Friday, 26 April 2019

A Visit to Glasnevin




'How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful departed. As you are now so once were we.' 

Bloom's thoughts in Glasnevin, 'Hades'

In Dublin last week, Lisa and I visited Glasnevin, the biggest and most famous cemetery in Ireland. It's home to 1.5 million departed Dubliners, 150 of them characters or people named in Ulysses. Former enemies lie here close together.  Parnell is united in death with Tim Healy and Michael Collins with Eamon De Valera. Thomas Henry Burke, victim of the Phoenix Park murders is here, and so is a memorial to the Irish National Invincibles who killed him.

In Ulysses, Leopold Bloom travels to the cemetery for Paddy Dignam's funeral. Several of the characters who attend Dignam's funeral have now joined him in Glasnevin, including Simon Dedalus (John Joyce), Martin Cunningham (Matthew Kane), John Henry Menton, Father Coffey and the caretaker, John O'Connell.

I think the 'Hades' chapter, based on Odysseus's journey to the underworld, has more Homeric parallels than any other episode of Ulysses. Paddy Dignam, for example, is Elpenor, Odysseus's youngest companion, killed by accidentally falling from a roof. When Odysseus meets him in the underworld, he says, 'You have come here faster on foot than I could in my black ship.'

Dignam's funeral crosses four streams, the Dodder, Liffey and the Grand and Royal Canals - the four rivers of the underworld (Styx, Acheron, Cocytus and Phlegethon). 

The statues Bloom passes on the way to the cemetery are Homer's heroic dead, who greet Odysseus in the underworld. Daniel O'Connell the Liberator, who founded Glasnevin, is Hercules.

'They passed under the hugecloaked Liberator's form.'


'Foundation stone for Parnell. Breakdown. Heart.'

Parnell, Ireland's dead king, is Agamemmnon, both brought down through women. There was only a foundation stone for the monument in 1904.

The statue was unveiled in 1911
Since I last visited Glasnevin, there's a great new visitor centre, where I bought a Joyce map, showing the location of 26 Joyce related graves, including that of the Man in the Macintosha fictional character! ('Now who is that lankylooking galoot over there in the macintosh?').

There was no English version on sale
We went off to look for John Henry Menton, the solicitor who snubs Bloom at the end of the episode. He's Ajax, the only Homeric soul in Hades who won't talk to Odysseus – angry because Odysseus beat him in the competition to win the armour of Achilles. Menton similarly resents Bloom, who beat him once in a game of bowls:

'Got his rag out that evening on the bowling green because I sailed inside him. Pure fluke of mine: the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. Hate at first sight...' 

We couldn't find Menton among the densely packed graves - the map only gives general locations. But it was good to find this grave.


Francis Sheehy Skeffington (1878-1916) was at University College with Joyce. He was a socialist, republican, pacifist and feminist. After marrying Hanna Sheehy, a childhood friend of Joyce's, in 1903, he added her surname to his own. He tried to stop looting during the Easter Rising and was shot on the orders of a deranged British officer. 

He appears as McCann in A Portrait of the Artist, where he tells Stephen Dedalus:

'Dedalus, you're an anti-social being, wrapped up in yourself. I'm not. I'm a democrat: and I'll work and act for social liberty and equality among all classes and sexes in the United States of the Europe of the future....I believe you're a good fellow but you have yet to learn the dignity of altruism and the responsibility of the human individual'.

In Glasnevin, generations of the same family are often buried in a single plot. Francis is here with Hanna, his mother, son and daughter-in-law, who followed the same radical tradition. The epitaph says they 'sought truth, taught reason and knew compassion.'

Nearby, we found Brendan Behan, who now has a little bronze statue inside the hole on his gravestone, where visitors used to leave pints of Guinness.

I read later that the bronze figure was part of the original monument, but it was stolen, twice, in 1978. It was recast and replaced in 2014.


People still leave pints for Brendan, but at the foot of the stone.

