It is simply delicious to mingle amongst the serious followers of James Joyce and Ulysses and marvel at the Edwardian Costumes they don for this auspicious occasion. Dublin was awash with revellers and extreme enthusiasts marking this annual fete.
Bloomsday is a commemoration observed annually on 16 June in Dublin and elsewhere to celebrate the life of Irish writer James Joyce and relive the events in his novel Ulysses, all of which took place on the same day in Dublin in 1904. The name derives from Leopold Bloom, the protagonist of Ulysses.
Thursday, 16 June 1904 was the date of Joyce’s first outing with his wife-to-be, Nora Barnacle, when they walked to the Dublin urban village of Ringsend. Hardly an urban village now more, like a modern adjunct of a thriving metropolis!
I didn’t appreciate that Mr. Joyce was partial to gorgonzola sandwiches which apparently are still served at Davy Byrnes the local hostelry that was his second home.
Walking the streets of Dublin today and passing Davy Byrne’s, the infamous pub that is ubiquitous and synonymous with the June 16th celebrations it is hard not to be touched by the gaiety and frivolity of the events being celebrated.
The day involves a range of cultural activities including Ulysses readings and dramatisations, pub crawls and general merriment, much of it hosted by the James Joyce Centre in North Great George’s Street. Enthusiasts retrace Bloom’s route around Dublin via landmarks such as Davy Byrnes pub. Hard-core devotees have even been known to hold marathon readings of the entire Ulysses novel, some lasting up to 36 hours
There is something special about being associated with this great luminary even if only by way of a cultural discourse we share. That connectedness was obvious on the streets and in cafes in Dublin today. I cannot profess to have read much of James Joyce’s writing much less the tomb that is Ulysses but I do appreciate the greatness of the man and the cultural legacy he has gifted all of us especially us Dublin folk walking his same streets.
Words cannot quite capture the sense this day imparts but the emotion is definitely pride. There is something quite decadent too about stepping back in time to relive his stories and the stories of that period and to simply bask in the literary genius that he was. One could almost touch him and yet…