The Bombing of Slough (poem)
Francis Muir
Anima wrote:
I thought the famous poem in which the author invites
the bomb to fall on Slough, one of England's New Towns,
was by Philip Larkin, but I don't find it anywhere in
his Collected Poems. Did someone else write it? Did it
just get left out for some reason? Or is it right there
on page xx where it belongs and I'm too blind to see it?
It is a veritable misnomer to call Slough a New Town. Herschel
the astronomer lived there among other persons long deceased.
The name is so suggestive of that despondent place in PILGRIM'S
PROGRESS that one wonders whether Defoe's novel did not influence
its industrialization after the Great War. Isn't it one of the
miseries of the Stopping Train to Oxford?
I'd have guessed Larkin - or a Larkin pastiche by Wendy Cope.
Douggie?
Fido
Michael Zeleny
fra...@pangea.stanford.edu writes:
>Anima wrote:
The poem in question is "Slough" by John Betjeman,
Larkinesque avant la lettre in 1937:
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow
Swarm over, Death!
Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans
Tinned minds, tinned breath.
Mess up the mess they call a town--
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half-a-crown
For twenty years,
And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears,
And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.
But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.
It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead
And talk of sports amd makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
John Betjeman's _Collected Poems_, Enlarged Edition,
Salem House, Salem, NH, 1985, pp. 22-24.
Reprinted without permission for discussion only.
Cordially, - Mikhail | God: "Sum id quod sum." Descartes: "Cogito ergo sum."
Zel...@math.ucla.edu | Popeye: "Sum id quod sum et id totum est quod sum."
itinerant philosopher -- will think for food ** www.ptyx.com ** M...@ptyx.com
ptyx ** 6869 Pacific View Drive, LA, CA 90068 ** 213-876-8234/874-4745 (fax)
Marilyn Mosher
It's Betjimin, and I truly hope I have spelt that right.
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough,
It's hardly fit for humans now.....
Marilyn
In article <3291A2...@pangea.stanford.edu> Francis Muir
<fra...@pangea.stanford.edu> writes:>From: Francis Muir
<fra...@pangea.stanford.edu>>Subject: Re: The Bombing of Slough (poem)
>Date: Tue, 19 Nov 1996 05:04:51 -0700
>Anima wrote:
> I thought the famous poem in which the author invites
> the bomb to fall on Slough, one of England's New Towns,
> was by Philip Larkin, but I don't find it anywhere in
> his Collected Poems. Did someone else write it? Did it
> just get left out for some reason? Or is it right there
> on page xx where it belongs and I'm too blind to see it?
>It is a veritable misnomer to call Slough a New Town. Herschel
>the astronomer lived there among other persons long deceased.
>The name is so suggestive of that despondent place in PILGRIM'S
>PROGRESS that one wonders whether Defoe's novel did not influence
>its industrialization after the Great War. Isn't it one of the
>miseries of the Stopping Train to Oxford?
>I'd have guessed Larkin - or a Larkin pastiche by Wendy Cope.
>Douggie?
>Fido
mick...@uvic.ca
It was by John Betjeman.
Mickey.
Ron Hardin
John McCarthy wrote:
>
> The poem raises several points. ...etc
I don't know the poet or the context, but I didn't read it as
recommending the bombing of the town. It reminds me of Housman's
nettle poem, in which every sentence is untrue ('Tis little matter
what are the sorts they sow, for only one will grow ... The
charlock on the fallow ... will not twice arise ... The stinging
nettle only will still be sure to stand ... It peoples towns, and
towers about the courts of kings ...)
This cited by Empson, The Structure of Complex Words, p.11-12,
along with an explanation of why it is one of Housman's finest poems,
the whole being a response to a theory of Ogden's.
--
Ron Hardin
r...@research.att.com
On the internet, nobody knows you're a jerk.
John McCarthy
The poem raises several points.
1. Was Slough bombed in WWII? If so, did Betjeman have anything to
say about it?
2. The poem reminds me of _Little Boxes_ by Malvina Reynolds, which is
actually a song, but expressing the same contempt for the culture of
ordinary people. She doesn't mention bombs, but the poem suggested to
me adding a verse about getting a little A-bomb and blowing up the
little boxes. I never got the verse to scan properly.