Behan shares his resting place with his wife Beatrice and her family, the ffrench-Salkelds. Beatrice's father, Cecil ffrench Salkeld, was the artist who painted the lovely murals in Davy Byrne's pub, where the Joyceans go for their gorgonzala sandwiches and glasses of burgundy on Bloomsday. Her sister, Celia, was the actress who played Teresa in Behan's play,  The Hostage.


I spotted another familiar name nearby.


I was excited to see a monument to Mulcahy with a statue of Jesus on top.

In Ulysses, the caretaker John O'Connell (Hades, king of the dead) tells the mourners:

'- They tell the story, he said, that two drunks came out here one foggy evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for Mulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing about in the fog they found the grave, sure enough. One of the drunks spelt out the name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue of our Saviour the widow had got put up.
The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. He resumed:
-- And, after blinking up at the sacred figure, Not a bloody bit like the man, says he. That's not Mulcahy, says he, whoever done it.'

Sadly it's the wrong Mulcahy. This monument is to Ellen Mulcahy who died in 1942. Had her family read Ulysses?

I wanted to find Parnell's enemy, Tim Healy, leader of the Bantry Gang, who I wrote about last month. He inspired Joyce's first ever published poem 'Et tu Healy'.  While looking for him, we had the great luck to meet a Dubliner who asked us which grave we wanted to see. He took us straight to Healy.


The Dubliner's name is Martin Murphy, and he loves Glasnevin cemetery.  He knows where all the characters in Ulysses are buried thanks to Vivien Igoe's book, The Real People of Joyce's Ulysses, where she lists them and gives locations using the cemetery grid system. Healy for example, is listed as at CE4. The letters, which are marked on the boundary walls, locate the rows of graves running east to west, while the numbers show the north-south position.

Martin knows Glasnevin better than anyone, but he hasn't read Ulysses and doesn't know the story. He's got Vivien Igoe's book because it is the best single source for biographies on the dead of Glasnevin. So we were able to give each other a guided tour. He showed us the graves, and I read out passages from Ulysses from my kindle.

I asked Martin if he could show us Joyce's parents and he took us there next. 



'– Her grave is over there, Jack, Mr Dedalus said. I'Il soon be stretched beside her. Let Him take me whenever He likes.
Breaking down, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little in his walk. Mr Power took his arm.
–She's better where she is, he said kindly.
–I suppose so, Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. I suppose she is in heaven if there is a heaven.'

'In accordance with the instructions from his father’s ghost (so the son suggested), the gravestone for Glasnevin was soon commissioned (via Alfie Bergan) from Harrison’s, who had done the arms of Dublin for the North City Markets in 1892. Bergan had heard directly from John Stanislaus that the inscription was to mention only John himself and his wife May. There would be nothing about the other Joyces in the same plot, not even poor Georgie or Baby. Ignoring them John Stanislaus's own role as a father was ignored. To put up the gravestone as requested left Joyce (or his patron) in the end about £12 out of pocket.  Alf Bergan sent him photographs of it.'

John Wyse Jackson and Peter Costello. John Stanislaus Joyce. p425


Martin then took us to the grave of Joseph Hutchinson (1852-1928), the fifth down above. He was Lord Mayor of Dublin in 1904. I found him on my kindle in the 'Wandering Rocks' episode, where we learn that he's away from the city on Bloomsday, visiting Llandudno. He's not in the City Council meeting on the Irish language, where Lorcan Sherlock deputises:

'Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. Where was the marshal, he wanted to know, to keep order in the council chamber. And old Barlow the macebearer laid up with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no quorum even and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. Damned Irish language, of our forefathers'



Nearby we found Timothy Harrington, who was Lord Mayor of Dublin from 1901-3. He's in the Wake in the cluster of Lord Mayors given by their initials at 131.03. In Ulysses, he's  remembered as the former Lord Mayor in the hallucinatory 'Circe' episode:

'(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the city shake hands with Bloom and congratulate him. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. They nod vigorously in agreement.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON (In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and lace white silk scarf) That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the ratepayers. That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.'

