BTB, "roundabouts"?

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
>