3. I would think that after WWII and with the existence of nuclear
weapons, suggesting bombing a town would have become politically
incorrect, even for a very "anti-establishment" poet.
4. Still it would be interesting to know if there are any disgruntled
poets suggesting bombing towns or cities. Suggesting bombing random
buildings doesn't count.
--
John McCarthy, Computer Science Department, Stanford, CA 94305
http://www-formal.stanford.edu/jmc/progress/
During the last years of the Second Millenium, the Earthmen complained
a lot.
Michael Zeleny
j...@cs.Stanford.EDU writes:
>The poem raises several points.
>
>1. Was Slough bombed in WWII? If so, did Betjeman have anything to
>say about it?
>
>2. The poem reminds me of _Little Boxes_ by Malvina Reynolds, which is
>actually a song, but expressing the same contempt for the culture of
>ordinary people. She doesn't mention bombs, but the poem suggested to
>me adding a verse about getting a little A-bomb and blowing up the
>little boxes. I never got the verse to scan properly.
>
>3. I would think that after WWII and with the existence of nuclear
>weapons, suggesting bombing a town would have become politically
>incorrect, even for a very "anti-establishment" poet.
>
>4. Still it would be interesting to know if there are any disgruntled
>poets suggesting bombing towns or cities. Suggesting bombing random
>buildings doesn't count.
How about bombing the entire Western Civilization?
Le mauvais vitrier
Il y a des natures purement contemplatives et tout à fait impropres à
l'action, qui cependant, sous une impulsion mystérieuse et inconnue,
agissent quelquefois avec une rapidité dont elles se seraient crues
elles-mêmes incapables.
Tel qui, craignant de trouver chez son concierge une nouvelle chagrinante,
rôde lâchement une heure devant sa porte sans oser rentrer, tel qui garde
quinze jours une lettre sans la décacheter, ou ne se résigne qu'au bout
de six mois à opérer une démarche nécessaire depuis un an, se sentent
quelquefois brusquement précipités vers l'action par une force
irrésistible, comme la flèche d'un arc. Le moraliste et le médecin, qui
prétendent tout savoir, ne peuvent pas expliquer d'où vient si subitement
une si folle énergie à ces âmes paresseuses et voluptueuses, et comment,
incapables d'accomplir les choses les plus simples et les plus nécessaires,
elles trouvent à une certaine minute un courage de luxe pour exécuter les
actes les plus absurdes et souvent même les plus dangereux.
Un de mes amis, le plus inoffensif rêveur qui ait existé, a mis une fois
le feu à une forêt pour voir, disait-il, si le feu prenait avec autant de
facilité qu'on l'affirme généralement. Dix fois de suite, l'expérience
manqua; mais, à la onzième, elle réussit beaucoup trop bien.
Un autre allumera un cigare à côté d'un tonneau de poudre, _pour voir,
pour savoir, pour tenter la destinée_, pour se contraindre lui-même à
faire preuve d'énergie, pour faire le joueur, pour connaître les plaisirs
de l'anxiété, pour rien, par caprice, par désoeuvrement.
C'est une espèce d'énergie qui jaillit de l'ennui et de la rêverie; et
ceux en qui elle se manifeste si inopinément sont, en général, comme je
l'ai dit, les plus indolents et les plus rêveurs des êtres.
Un autre, timide à ce point qu'il baisse les yeux même devant les regards
des hommes, à ce point qu'il lui faut rassembler toute sa pauvre volonté
pour entrer dans un café ou passer devant le bureau d'un théâtre, où les
contrôleurs lui paraissent investis de la majesté de Minos, d'Éaque et de
Rhadamante, sautera brusquement au cou d'un vieillard qui passe à côté de
lui et l'embrassera avec enthousiasme devant la foule étonnée.
Pourquoi? Parce que... parce que cette physionomie lui était
irresistiblement sympathique? Peut-être; mais il est plus légitime de
supposer que lui-même il ne sait pas pourquoi.