Bloom's birthplace, in Clanbrassil Street, is now 'ornamented with a commemorative plaque'!


I asked Martin to show us James 'Skin-the-Goat' Fitzharris's grave, where he posed for this picture.


James 'Skin-the-Goat' Fitzharris (1833-1010) was a Dublin cab-driver. Vivien Igoe says he got his nickname 'from a goat he found plucking at the straw that filled a horse's collar. He killed the goat, skinned it and used its hide to cover his knees when driving.' 

On 6 May 1882, Fitzharris drove the Invincibles to the Phoenix Park, where they assassinated Lord Frederick Cavendish and Thomas Henry Burke. He refused to testify against them, despite offers of a huge bribe, and served time in prison. His grave is also a memorial to the five Invincibles who were hanged for the killing, and to Joseph Poole, a Fenian, hanged the same year for another killing. 

Fitzharris is in Ulysses in the chapter in the cabman's shelter:

'Mr Bloom and Stephen entered the cabman's shelter, an unpretentious wooden structure, where, prior to then, he had rarely, if ever, been before; the former having previously whispered to the latter a few hints anent the keeper of it, said to be the once famous Skin-the-Goat, Fitzharris, the invincible, though he wouldn't vouch for the actual facts, which quite possibly there was not one vestige of truth in.'


By this Invincibles memorial, I read Martin the startling passage about the hanging of Joe Brady.

'I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.' 'Cyclops'


'Never know who you're talking to...Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the invincibles' 'Hades'

This led us into an Invincibles detour. Martin took us to the monument, paid for by Irish Americans, to Patrick O'Donnell, who shot the informer James Carey when they were both on a ship bound for South Africa. O'Donnell was brought back to London and hanged.

Next to the O'Donnell memorial, Martin pointed out the grave of Thomas Brady, father of Joe 'Bulldog' Brady. Thomas had asked to be buried here, as O’Donnell had avenged his son’s death by killing Carey. It's a new stone, put up in 2018 by the 'Invincibles Reinterment Campaign.'


The other grave I'd always wanted to visit was this, which is the only one in Glasnevin to mention Joyce's writing.


Matthew Kane, a chief clerk in Dublin Castle, was a good friend of Joyce's father, and the model for Martin Cunningham. He died following a heart attack while swimming off Kingstown (now Dun Laoghaire). James Joyce attended his funeral, using it as the basis for Dignam's. This means that Martin Cunningham, who is a mourner in Ulysses, is attending his own funeral!   Kane also appears under his own name in 'Ithaca', where Bloom remembers his dead friends.

'Of what did bellchime and handtouch and footstep and lonechill remind him?

Of companions now in various manners in different places defunct: Percy Apjohn (killed in action, Modder River), Philip Gilligan (phthisis, Jervis Street hospital), Matthew F. Kane (accidental drowning, Dublin Bay), Philip Moisel (pyemia, Heytesbury street), Michael Hart (phthisis, Mater Misericordia hospital), Patrick Dignam (apoplexy, Sandymount).'

Cunningham's drowning is 'remembored' by the senile Old Men in 'Mamalujo', the first part of the Wake to be published:

'and then there was the drowning of Pharoah and all his pedestrians and they were all completely drowned into the sea, the red sea, and then poor Martin Cunningham out of the castle on pension when he was completely drowned off Dunleary at that time in the red sea and a lovely mourning paper and thank God there were no more of him.'

In the final published version, Joyce changed this to 'poor Merkin Cornyngwham, the official out of the castle on pension, when he was completely drowned off Erin Isles...'. 387.28 

So it's a shame the gravestone doesn't mention his appearance in Finnegans Wake

'Shakespeare' is also named on the gravestone, because of this description of Cunningham in 'Hades':

'Martin Cunningham's large eyes. Looking away now. Sympathetic human man he is. Intelligent. Like Shakespeare's face. Always a good word to say.... And that awful drunkard of a wife of his. Setting up house for her time after time and then pawning the furniture on him every Saturday almost. Leading him the life of the damned. Wear the heart out of a stone, that. Monday morning start afresh.'

