I can’t help it….
I enjoy cemeteries. They are usually hushed places, except for the warbling of thoughtless birds. The smell of newly cut grass and crushed flowers fills your nostrils. Every stone has a story–that is the best part.
I happened to recently read Episode 6, called “Hades” from “Ulysses” by James Joyce. It reminded me of my graveyard jaunts (as follows)….
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“Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, old Ireland’s hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on some charity for the living.
Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does anybody really?
Plant him and have done with him. Like down a coalshoot. Then lump them together to save time.
All souls’ day. Twentyseventh I’ll be at his grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of weeds. Old man himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping. Near death’s door.
Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it of their own accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked the bucket.
More interesting if they told you what they were. So and so, wheelwright. I traveled for cork lino. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a woman’s with her saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country churchyard it ought to be that poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Entered into rest the protestants put it.
Old Dr Murren’s. The great physician called him home. Well it’s God’s acre for them. Nice country residence. Newly plastered and painted. Ideal spot to have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. Marriage ads they never try to beautify.
Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. Better value that for the money. Still, the flowers are more poetical.
The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. Expresses nothing. Immortelles.
[Read the rest of Episode 6 – Hades]
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My headstone should read: “She fell in love with history, and she couldn’t get up.” How about yours?
–Comments are welcome–
Janice
