Didn't see that but Forster updated the earlier 1954/1970 editions,
which are by Pevsner.
Roger
On Fri, Aug 15, 2008 at 12:17 AM, David Bircumshaw
<[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Pevsner Architectural Guide by A.Foster???
>
> 2008/8/14 Roger Day <[log in to unmask]>:
>> I've tended to pass Brum on the M6 going North. Couple of times
>> *mistakenly* gone off the M42 just to play round the houses.
>>
>> The architecture of Birmingham isn't exactly lauded this side of the
>> water. I think Pevsner by-passed it on his travels. Crikey, no he
>> didn't: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Birmingham-Pevsner-Architectural-Guides-Guide/dp/0300107315
>>
>> I bet the Bullring isn't there.
>>
>> The centre of Birmingham was notorious for being re-constructed every so often.
>>
>> But no, I can't remember bypassing those buildings. I went by above 5
>> years ago, so they could well have sprung up since then. Brummies are
>> manic builders.
>>
>> BTB, "highways"?
>>
>> Roger
>>
>> On Thu, Aug 14, 2008 at 8:33 PM, Judy Prince
>> <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>>> Thanks, Dave.
>>> Having read the lovely comparison btn the 2 Birmingham's that R'Owl so
>>> kindly passed on to us all, I now need some info. Don't know if you or
>>> Roger would have it.
>>> Have only been to Birmingham "recently" and to stay overnite in a hotel,
>>> having been flight-cancelled enroute to the USA. On that long taxi drive
>>> to/from the airport, tho much of the sights were like all bigg-ish cities
>>> (depressingly ugly), I absolutely LOVED the look of a group of maybe 70s or
>>> 80s apartment buildings that sat close to the highway. Just googled a
>>> comprehensive site for B'ham architecture (images), and was impressed at the
>>> breadth of talent displayed. [Having spent 30-plus years in Chicago, I know
>>> something of varied impressive urban architecture]. On that site, the
>>> closest I could come up with for what I'd seen and loved, was Eikenald
>>> (sp?). The loved buildings were mid-rise, perhaps 5 of them, and they
>>> caught the eye with colourful rectangular well-windowed unit fronts; the
>>> entire effect was cheerful, lean, clean, and comfy. Any clue what those
>>> buildings might be called, where exactly they are, who designed them, and
>>> when they were constructed?
>>>
>>> [Roger, are you listening?]
>>>
>>> Thanks,
>>>
>>> Judy
>>>
>>> 2008/8/14 David Bircumshaw <[log in to unmask]>
>>>
>>>> A Madeline-crusher! Like it, Judy.
>>>>
>>>> (I'm trying to keep quiet about the Brummie bit today, for Alabaman
>>>> reasons.)
>>>>
>>>> 2008/8/14 Judy Prince <[log in to unmask]>:
>>>> > Fantastic, Dave!
>>>> > I don't see why a Brummie p-book can't top the Madeleine-crusher, do you?
>>>> > <G>
>>>> >
>>>> > Quit talking and start writing, m'duck.
>>>> >
>>>> > J
>>>> >
>>>> > 2008/8/14 David Bircumshaw <[log in to unmask]>
>>>> >
>>>> >> Judy
>>>> >>
>>>> >> what a remarkable reply!
>>>> >>
>>>> >> I can say I'm not in retreat: this latest piece was written before my
>>>> >> previous. As for Oedipus-schmeedipus: I grew up in a quadrangle,
>>>> >> composed of myself, my parents and the ghost of my brother, who died
>>>> >> before my birth. I can confess that when I was thirteen I thought
>>>> >> 'Sons and Lovers' a great book, but it was more for the description of
>>>> >> the fight with Baxter Dawes.
>>>> >>
>>>> >> When I did read Freud, I found it disappointingly 'shallow' (your good
>>>> >> word). I do think that often in family structures the parents are the
>>>> >> primary persons of either sex that one forms a relationship with and
>>>> >> that has an influence on later relationships but I wouldn't go much
>>>> >> further than that common-sensical observation.
>>>> >>
>>>> >> I posted the piece, btw, because at the weekend I actually found a
>>>> >> copy of my long-lost childhood encyclopedia, in a charity shop. I've
>>>> >> had some rather Proustian moments since!
>>>> >>
>>>> >> Still chewing on the rest of your post, thanks, most interesting.
>>>> >>
>>>> >> All the Best
>>>> >>
>>>> >> Dave
>>>> >>
>>>> >> 2008/8/14 Judy Prince <[log in to unmask]>:
>>>> >> > You're still fighting the poem-book, Dave. A genius who wants to
>>>> >> retreat.
>>>> >> > Don't retreat.
>>>> >> > Poetry's beauty is that it's not prose. Your book began, as today's
>>>> >> > "chapter" begins, as poetry, and then you decided to explain, and then
>>>> >> you
>>>> >> > got back to the glory.
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Poetry's beauty is that it doesn't explain; that's not its purpose.
>>>> It
>>>> >> > Reveals, in a taut shiver or a sagging that we readers have worn, too.
>>>> >> And
>>>> >> > we want help.
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > What do _you_ want? What do you most fervently want?