In the Homeric parallel, Cunningham is Sisyphus, who has to roll a rock up a hill every day, only for it to roll down when it nears the top.


After Kane we found Dennis J Maginni, the dancing master, whose academy at 35 North Great George Street is now the Joyce Centre. There's a sign with a picture of him on the grave.

'Mr Denis J. Maginni, professor of dancing, &c., in silk hat, slate frockcoat with silk facings, white kerchief tie, tight lavender trousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he passed lady Maxwell at the corner of Dignam's court.' 'Wandering Rocks'

We had only half an hour before the gates closed, but Martin took us at a brisk march round several more Ulysses graves. This is Paddy Hooper  (1873-1931) , a well-known journalist working for the Freeman's Journal. From the 1890s to 1916, he was the paper's London correspondent. In Ulysses, he's made one of his occasional visits home to Dublin, and is found drinking in the Oval.


 
– What's that? Myles Crawford said with a start. Where are the other two gone?
– Who? the professor said, turning. They're gone round to the Oval for a drink. Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Came over last night.
– Come on then, Myles Crawford said. Where's my hat?

Jack Hall was another famous Dublin journalist, also buried in Glasnevin. Vivien Igoe says he broke the news of the Phoenix Park murders, getting the story into the midnight edition of the Evening Telegraph.

The next grave we saw belonged to Paddy Hooper's father, Alderman John Hooper    (1845-97), who gave the Blooms a stuffed owl as a wedding present.




'What homothetic objects, other than the candlestick, stood on the mantelpiece?

A timepiece of striated Connemara marble, stopped at the hour of 4.46 a.m. on the 21 March 1896, matrimonial gift of Matthew Dillon: a dwarf tree of glacial arborescence under a transparent bellshade, matrimonial gift of Luke and Caroline Doyle: an embalmed owl, matrimonial gift of Alderman John Hooper.'

The next three graves were monuments to famous Dubliners from an earlier age, who are mentioned just in passing by Joyce. 
 


This is the grave of Timothy O'Brien (1787-1862) a merchant, banker and Lord Mayor of Dublin. Vivien Igoe says that, as an innkeeper, O'Brien was known for his short measures. He used a battered naggin for this and was nicknamed 'The Knight of the Battered Naggin' . Perhaps that's how he could afford this grand monument.

He's named in the drunken cacophony at the end of 'Oxen of the Sun':

'All off for a buster, armstrong, hollering down the street. Bonafides. Where you slep las nigh? Timothy of the battered naggin.'

Nearby we found John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), lawyer, orator and politician.


He's mentioned by Miles Crawford, editor of the Evening Telegraph


'–Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried in his face. Irish volunteers. Where are you now?...Who have you now like John Philpot Curran? Psha!' 'Aeolus'

Next we saw a monument, in Gaelic, to James Fintan Lalor (1807-49), the orator and revolutionary. He response to the famine was to call for the nationalisation of the land:

'Ireland her own, and all therein, from the sod to the sky. The soil of Ireland for the people of Ireland.'



'In 1885 (Bloom) had publicly expressed his adherence to the collective and national economic programme advocated by James Fintan Lalor.' 'Ithaca'.


The very last grave we saw belonged to another Ulysses character, Francis 'Punch' Costello (1881-1948), the young doctor in the Maternity Hospital, who gets drunk with Mulligan and Stephen.

'Hereupon Punch Costello dinged with his fist upon the board and would sing a bawdy catch Staboo Stabella about a wench that was put in pod...'  'Oxen of the Sun'




It was close to cemetery closing time, and we left by the Prospect Gate, which stands next to our favourite pub in Dublin, John Kavanagh's, nicknamed the Gravediggers. We'd arranged to meet Dublin friends, Olga, Kevin, Alfreda and Ciaran here. Ciaran, the pub's tapas chef, is famous for his coddle. We spent the evening with them in the pub drinking the best Guinness in the world.