J'ai été plus d'une fois victime de ces crises et de ces élans, qui nous
autorisent à croire que les Démons malicieux se glissent en nous et nous
font accomplir, à notre insu, leurs plus absurdes volontés.
Un matin je m'étais levé maussade, triste, fatigué d'oisiveté, et poussé,
me semblait-il, à faire quelque chose de grand, une action d'éclat; et
j'ouvris la fenêtre, hélas!
(Observez, je vous prie, que l'esprit de mystification qui, chez quelques
personnes, n'est pas le résultat d'un travail ou d'une combinaison, mais
d'une inspiration fortuite, participe beaucoup, ne fût-ce que par l'ardeur
du désir, de cette humeur, hystérique selon les médecins, satanique selon
ceux qui pensent un peu mieux que les médecins, qui nous pousse sans
résistance vers une foule d'actions dangereuses ou inconvenantes.)
La première personne que j'aperçus dans la rue, ce fut un vitrier dont le
cri perçant, discordant, monta jusqu'à moi à travers la lourde et sale
atmosphère parisienne. Il me serait d'ailleurs impossible de dire pourquoi
je fus pris à l'égard de ce pauvre homme d'une haine aussi soudaine que
despotique.
"--Hé! hé!" et je lui criai de monter. Cependant je réfléchissais, non
sans quelque gaieté, que, la chambre étant au sixième étage et l'escalier
fort étroit, l'homme devait éprouver quelque peine à opérer son ascension
et accrocher en maint endroit les angles de sa fragile marchandise.
Enfin il parut: j'examinai curieusement toutes ses vitres, et je lui dis:
"Comment? Vous n'avez pas de verres de couleur? des verres roses, rouges,
bleus, des vitres magiques, des vitres de paradis? Impudent que vous êtes!
vous osez vous promener dans des quartiers pauvres, et vous n'avez pas même
de vitres qui fassent voir la vie en beau!" Et je le poussai vivement vers
l'escalier, où il trébucha en grognant.
Je m'approchai du balcon et je me saisis d'un petit pot de fleurs, et
quand l'homme reparut au débouché de la porte, je lassai tomber
perpendiculairement mon engin de guerre sur le rebord postérieur de ses
crochets; et le choc le renversant, il acheva de briser sous son dos toute
sa pauvre fortune ambulatoire qui rendit le bruit éclatant d'un palais de
cristal crevé par la foudre.
Et, ivre de ma folie, je lui criai furieusement: "La vie en beau! La vie
en beau!"
Ces plaisanteries nerveuses ne sont pas sans péril, et on peut souvent les
payer cher. Mais qu'importe l'éternité de la damnation à qui a trouvé dans
une seconde l'infini de la jouissance?
Charles Baudelaire
__________________________________________________________________
It helps if you know about the Crystal Palace.
>--
>John McCarthy, Computer Science Department, Stanford, CA 94305
>http://www-formal.stanford.edu/jmc/progress/
>During the last years of the Second Millenium, the Earthmen complained
>a lot.
Cordially, - Mikhail | God: "Sum id quod sum." Descartes: "Cogito ergo sum."
John McCarthy
It seems to me that the Baudelaire story of a random act of nastiness
resembles neither the Betjeman poem nor the Reynolds song.
Michael Zeleny
j...@cs.Stanford.EDU writes:
>It seems to me that the Baudelaire story of a random act of nastiness
>resembles neither the Betjeman poem nor the Reynolds song.
Like I said, it was about destroying Western Civilization, a goal
guaranteed to raise your hackles. It helps if you know about the
Crystal Palace. Needless to say, some understanding of allegory
is required as well.
John McCarthy
If Baudelaire's smashing the glassware seller's wares was intended as
a metaphor for destroying Western Civilization, then the preliminary
stuff about a repressed person occasionally yielding to a sudden
impulse weakened the point. A story about a 19th century Unabomber
would have made the point better. Conrad's _Secret Agent_ could have
made that point, except that the bomber in this case was an agent of
the Russians.
John McCarthy
Maybe Baudelaire, Betjeman and Reynolds wished to destroy Western
Civilization, but it is stretching a point to infer it from the three
writings in question. But maybe recognizing allegories is just on
kind of stretching a point. Sort of like when Proust wrote that if he
owned Marseilles and hell, he'd rent out Marseilles and live in hell.
