More Information -
John Wyse Power
John Wyse Power biography
https://www.dib.ie/biography/power-john-wyse-a7469
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Leinster Leader article on John Wyse Power (former editor)
https://www.kildare.ie/ehistory/index.php/leader-editor-a-founding-member-of-the-gaa/
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Jennie Wyse Power biography
https://heritage.wicklowheritage.org/places/baltinglass/the_life_of_jenny_wyse_power
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John Wyse Power and James Joyce seemed to be friends even though there was a big age gap JWP was closer in age to James Joyce’s dad John Stanislaus Joyce and both of them would have known each other as they moved in the same circles and both were fervent Parnell supporters. In the poem ‘Gas from a Burner’ see below, you can see that when James returned to Ireland on his few visits he would end up in company with JWP and a couple of others in various hostelries.
In Ulysses by Joyce:
John Wyse Nolan's wife
Nosey Flynn's conspiratorial gossip about Bloom in Lestrygonians includes a recent sighting: "I met him the day before yesterday and he coming out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's wife has in Henry street with a jar of cream in his hand taking it home to his better half." The John Wyse Nolan of Ulysses is based on a real person, John Wyse Power, whose wife Jennie owned and ran a food business at 21 Henry Street. Both spouses were ardent nationalists, and in April 1916 seven members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood met in Jennie Power's establishment to sign the Proclamation of independence whose public reading several days later initiated the Easter Rising. It is quite possible that Bloom does more than purchase dairy products on Henry Street.
John Wyse Nolan (believed to be John Wyse Power)
Nolan is a minor character that appears in "Cyclops." He agrees with many of the citizen's views, such as that the deforestation of Ireland is England's fault and that the British Royal Navy practices are brutal. It is clear, however, that Nolan is not nearly as extreme as the citizen is. Nolan's big moment in the novel comes when he asks Bloom why he doesn't stand up with force if he is so concerned about the persecution of the Jews. After Bloom explains himself and leaves, Wyse, along with the rest of the men, begins spreading gossip about Bloom, claiming that Bloom was the one who clued the author Griffith into Sinn Fein. Nolan appears briefly in Bloom's dream sequence in 'Circe,' praising the trees of Ireland.
Also he is mentioned as a drinking companion on Joyce’s visits back to Ireland in Joyce’s comic and biting Poem ‘Gas from a Burner’ written in 1912.
LADIES and gents, you are here assembled
To hear why earth and heaven trembled
Because of the black and sinister arts
Of an Irish writer in foreign parts.
He sent me a book ten years ago.
I read it a hundred times or so,
Backwards and forwards, down and up,
Through both the ends of a telescope.
I printed it all to the very last word
But by the mercy of the Lord
The darkness of my mind was rent
And I saw the writer’s foul intent.
But I owe a duty to Ireland:
I held her honour in my hand,
This lovely land that always sent
Her writers and artists to banishment
And in a spirit of Irish fun
Betrayed her own leaders, one by one.
’Twas Irish humour, wet and dry,
Flung quicklime into Parnell’s eye;
’Tis Irish brains that save from doom
The leaky barge of the Bishop of Rome
For everyone knows the Pope can’t belch
Without the consent of Billy Walsh.
O Ireland my first and only love
Where Christ and Caesar are hand and glove!
O lovely land where the shamrock grows!
(Allow me, ladies, to blow my nose)
To show you for strictures I don’t care a button
I printed the poems of Mountainy Mutton
And a play he wrote (you’ve read it I’m sure)
Where they talk of “bastard”, “bugger” and “whore”
And a play on the Word and Holy Paul
And some woman’s legs that I can’t recall
Written by Moore, a genuine gent
That lives on his property’s ten per cent:
I printed mystical books in dozens:
I printed the table-book of Cousins
Though (asking your pardon) as for the verse
’Twould give you a heartburn on your arse:
I printed folklore from North and South
By Gregory of the Golden Mouth:
I printed poets, sad, silly and solemn:
I printed Patrick What-do-you-Colm:
I printed the great John Milicent Synge
Who soars above on an angel’s wing
In the playboy shift that he pinched as swag
From Maunsel’s manager’s travelling-bag.
But I draw the line at that bloody fellow
That was over here dressed in Austrian yellow,
Spouting Italian by the hour
To O’Leary Curtis and John Wyse Power
And writing of Dublin, dirty and dear,
In a manner no blackamoor printer could bear.
Shite and onions! Do you think I’ll print
The name of the Wellington Monument,
Sydney Parade and Sandymount tram,
Downes’s cakeshop and Williams’s jam?
I’m damned if I do - I’m damned to blazes!
Talk about Irish Names of Places!
It’s a wonder to me, upon my soul,
He forgot to mention Curly’s Hole.
No, ladies, my press shall have no share in
So gross a libel on Stepmother Erin.
I pity the poor - that’s why I took
A red-headed Scotchman to keep my book.
Poor sister Scotland! Her doom is fell;
She cannot find any more Stuarts to sell.
My conscience is fine as Chinese silk:
My heart is as soft as buttermilk.
Colm can tell you I made a rebate
Of one hundred pounds on the estimate
I gave him for his Irish Review.
I love my country - by herrings I do!
I wish you could see what tears I weep
When I think of the emigrant train and ship.
That’s why I publish far and wide
My quite illegible railway guide,
In the porch of my printing institute
The poor and deserving prostitute
Plays every night at catch-as-catch-can
With her tight-breeched British artilleryman
And the foreigner learns the gift of the gab
From the drunken draggletail Dublin drab.
Who was it said: Resist not evil?
I’ll burn that book, so help me devil.
I’ll sing a psalm as I watch it burn
And the ashes I’ll keep in a one-handled urn.
I’ll penance do with farts and groans
Kneeling upon my marrowbones.
This very next lent I will unbare
My penitent buttocks to the air
And sobbing beside my printing press
My awful sin I will confess.
My Irish foreman from Bannockburn
Shall dip his right hand in the urn
And sign crisscross with reverent thumb
Memento homo upon my bum.