A visit to Glasnevin is a great way to find out more about the people of Ulysses, and to learn about Irish history along the way. I recommend the official cemetery guides, but if you want to make your own Joyce tour, look out for Martin Murphy!


If you can't get to Glasnevin, watch the beautiful film, 'One Million Dubliners', which features the erudite, witty and charismatic Glasnevin historian and guide Shane MacThomais. I went on one of his tours years ago, and was shocked to hear that he took his life in the cemetery in 2014. At his funeral, which frames the film, his friend and fellow guide Lorcan Collins likened his death to 'a library burning down.'

Sunday, 21 April 2019

Finnegans Wake's 80th Birthday



This year is the 80th birthday of Finnegans Wake. Joyce had the first copy delivered for his own birthday, on 2 February, but the official publication date was 4 May 1939. These beautiful birthday cards were made by Susie Lopez, the Dalkey based artist who's been turning her copy of the book into a work of artI found them last week at finnegans wake 80, a conference at Trinity College, Dublin, where they were part of Derek Pyle's installation, 'Joyce’s Octogenarian – The birthday gifts they dreamt they gabe her.'  


Derek and Susie had covered a long table with birthday cards,  with a coffin in the centre. We were invited to write or draw a message on one of the cards and post it into the coffin. Here's Derek with Casey Lawrence, a Canadian postgraduate Joyce student who live tweeted throughout the conference (find her on twitter @MyExploding Pen)

'The coffin, a triumph of the illusionist’s art, at first blench naturally taken for a handharp' 66.28


Derek is the man behind the wonderful Waywords and Meansigns musical setting of Finnegans Wake (motto 'a manyfeast munificent more mob than man nourish your inner world and follow your weird') and he has a Finnegans Wake thunderword tattooed on his forearm. I asked him what he planned to do with the coffin. He said, 'I think I might bury it.'

The idea is best explained by Derek, in the note for the installation, where he asks 'What happens when the Wake ceases to be a book?'


We all wrote and drew on the cards.



Here's Erik Bindervoet, the Dutch Genetic scholar and Wake translator sealing his card. Fabulous shirt Erik!

The celebration continues on 3-5 May, when Waywords and Meansigns and the James Joyce Centre are co-hosting a Finnegans Wake-End. A big part of it is Gavan Kennedy's Finnegans Wakes Film Project, which will take place across Dublin - with Sweny the chemist's as a major location.


'The Finnegan Wakes Project aims to marryvoice the masterpiece to music, on film, in its very wholesome.  The idea is to invite Everybody to read a full page to a piece of wordless music that has impacted on their life. The goal is to film two shoots per year; one at the annual Burning Man festival in Nevada and the second shoot in some city on a river referenced in Wake.  Here’s a brief snapshot of the Finnegan Wakes shoot at Burning Man last September:  Finnegan Wakes at Burning Man 2018 We’ve filmed in Kiev (‘And the dneepers of wet’), and in Antwerp (‘Hurry slow and scheldt you go.’).  Filming in Dublin for Wake’s 80th anniversary is a joyful opportunity to bring it all back home to its heart.

Finnegan Wakes has filmed 770 performances so far. The aim is to publish a complete edit of chapter I.8 (Anna Livia Plurabella) later this year. We will be focusing on wrapping I.8 during Wake’s 80th celebrations by the Liffey.

As the project progresses, there will be an interactive website where everyone in any place in the Chaosmos (with Wifi!) can themselves perform a page to music and upload it, staking their role in the greatest story of Alle! 

When a sufficient number of performances are filmed for each chapter, we will gradually publish an edited edition of it online, culminating in a full-length, evolving film edition where all can watch and listen to Wake come alive to music, as Joyce prescribed.