Rick Wallach
I think Slough was never bombed. There was a standing joke in London
when I lived there 15 years ago or so: Slough was never bombed by the
Germans, and the residents still haven't forgiven them for it.
Pamela F. Reading
In article <anima.8...@bermuda.io.com>, Anima <an...@io.com> writes
>I thought the famous poem in which the author invites the bomb to fall on
>Slough, one of England's New Towns, was by Philip Larkin, but I don't find
>it anywhere in his Collected Poems. Did someone else write it?
>
>
"Come,friendly bombs, and fall on Slough !
It isn't fit for humans now,
Swarm over, Death! "
from 'Slough' written in 1937
by Sir John Betjeman (1906- 1984)
Hope this helps,
Pamela.
--
Pamela F. Reading
Colin Rosenthal
Did I hear correctly that Betjeman has just been admitted to Poets' Corner
this week? If so, he deserves it for this one poem alone. Reading it
through it seems to be a fairly general comment on the sterile, stultifying
urban rat race. He probably just chose "Slough" because of the obvious
connotations of the name.
--
--Colin Rosenthal | ``Don't smell the flowers -
--rose...@obs.aau.dk | They're an evil drug -
--http://www.obs.aau.dk/~rosentha | To make you lose your mind''-
--Aarhus University, Denmark | Ronnie James Dio, 1983 -
Michael Carley
j...@Steam.stanford.edu (John McCarthy) writes:
>2. The poem reminds me of _Little Boxes_ by Malvina Reynolds, which is
>actually a song, but expressing the same contempt for the culture of
>ordinary people. She doesn't mention bombs, but the poem suggested to
What ``contempt for the culture of ordinary people'' is
expressed by Betjeman in the poem? It would appear to me
that what he objects to is the dehumanising effect of
modern life.
--
"You got your highbrow funk, you got your lowbrow funk, you even
got a little bit of your pee-wee, pow-wow funk" (Dr. John)
Michael Carley, Mech. Eng., TCD, IRELAND. m.ca...@leoleo.mme.tcd.ie
<A HREF="http://www.mme.tcd.ie/~m.carley/Welcome.html">Home page</A>
Francis Muir
John McCarthy writes:
I would think that after WWII and with the existence
of nuclear weapons, suggesting bombing a town would
have become politically incorrect, even for a very
"anti-establishment" poet.
Which was, of course, the last thing that Betjeman was -
0r is? I guess he must be dead by now, but before he fell
off the twig he was named Poet Laureate which is, I believe,
in the royal gift like Master of the King's Musick (sick).
Was Big Ears influential in his appointment? JB had a
horror of most architectural things modern which the now
not-so-young pretender has made his mantra to be intoned
within those Green walls of his Glos estate.
Anyway, read his GHASTLY GOOD TASTE and autobio in verse.
Fido
John McCarthy
In article <56ut2t$4...@bell.maths.tcd.ie> mjca...@maths.tcd.ie
(Michael Carley) writes:
> What ``contempt for the culture of ordinary people'' is
> expressed by Betjeman in the poem? It would appear to me
> that what he objects to is the dehumanising effect of
> modern life.
Here's the contempt. To talk of sports and makes of cars shows one
has been dehumanized, does it?
*********************
And talk of sports amd makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.
In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
--
Francis Muir
Pamela Reading writes:
"Come,friendly bombs, and fall on Slough !
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death! "
from 'Slough' written in 1937by Sir John Betjeman
(1906- 1984)
The eponymous (Gawd, how I have ever wanted to find excuse
to write that word) Pamela represents another mythic town
not a thousand miles from Sluff, namely Reading, which,
however, escapes a similar ignominy by finding home to a
favored institution, the biscuit factory. In this respect
it could be said it takes the Huntley & Palmer.
Fido
Michael Carley
j...@Steam.stanford.edu (John McCarthy) writes:
>In article <56ut2t$4...@bell.maths.tcd.ie> mjca...@maths.tcd.ie
>(Michael Carley) writes:
>Here's the contempt. To talk of sports and makes of cars shows one
>has been dehumanized, does it?
