Classic Audiobook Collection - Pomes Penyeach by James Joyce ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Episode Date: September 19, 2024

Pomes Penyeach by James Joyce audiobook. Genre: poetry Pomes Penyeach is James Joyce's compact, meticulously crafted collection of thirteen poems - a small book with an outsized emotional reach. Moving through city streets, coastal landscapes, and intimate rooms, Joyce traces the shifting weather of desire, memory, and loneliness with a lyric voice that is at once musical and sharply observant. These poems linger on brief encounters and private reckonings: a lover glimpsed and lost, a marriage shadowed by distance, a mind haunted by what it cannot recover, and a self trying to name its own restless hungers. Joyce's language is spare but resonant, balancing tenderness with irony, and clarity with unsettling ambiguity. Across the collection, recurring motifs of song, seasons, and light on water bind the pieces together, while each poem stands as a distinct moment - a note struck cleanly and allowed to ring. For listeners who want a concentrated dose of Joyce's artistry outside his longer fiction, Pomes Penyeach offers a swift, evocative journey into modernist lyricism and the complicated currents of the human heart. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:02:52) Chapter 02 (00:06:49) Chapter 03 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Poems Penny Each By James Joyce Tilly He travels after a winter sun, urging the cattle along a cold red road, calling to them a voice they know. He drives his beasts above Cabra. The voice tells them home is warm.

They moo and make brute music with their hoofs. He drives them with a flowering branch before him, smoke pluming their foreheads. Boar, Bond of the Herd, Tonight stretch full by the fire. I bleed by the black streams from my torn bow. Dublin, 1904, watching the needleboats at San Sabra. I heard their young hearts crying, loveward above the glancing o'er, and heard the prairie grasses sighing.

No more, return no more. O hearts, oh sighing grasses, vainly your love-blown banharettes mourn. No more will the wild wind that passes. Return. No more return. Trieste, 1912, a flower given to my daughter. Frail the white rose, and frail are her hands that gave, whose soul is sere and paler than times wan wave.

Rose frail and fair. Yet frailest, a wonder wild and gentle eyes thou vellest, my blue-veined child. Trieste, 1913. She weeps over Rahoon. Rain on Rahoon fall softly, softly falling, where my dark lover lies. Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling, a grey moon-rise. Love, hear thou, how soft, how sad his voice is ever calling. ever unanswered in the dark rain falling, then is now,

dark to our hearts, oh love, shall lie in cold as his sad heart is lain, under the moon-gray nettles, the black mould and muttering rain. Trieste, 1913, end of section one, section two of poems penny each. This is a Librevoch recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Poems Penny Each By James Joyce. Tutto Eishiotto The birdless heaven, sea dusk, one lone star piercing the west, As thou fond heart loves time so faint, so far, rememberest. The clear young.

eyes soft look, the candid brow, the fragrant hair, falling as through the silence falleth now, dusk of the air. Why then, remembering those shy, sweet lures, repine, when the dear love she yielded with a sigh was all but thine. Trieste, 1914. On the beach at Fontana, wind winds and winds the shingle, The crazy pier-stakes groan, a senile sea numbers each single slime-silvered stone. From whining wind and colder gray sea I wrap him warm and touch his trembling fine-bone shoulder and boyish arm. Around us fear, descending darkness of fear above, and in my heart how deep unending ache of love. Trieste 1914. Simples

O Bella beyonda Say comma Landa O cool sweet dew and radiance mild The moon a web of silence Weaves in the still garden Where a child gathers the simple salad leaves A moon dew stars her hanging hair And moonlight kisses her young brow

In gathering she sings in air Fair as the wave is, fair art thou be mine, I pray, Oax and ear to shield me From her childish croon And mine a shielded heart for her Who gathers simples of the moon. Trieste, 1915

Flood Gold-brown upon the sated flood, The rock-vine clusters lift and sway, Vast wings above the lambent waters brood of sullen day. A waste of waters ruthlessly swayes and uplifts its weedy mane, where brooding day steers down upon the sea and dull disdain. Uplift and sway, O golden vine, your clustered fruits to love's full flood, lambent and vast and ruthless,

as is thine incertitude. Trieste, 1915, Nightpiece, gaunt and gloom, the pale stars, their torches, and shrouded, wave, ghost fires from heaven's far verges faint elume, archie's sun, soaring arches, night's sin-dark knave. Seraphim, the lost hosts awakened to service, till in moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim, raised when she has and shaken her thurable. And long and loud, to night's knave up soaring, a stark knelt tolls as the bleak insect and surges, cloud on cloud, voidward from the adoring waste of souls.

Trieste, 1915. End of Section 2. Section 3 of Poems Penny Each. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. Poems Penny Each by James Joyce. Alone.

The moon's gray-gold and meshes make all night a veil. The shore lamps in the sleeping lake, Laburnum Tendril's Trail. The sly reeds whisper to the night, a name, her name, and all my soul is a delight, a swoon of shame. Zorik, 1916,

A memory of the players in a mirror at midnight. The mouth loves language. Nash the thirteen teeth your lean jaws grin with. Lash your itching and quailing nude greed of the flesh. Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung, as sour as cat's breath, hush of tongue. This gray that stares lies not, stark skin and bone. Leave greasy lips they're kissing. None will choose her what you see to mouth upon. Dyer her hundred hundred. Hunger holds his hour. Pluck forth your heart, salt blood, a fruit of tears, pluck and devour." Zurich, 1917. Bon Hofstraza The eyes that mock me sign the way where to I pass at eve of day. Grey way whose violet signals are the Tristing and the twining star. Ah, star of evil, star of pain, high-hearted youth comes not again, nor old heart's wisdom yet to know the signs that mock me as I go. Zorik, 1918, A prayer. Again, come, give, yield all your strength to me. From far a low word

breathes on the breaking brain its cruel calm, submission's misery, gentling her awe as to a soul predestined, cease silent love. My doom. blind me with your dark nearness, O have mercy, beloved enemy of my will, I dare not withstand the cold touch that I dread, draw from me still my slow life, bend deeper on me, threatening head, proud by my downfall,

remembering, pitying, him who is, him who was. Again, together, folded by the night, they lay on earth, I hear from far her low word, breathe on my breaking brain. Come, I yield, then deeper upon me. I'm here. Subduer, do not leave me.

Only joy, only anguish, take me, save me, soothe me, O spare me. Paris, 1924. End of Section 3. End of poems Penny Each by James Joyce.