Finnegan Wakes’ grande design is to set in motion a never-ending, ever-evolving, living, breathing, pulsating, online portal to Wake. It’s an invitation to frivolously drop a toe on the daunting Wake terrain, and have fun doing so while also birthing an utterly unique piece of art. It is an attempt to make Wake’s Word flesh again; accessible and alive for Everybody.
Dyoublong?   __  __  __!'

Gavan Kennedy writes about the Burning Man filming here.

PQ has just published an inspiring interview with Gavan and Derek on his excellent Finnegans,Wake! blog. Here, Derek says, 'I can predict that this, right here and now, is the golden age renaissance of Finnegans Wake'.  Gavan asks, 'Is there any other book that spits out more readers than it swallows? Yet those who surrender into the belly of Whake seem to be regurgitated on a further shore which is life-changing.'

Wednesday, 10 April 2019

Dublin's Phoenix Park as a Giant Male Arse

Here's a male arse, from the Farnese Hercules 

'This is his big wide harse' 8.20
And here's a map of the Phoenix Park. Can you see the similarity?

James Joyce could!

In Book 3 chapter 4, we are taken on a tour of Earwicker's pub at night, where most of the family is sleeping. After visiting the rooms of Issy and the twins, we go into the parents' bedroom. The first thing we see is Earwicker's huge backside, as he lies on top of Anna Livia in another of the book's grotesque sex scenes.

'Jeminy, what is the view which now takes up a second position of discordance, tell it please? Mark! You notice it in that rereway because the male entail partially eclipses the femecovert. It is so called for its discord the meseedo. Do you ever heard the story about Helius Croesus, that white and gold elephant in our zoopark? You astonish me by it. Is it not that we are commanding from fullback, woman permitting, a profusely fine birdseye view from beauhind this park? Finn his park has been much the admiration of all the stranger ones, grekish and romanos, who arrive to here. The straight road down the centre (see relief map) bisexes the park which is said to be the largest of his kind in the world. On the right prominence confronts you the handsome vinesregent’s lodge while, turning to the other supreme piece of cheeks, exactly opposite, you are confounded by the equally handsome chief sacristary’s residence. Around is a little amiably tufted and man is cheered when he bewonders through the boskage how the nature in all frisko is enlivened by gentlemen’s seats. Here are heavysuppers — ’tis for daddies housings for hundredaires of our super thin thousand. By gum, but you have resin! Of these tallworts are yielded out juices for jointoils and pappasses for paynims. Listeneth! ’Tis a tree story. How olave, that firile, was aplantad in her liveside. How tannoboom held tonobloom. How rood in norlandes. The black and blue marks athwart the weald, which now barely is so stripped, indicate the presence of sylvious beltings. Therewithal shady rides lend themselves out to rustic cavalries. In yonder valley, too, stays mountain sprite. Any pretty dears are to be caught inside but it is a bad pities of the plain. A scarlet pimparnell now mules the mound where anciently first murders were wanted to take root. By feud fionghalian. Talkingtree and sinningstone stay on either hand. Hystorical leavesdroppings may also be garnered up with sir Shamus Swiftpatrick, Archfieldchaplain of Saint Lucan’s. How familiar it is to see all these interesting advenements with one snaked’s eyes! Is all? Yet not. Hear one’s. At the bodom fundus of this royal park, which, with tvigate shyasian gardeenen, is open to the public till night at late, so well the sissastrides so will the pederestians, do not fail to point to yourself a depression called Holl Hollow. It is often quite guttergloomering in our duol and gives wankyrious thoughts to the head but the banders of the pentapolitan poleetsfurcers bassoons into it on windy woodensdays their wellbooming wolvertones. Ulvos! Ulvos!' 

564.01-565.05

This is a verbal equivalent of an 18th century puzzle picture - popular prints of landscapes with human features concealed within them.