To talk of them in `bogus Tudor bars' does. Especially
when you've also been stuck in the canteens of delightful
Slough. He seems to be lamenting an emptiness of life.
He doesn't actually mention the culture of `ordinary'
people (or ``the working class'' as some would have it).
There's no reference to music or cinema for example.
Michael Zeleny
John McCarthy <j...@cs.Stanford.EDU> writes:
>Maybe Baudelaire, Betjeman and Reynolds wished to destroy Western
>Civilization, but it is stretching a point to infer it from the three
>writings in question. But maybe recognizing allegories is just on
>kind of stretching a point. Sort of like when Proust wrote that if he
>owned Marseilles and hell, he'd rent out Marseilles and live in hell.
Leaving out obscure pop tunes, in is not clear to me that Betjeman's
exhortation was meant seriously -- after all, he did ask the bombs
to "spare the bald young clerks". By contrast, Baudelaire's appeal
to destroy the agents and deliverances of anaesthetic Progress, so
beloved by the good professor, leaves little room for such triage.
Iain G Liddell
In article <anima.8...@bermuda.io.com>, Anima <an...@io.com> wrote:
>I thought the famous poem in which the author invites the bomb to fall on
>Slough, one of England's New Towns, was by Philip Larkin, but I don't find
>just get left out for some reason? Or is it right there on page xx where
John Betjeman, actually.
Iain
Ann Skea
John McCarthy wrote:
>
> The poem raises several points.
>
> 1. Was Slough bombed in WWII? If so, did Betjeman have anything to
> say about it?
More to the point, did he have anything to do with it?
Hardly an anti-establishment poet, more an aesthetically appalled lover
of fine architecture. There is a comment on 'Slough' at
http://ukguide.cs.ucl.ac.uk/misc/uk/slough_poem.html
The poem couldn't have been by Larkin - too polemic and not pesimistic
enough. Interestingly, Larkin saw similarities between himself and
Betjeman, referring to himself as the B.J 'de nos jour'. And he wanted
to divide the recipients of the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry into
'Young Marvels (Rupert Brook, Dylan Thomas) and Old Wonderfuls (Robert
Graves, John Betjeman)'. He didn't say whether his lists here were
complete.
Ann
Michael Zeleny
John McCarthy <j...@cs.Stanford.EDU> writes:
>If Baudelaire's smashing the glassware seller's wares was intended as
>a metaphor for destroying Western Civilization, then the preliminary
>stuff about a repressed person occasionally yielding to a sudden
>impulse weakened the point. A story about a 19th century Unabomber
>would have made the point better. Conrad's _Secret Agent_ could have
>made that point, except that the bomber in this case was an agent of
>the Russians.
On the contrary, it is an a fortiori argument -- if the contemplative
type can muster the energy to smash the crystal palace, how much more
can we expect from a man of action? As a point of fact, the ensuing
implementation was prosecuted by poetic dreamers such as Émile Henry
and Félix Fénéon. The average anarchist bomb-thrower was a sensitive
and well-educated young man.
Note also the conclusion: "Ces plaisanteries nerveuses ne sont pas sans
péril, et on peut souvent les payer cher. Mais qu'importe l'éternité de
la damnation à qui a trouvé dans une seconde l'infini de la jouissance?"
By this kind of reasoning, no kind of punishment can deter a sufficiently
intense and memorable crime. For instance, the evening after Vaillant's
bombing of the National Assembly, Laurent-Teilhade was heard observing:
"Qu'importent les victimes si le geste est beau! Qu'importe la mort de
vagues humanités si, par elle, s'affirme l'individu?" Nor was his noble
sacrificial sentiment diminished by the explosion at the cafe Terminus,
which cost him his eye. Afterwards, he was seen around town removing
the prosthesis from its socket and dedicating it to anarchism.
John McCarthy
Fortunately, there seem to fewer intellectuals feeling bound to act
out violent, destructive whims than there used to be.