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > In your Oedipal triangle, at times so lush and hurting, what does the
>>>> >> little
>>>> >> > boy do? He's a full third of the poembook, nah?
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Is it, in fact, so shallow as an Oedipal triangle?
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Is there any humour---not mocking, but a fireside humour---in the
>>>> >> > boy-recalls?
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Ah, these were bold and gentle times and folk, despite what you'll
>>>> >> surfacely
>>>> >> > think. And you've given us some of that.
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > We want nothing less than all of your recollections....poetic.
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Git on w' you, then.
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > Judy
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> > 2008/8/14 David Bircumshaw <[log in to unmask]>
>>>> >> >
>>>> >> >> From My Home Encyclopaedia:
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >> I have a vague memory of my father, pot-bellied and seemingly a torso
>>>> >> >> with an assumption of legs, but led to bed, assisted by my mother as
>>>> >> >> politeness would say, approximately drunk, as a swaying object
>>>> >> >> somewhere about the fourth year of my reign.
>>>> >> >> In our small flat. Which appeared to possess a hall of sorts, like
>>>> >> >> the illusion of perspective, bridging the between of the two bedrooms
>>>> >> >> (the smaller, mine; the larger, theirs) and the living-room (ours)
>>>> >> >> which was where, in stage terms, the language claimed we acted out
>>>> our
>>>> >> >> lives.
>>>> >> >> He does not then seem to appear for years, though for sure he too
>>>> >> >> lived with us. He had to do something called work, by day, which was
>>>> >> >> distant (sometimes two bus rides away) and alien, as unlike as Welsh,
>>>> >> >> and at nights was required by the pub, where George met the Dragon,
>>>> >> >> the union, and his mates. Which my mother condemned, for the drink.
>>>> >> >> But the plain and ever-present fact of his absence she did not
>>>> >> >> protest. Otherwise, he must have inhabited that same mist that
>>>> covers
>>>> >> >> so much of my early (and more recent) memories.
>>>> >> >> I think he recurred when I measured eight, as I recall an evening
>>>> >> >> before the still-then coal-fire, a glowing snugly winter's evening,
>>>> >> >> when my mother urged and urged me to mock his nose (its largeness)
>>>> his
>>>> >> >> tea (its undrinkability) his friends (their smell) his importance
>>>> (its
>>>> >> >> littleness). That fades, and I am sitting on the floor and he is
>>>> high
>>>> >> >> and seated above me but mumbling in a voice he tells me means that he
>>>> >> >> was born elsewhere, not, God forbid, here, mumbling all his funny
>>>> >> >> (unfunny) stories of his childhood, of crowding with brothers and
>>>> >> >> sisters round a pot yum-yumming at the prospect of stewed peel of
>>>> >> >> potatoes and apple-rind, of his trousers damp from the wash that
>>>> >> >> stank, of horse-shitten cobbled streets, of fresh milk in churns, of
>>>> >> >> playing with hot coals in braziers, swinging them faster and faster
>>>> >> >> around in an arc from his bare knees to his head and he laughs again,
>>>> >> >> his out of place, living in his own world, alone and loveless at the
>>>> >> >> hearth at the heart of his family, laugh.
>>>> >> >> And I can retrieve too a Saturday and a day-trip on the Midland Red
>>>> >> >> through Tewkesbury (where we stopped for toast) and Upton-on-Severn
>>>> >> >> (where from the upper-deck I watched how the river looped about the
>>>> >> >> houses like a noose about to close) and Evesham, with all its
>>>> >> >> close-packed churches, of which I remember nothing.
>>>> >> >> And, too, I can re-stock a road by a beach-front at Rhyl (it might
>>>> >> >> have been) or Weston or somewhere else to the west and on the coast
>>>> >> >> again, walking between and joined to their hands and sensing people,
>>>> >> >> adult people, (my parents) for this time at least together, smiling.
>>>> >> >> And a restaurant where we ate plaice. Or sole.
>>>> >> >> And once seeing him cry, from the numb cold of his bricklaying
>>>> >> >> hands, that fed us all, in the bitter world that was his alone and
>>>> >> >> winter.
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >> --
>>>> >> >> David Bircumshaw
>>>> >> >> Website and A Chide's Alphabet
>>>> >> >> http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
>>>> >> >> The Animal Subsides
>>>> http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
>>>> >> >> Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk
>>>> >> >>
>>>> >> >
>>>> >>
>>>> >>
>>>> >>
>>>> >> --
>>>> >> David Bircumshaw
>>>> >> Website and A Chide's Alphabet
>>>> >> http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
>>>> >> The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
>>>> >> Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk
>>>> >>
>>>> >
>>>>
>>>>
>>>>
>>>> --
>>>> David Bircumshaw
>>>> Website and A Chide's Alphabet
>>>> http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
>>>> The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
>>>> Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk
>>>>
>>>
>>
>>
>>
>> --
>> My Stuff: http://www.badstep.net/
>> "I began to warm and chill
>> to objects and their fields"
>> Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
>>
>
>
>
> --
> David Bircumshaw
> Website and A Chide's Alphabet http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
> The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
> Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk
>
--
My Stuff: http://www.badstep.net/
"I began to warm and chill
to objects and their fields"
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
|