Joyce read a description of the park in Warburton Whitelaw and Walsh's 1818 History of the City of Dublin, which I've found online. So 'man is cheered when he bewonders through the boskage how the nature in all frisko is enlivened by gentlemen’s seats' is inspired by this passage:


'The straight road down the centre (see relief map) bisexes the park which is said to be the largest of his kind in the world.'

Earwicker's arsecrack is the long straight Chesterfield Avenue, which bisects the park.  A relief map would show the rising buttocks on each side. 

Elsewhere Joyce says that Dublin 'can boost of having...the most extensive public park in the world' 140.10.  But look how Joyce has made the park male ('his kind').

'On the right prominence confronts you the handsome vinesregent’s lodge while, turning to the other supreme piece of cheeks, exactly opposite, you are confounded by the equally handsome chief sacristary’s residence.'

The right buttock has the Viceregal Lodge, the left cheek the Chief Secretary's lodge.   Look out for the HCE initials ('equally handsome chief').

 
'The black and blue marks athwart the weald, which now barely is so stripped, indicate the presence of sylvious beltings.'

The marks on the relief map are a belt of trees – and black and blue bruises on Earwicker's stripped/striped bum. They indicate the presence of beltings erotic flagellation.  'Weald' is an old English name for woodland which also includes 'weal', a red swollen mark.  
'Sylvious' - associated with forests, from Latin 'Silva', and so birchings. Maybe also 'serious'.

This reminds me of Leopold Bloom in Circe:

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS (Stamps her jingling spurs in a sudden paroxysm of sudden fury.) I will, by the God above me. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I'll flay him alive.
BLOOM (His eyes closing, quails expectantly.) Here? (He squirms.) Again! (He pants cringing.) I love the danger.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS Very much so! I'll make it hot for you. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.
MRS BELLINGHAM Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and stripes on it!
MRS YELVERTON BARRY Disgraceful! There's no excuse for him! A married man!
BLOOM All these people. I meant only the spanking idea. A warm tingling glow without effusion. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation.


'A scarlet pimparnell now mules the mound where anciently first murders were wanted to take root.'

The Phoenix Park murders location is marked by a pimple on the bum, a scarlet pimParnell in the park, because Parnell was falsely accused of complicity in the murders, with forged letters written by the journalist Richard Piggott - who was found out by his mispelling 'hesitency'.


Joyce doesn't play with the word 'assassination', even though it includes the American form of 'arse' twice – too obvious for him?

'Do you ever heard the story about Helius Croesus, that white and gold elephant in our zoopark?'
 
An elephant I photographed in the Phoenix Park Zoo in 2010
 

Parnell's enemy, Tim Healy, is also here, as the elephant in the zoo - the elephant who says his prayers in the Phoenix Park Nocturne.  When Joyce started writing the Wake, Healy was Governor General of Ireland, and lived in the park in the Viceregal Lodge.  



'At the bodom fundus of this royal park, which, with tvigate shyasian gardeenen, is open to the public till night at late, so well the sissastrides so will the pederestians, do not fail to point to yourself a depression called Holl Hollow. It is often quite guttergloomering in our duol and gives wankyrious thoughts to the head but the banders of the pentapolitan poleetsfurcers bassoons into it on windy woodensdays their wellbooming wolvertones. Ulvos! Ulvos!'


This is the Hollow, the unnamed area above between the Zoological Gardens and the People's Garden on the map above. There's a bandstand here, representing Earwicker's arsehole - the 'Hol Hollow'.
 
Earwicker's anus, from google earth

The windy sound of the Dublin Police brass band instruments are farts - and the howling of the twelve wolves hunting down Parnell/HCE.

In Dublin this week, for Finnegans Wake at 80, I made a pilgrimage to Earwicker's arsehole


'I go to bed and then that man sits in the next room and continues laughing about his own writing, And then I knock on the door, and I say, 'Now Jim, stop writing or stop laughing.'  

Nora Barnacle to Carola Giedion-Welcker