David Hadley
Francis Muir <fra...@pangea.stanford.edu> wrote:
>Anima wrote:
>
> I thought the famous poem in which the author invites
> the bomb to fall on Slough, one of England's New Towns,
> was by Philip Larkin, but I don't find it anywhere in
> his Collected Poems. Did someone else write it? Did it
> just get left out for some reason? Or is it right there
> on page xx where it belongs and I'm too blind to see it?
>
>It is a veritable misnomer to call Slough a New Town. Herschel
>the astronomer lived there among other persons long deceased.
>The name is so suggestive of that despondent place in PILGRIM'S
>PROGRESS that one wonders whether Defoe's novel did not influence
>its industrialization after the Great War. Isn't it one of the
>miseries of the Stopping Train to Oxford?
>
>I'd have guessed Larkin - or a Larkin pastiche by Wendy Cope.
>Douggie?
It's John Betjeman, I think. Although I don't know the title of the
poem.
--
David Hadley
Michael Zeleny
John McCarthy <j...@cs.Stanford.EDU> writes:
>Fortunately, there seem to fewer intellectuals feeling bound to act
>out violent, destructive whims than there used to be.
Ideological fervor tends to go hand in hand with education. Would
you care to guess the demographic profile of a typical terrorist?
John McCarthy
In article <570skh$u...@uni.library.ucla.edu> zel...@oak.math.ucla.edu (Michael Zeleny) writes:
>
> John McCarthy <j...@cs.Stanford.EDU> writes:
>
> >Fortunately, there seem to fewer intellectuals feeling bound to act
> >out violent, destructive whims than there used to be.
>
> Ideological fervor tends to go hand in hand with education. Would
> you care to guess the demographic profile of a typical terrorist?
I used the word whim advisedly. Baudelaire was not writing about a
member of a movement in the grip of ideological fervor, but a
whimsically destructive man. Maybe there is a connection between the
two.
Francis Muir
Boom-Boom O'Toole writes:
Fido writes:
The eponymous (Gawd, how I have ever wanted to find
excuse to write that word) Pamela represents another
mythic town not a thousand miles from Sluff, namely
Reading, which, however, escapes a similar ignominy
by finding home to a favored institution, the biscuit
factory. In this respect it could be said it takes the
Huntley & Palmer.
Why, was the town named after her? I sympathise with you
Francis, having always felt that eponymous should mean
sounding like what it is, or where it comes from, and
loving the very sound of the word, but both my dictionaries
insist that an eponym is a person who gives their name to
a place, or tribe or institution, and not the other way
around. But hell, if otherwise sensible people can push
the line that the time is past for retaining the distinction
between imply and infer, there may be hope for us romantics
yet.
The Boomer forgets that those prescriptive, schoolmasterly
grammarians of yesteryear - that is, those of my childhood -
cheated. Whenever they came across an expression they liked
that seemed to violate their canon then they'd invent a new
figure of speech, give it a Greek-derived name and - voila! -
a neonym is born. Surely there is respectable precedent for
phrases that put the cart before the horse?
Fido
Ted Samsel
Boom-Boom O'Toole (and...@coombs.anu.edu.au) wrote:
: Francis Muir wrote:
: >
: >
: > "Come,friendly bombs, and fall on Slough !
: > It isn't fit for humans now,
: > There isn't grass to graze a cow.
: > Swarm over, Death! "
: >
: > from 'Slough' written in 1937by Sir John Betjeman
: > (1906- 1984)
: > The eponymous (Gawd, how I have ever wanted to find excuse
: > to write that word) Pamela represents another mythic town
: > not a thousand miles from Sluff, namely Reading, which,
: > however, escapes a similar ignominy by finding home to a
: > favored institution, the biscuit factory. In this respect
: > it could be said it takes the Huntley & Palmer.
: Why, was the town named after her? I sympathise with you Francis,
: having always felt that eponymous should mean sounding like what
: it is, or where it comes from, and loving the very sound of the word,
: but both my dictionaries insist that an eponym is a person who
: gives their name to a place, or tribe or institution, and not the
: other way around. But hell, if otherwise sensible people can push
: the line that the time is past for retaining the distinction
: between imply and infer, there may be hope for us romantics yet.
