People from other lands stand proudly by your side, smiling so your unmovable image can be captured with theirs. Still images, now digital, forever hold.
What words would you use today, if you could see the couple kissing under the Bed and Breakfast of Number Seven; smooching, next to the couple lying asleep on Dublin’s pavement floor? The building looks as though it has not changed a day since you left, yet your city is now haunted by the modern ghost.
If only, you could stand down James, to walk these streets in your cast bronze coat, I could tell you how your stream of consciousness now runs through the veins of your country men and women, how students in their hot University Halls, write furiously to decipher the paralysis of your tones. Lost in Marino, borrowing from your genius to cultivate their own.
If only, you could see inside the green and white birds of shame which fly above your head, you would see how people still must flee, the Irish family branch continues to stretch across many a sea, the price of success, never free.
If only, you were here today James, what would you say?
How would you describe your Dublin in Bloom this day?
Remembering today Mr James Joyce