, what was your father saying? - Nothing.
Marcel van Eeden: Witz, 2009
(installation med og "om" personer, der hedder Witz til efternavn i telefonbogen for New York)
+
Martin Larsen: Monogrammer 1-8, 2007:
Sibel Hoffmann
Paulowa Lauritsen
Maheen Sommer
Hans-Henrik Overgaard
Jensmine Ravn
Alesandr Johnsen
Salahdin-Arbi Sørensen
Malaine Petersen
Suzann Nissen
-
Simon Evans: Everyone, 2011
(collage med forbindelseslinjer mellem et utal af personer, private og kulturelle relationer)
+
Charles Dickens: Our Mutual Friend, 1864-65:
The majority of the guests were like the plate, and included several heavy articles weighing ever so much. But there was a foreign gentleman among them; whom Mr Podnsap had invited after much debate with himself - believing the whole European continent to be in mortal alliance against the young person - and there was a droll disposition, not only on the part of Mr Podsnap but of everybody else, to treat him as if he were a child who was hard of hearing.
As a delicate concession to this unfortunately-born foreigner, Podnsap, in receiving him, had presented his wife as 'Madame Podsnap;' also his daughter as 'Mademoiselle Podsnap,' with some inclination to add 'ma fille' in which bold venture, however, he checked himself. The Veneerings being at that time the only other arrivals, he had added (in a condescendingly explanatory manner), 'Monsiuer Vey-nair-reeng,' and had then subsided into English.
'How Do You Like London?' Mr Podsnap now inquired from his station as host, as if he were administering something in the nature of a powder or potion to the deaf child; 'London, Londres, London?'
The foreign gentleman admired it.
'You find it Very Large?' said Mr Podsnap, spaciously.
The foreign gentleman found it very large.
'And Very Rich?'
The foreign gentleman found it, without doubt, enormément riche.
'Enourmously Rich, We say,' returned Mr Podsnap, in a condescending manner. 'Our English adverbs do Not terminate in Mong, and We Pronounce the 'ch' as if there were a 't' before it. We say Ritch.'
'Reetch,' remarked the foreign gentleman.
-
Eliot Hundley: A Cairn of Cyssonema, 2009
(kæmpe collagebillede med mange fjer og fotos på nåle)
+
James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922:
So warm. His right hand once more slowly went over again: choice blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it must be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, sneaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like that. Those Cinghalese lobbing around in the sun, in dolce far niente. Not doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelwe. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic Gardens. Sensitive plants. Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah, in the dead sea, floating on his back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: so thick with salt. Because of the weight of the water, no, the weight of the body in the water is equal to the wight of. Or is it the volume is equal of the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is weight reallly when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second, per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.
-
Michael Majerus: Ohne titel/ Studio Wall, 1996-2002 (kan ses i Politiken i dag)
6 x 5 kvadratiske grelt kulørte, abstrakte/figurlige malerier
+
Per Kirkeby: 2,15, 1967
Princess Alessandro, twenty-six years old, married to Prince Ruspoli, is the golden-haired, golden girl of Europe. She looks so young it is hard to believe she has been married five years and has three children. She is a little heady for a royal princess. She is, inevitably, a public person.
Vinden havde bidt sig ind i hans blå øjne. Sandet havde slidt ..
Ørekule, Jettebrink, Hundevangsfald, Hundevængeklint, Fruerstuefald, Vidskud, Skrædderrende, Lille Steilebjerg, Steilefald, Store Steilebjerg, Grårygfald, Gråryg, Nellerende, Nellerendenakke, Sommerfald, Sommerspir, Sandfald, Sandpynt, Græder.
-
Wolfgang Tilmans: Freischwimmer 130, 2009
Stor, grøn-blåt foto af sædceller i kaotisk aktion
+
Laurence Sterne: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, 1759-63
I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when the begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing; - that not only the production of a rationel Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind; - and for, aught they know to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost: - Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly, - I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me. - Believe me, good folks, this is not so inconsiderable a thing as many of you may think it; - you have all, I dare say, heard of the animal spirits, as how they are transfused from father to son &c. &c. - and a great deal to that purpose: - Well, you may take my word, that nine parts in ten of a man's sense or his nonsense, his successes and miscarriages in this world depends upon their motions and acitivity, and the different tracts ands trains you put them into, som that when they are once set a-going, whether right or wrong, 'tis not a halfpenny matter, - away they go cluttering like hey-go-mad; and by treading the same steps over and over again, they presently make a road of it, as plain and as smooth as a garden-walk, which, when they are once used to, the Devil himself sometimes shall not be able to drive them off it.
Pray, my dear, quoth my mother, have you forgot to wind up the clock? - Good G-! cried my father, making an exclamation, but taking care to moderate his voice in the same time, - Did ever a woman, since the creation of the world, interrupt a man with such a silly question? Pray, what was your father saying? - Nothing.
mandag den 9. april 2012
Ezra er for fanden da italiensk digter
Hårdt at stå i Roms boghandlere og kigge længselsfuldt på hylderne med al den italienske poesi, man ikke kan læse, og forgæves leder jeg efter i det mindste en samling futuristiske lyddigte; min løsning bliver at købe en dobbeltsproget udgave af Ezra Pounds Pisan Cantos, et uddrag på engelsk og på italiensk:
In fact a small rain storm
as it were a mouse, out of cloud's mountains
recalling the arrival of Joyce et fils
at the haunt of Catullus
with Jim's veneration for thunder and the
Gardasee in magnificence
But Miss Norton's memory of the conversations
(or "go on") of idiots
was such that the eminent Irish writer
has, if equalled at moments (? sinthetic'ly)
certainly never surpassed
In realtá un modesto temporale ...
quasi un topo, da un montagna di nuvola
che rievioca l'arrivo de Joyce et fils
al ritiro di Catullo
con l'adorazione di Jim per il tuono e il
Gardasee nella sua gloria
Ma la memoria della Sig.na Norton per la conversazione
(o il "tira avanti") di idioti
era tale che perfino l'eminente scrittore
irlandese, s a volte l'ha eguagliata (? sinteticamente)
dir certo non l'hai mai superata
In fact a small rain storm
as it were a mouse, out of cloud's mountains
recalling the arrival of Joyce et fils
at the haunt of Catullus
with Jim's veneration for thunder and the
Gardasee in magnificence
But Miss Norton's memory of the conversations
(or "go on") of idiots
was such that the eminent Irish writer
has, if equalled at moments (? sinthetic'ly)
certainly never surpassed
In realtá un modesto temporale ...
quasi un topo, da un montagna di nuvola
che rievioca l'arrivo de Joyce et fils
al ritiro di Catullo
con l'adorazione di Jim per il tuono e il
Gardasee nella sua gloria
Ma la memoria della Sig.na Norton per la conversazione
(o il "tira avanti") di idioti
era tale che perfino l'eminente scrittore
irlandese, s a volte l'ha eguagliata (? sinteticamente)
dir certo non l'hai mai superata
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