I've been to Hope, AK and played the accordion there. There may be
hope also in the knowledge that the semi-legendary founder of
one of Texas' stellar academic institutions (Pecos Bill Junior
College of Applied Rodeo Science and Animal Husbandry) had a
paramour yclept Slew-Foot Sue. (or Sloughfoot Sue... gad, sounds like
the wetdream of a podiatrist!).
te...@infi.net
"Eat some blackeyed peas and fried banana,
smoke me a seegar from Havana,
I'll be the King of Louisiana"
(It's gonna be) PAYDAY Porter Wagoner
Michael Zeleny
j...@cs.Stanford.EDU (John McCarthy) writes:
>zel...@math.ucla.edu (Michael Zeleny) writes:
>>j...@cs.Stanford.EDU (John McCarthy) writes:
>>>Fortunately, there seem to fewer intellectuals feeling bound to act
>>>out violent, destructive whims than there used to be.
>>Ideological fervor tends to go hand in hand with education. Would
>>you care to guess the demographic profile of a typical terrorist?
>I used the word whim advisedly. Baudelaire was not writing about a
>member of a movement in the grip of ideological fervor, but a
>whimsically destructive man. Maybe there is a connection between the
>two.
On the contrary, the narrator explicitly attributes his satanic action
to "l'esprit de mystification", scarcely identical with a whim. At
any rate, "Le mauvais vitrier", like the rest of Baudelaire's prose
poems, is intended as moralistic commentary on _Les fleurs du mal_,
which articulates plenty of reasons for opposing material progress.
Though I do not subscribe to the more outlandish theses of Straussian
hermeneutics, "Persecution and the Art of Writing" would be of help in
this matter.
Boom-Boom O'Toole
Francis Muir wrote:
>
> Pamela Reading writes:
>
> "Come,friendly bombs, and fall on Slough !
> It isn't fit for humans now,
> There isn't grass to graze a cow.
> Swarm over, Death! "
>
> from 'Slough' written in 1937by Sir John Betjeman
> (1906- 1984)
>
> The eponymous (Gawd, how I have ever wanted to find excuse
> to write that word) Pamela represents another mythic town
> not a thousand miles from Sluff, namely Reading, which,
> however, escapes a similar ignominy by finding home to a
> favored institution, the biscuit factory. In this respect
> it could be said it takes the Huntley & Palmer.
Why, was the town named after her? I sympathise with you Francis,
having always felt that eponymous should mean sounding like what
it is, or where it comes from, and loving the very sound of the word,
but both my dictionaries insist that an eponym is a person who
gives their name to a place, or tribe or institution, and not the
other way around. But hell, if otherwise sensible people can push
the line that the time is past for retaining the distinction
between imply and infer, there may be hope for us romantics yet.
Boom-Boom
>
> Fido
Boom-Boom O'Toole
Francis Muir wrote:
> The Boomer forgets that those prescriptive, schoolmasterly
> grammarians of yesteryear - that is, those of my childhood -
> cheated. Whenever they came across an expression they liked
> that seemed to violate their canon then they'd invent a new
> figure of speech, give it a Greek-derived name and - voila! -
> a neonym is born. Surely there is respectable precedent for
> phrases that put the cart before the horse?
The second word that occurs to me is eponymatopoeic, and
despite your undoubted speculation, the first word is simply
unavailable, onomatopus referring to an Australian mammal,
nocturnally active, which is distinguished by its ability
to survive without drinking water, except in the desert,
where it never goes.
The eponymatopoeic Boom-Boom
Ted Samsel
Tessa Davis
Enough people have said that the Bombing of Skough was by Betjmann, so I
will not repeat that, but it should also be remembered that it was hardly a
new town when Gray wrote his famous elegy in a country churchyard.
Stoke Poges, as many will be aware, is just to the north of Slough, and is
near enough to be called a suburb of that town. Anyway, I would call 10
minutes walk close enough to qualify it.
I also recall that Slough was the first town in England to install linked
lights, to make the traffic easier to flow along the Great West Road.
Also, what about the other famous outskirts such as Eton, Windsor, Frogmore,
Clewer, etc.
Chris Davis
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