#92: On Reading The Wake Out Loud

I’ve written before
how it’s been impossible
for me to finish Moby Dick
and now I’ve once again
picked up another formidable
tome, Finnegans Wake.
This one, too, I’ve tried
many times before and failed
but nevertheless keep
coming back to it,
a glutton for punishment.
But with neither Moby Dick
or the Wake do I feel punished.
Something there is that
doesn’t care for an easy
read, that takes great
pleasure in the difficulty,
that has fun, especially
in the case of Joyce,
with the pure playfulness
despite enormous, near
insurmountable obstacles
to comprehension. And,
maybe, too, it’s a way for me
to get in touch with how
my students feel
sometimes when asked
to read Shakespeare
or Heaney or Morrison.
Although, it’s true that they may be
crying while I am laughing,
unable to get themselves
into the space of really
loving what seems nigh
impossible to understand,
allowing all that difficulty
to pass over their tongues
and out into the space
of the room, listening
to the voice of Joyce
coming out of their mouths.