And remember MacNeice's wonderful sonnet, SUNDAY MORNING:

"Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past..."

Often felt that meself (which, I guess, is why speed checks are a good idea, sadly). Full poem on the following link:

http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.a...633&poem=33649

[This message has been edited by Mark Granier (edited October 04, 2005).]

I'm with you there Carol. And so is Raymond Carver:

" The car that hit the dog and kept going.
The car with a hole in its muffler.
The car with no muffler.
The car my daughter wrecked.
The car with the twice-rebuilt engine.
The car with corroded battery cables.
The car bought with a bad check.
The car of my sleepless nights.
The car with a stuck thermostat.
The car whose engine caught fire.
The car with no headlights.
The car with a broken fan belt.
The car with wipers that wouldn’t work.
The car I gave away.
The car with transmission trouble.
The car I washed my hands of.
The car I struck with a hammer.
The car with payments that couldn’t be met.
The repossessed car.
The car whose clutch-pin broke.
The car waiting on the back lot.
Car of my dreams.
My car."

(from THE CAR)

Mark, thanks for that - I can't believe I forgot about that Carver poem, and I'd only just reread it a week ago!

Love the Larkin quote. For yewrs people have been saying to me: "You know what you need, you need a little CAR." For years I've been replying, "the LAST think I need is some little CAR!"

Anyway now the kids are big enough to go on the bus by themselves, I feel I got through the hard part.

And without a ticket!

KEB

Hugh -

I would definitely learn to drive for the practical reasons your wife suggests. My mother gave up on it when she had her learner's permit and had a small "fender bender" in 1963. Now that she is 76 and my dad can no longer drive at night (and doesn't like to too much during the day either), she feels very restricted and dependent on others to give her lifts here and there. We have not yet given up on trying to persuade her to give it another try.

That said, I would also continue to walk and cycle for those reasons Janet so eloquently expressed in her postings.

Whatever you decide, best of luck to you!


Catherine

Birdsmeling

Not likely to catch on, by all accounts.

I actually like cars and I like driving them, but I'm not so keen on owning them.

I think the insinuation at the start of this thread is something put about by prosaically law-abiding, or possibly law-enforcing elements, who may suffer an uncomfortable nudge out of their routines after being presented with a poetic licence.

p

The world is expected to look something like this after all the poets have driven their jallopies off the quay and into the harbour.
http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7...0/pastiche.jpg



[This message has been edited by peter richards (edited October 04, 2005).]

Katy, what you need is a thing of beauty; poetry in motion: a bottle-green Bentley ...

But Hugh is right: Deep down all true poets know that the way to go is to become a farmer and doing it the Amish way.

Personally, though, I've found the middle way: I only drive French cars.

Jon H.

I have a serious need to buy a car. Right now I'm living at a picturesque boarding school in Middle Of Cornfields Delaware & should be able to get away for a weekend. The kids are fun & all but they'll drive you nuts if you don't peace out every now & then. However, I don't like driving & have no great desire to buy a car, so I have made very minimal efforts thus far (it's been over a month) to find one. If I get one I'll be able to go to NY (where I've never been) and Carolina to see my friends, but if I don't I guess I'll have money & will be free of the dangers & annoyance of driving.

I did do some driving over the summer, in rent-a-cars in Tuscany & Sicily. Driving in Italy is totally different -- the cities are way wack, but the highways are lovely and awesome. It's easy to tell why Italians like driving so well. Conversely, the last time I drove any distance in the States I got hit by a tractor trailer, which kind of sucked.

Walking is a mode of transportation I approve of, but I never learned to ride a bike. When I was 5 I had a tricycle I didn't use because it was so much easier & more efficient to just be carried around by my mom. The transition to a two-wheeler was one I never made.

Chris

You're definitely a TUMP, Chris, and without doubt a great poet in waiting.
Maybe we can post our driving poems here. Here's one:

Rep’s Rondeaubout

Traffic jams are so much fun—
better far than boring meetings.
Get the week’s expense claim done!
Phone a friend with cheery greetings!
Never worry when you’re late—
fast lane life won’t take you far.
Some things are in league with fate—
traffic jams are.

The cyclist's reply:


bicycle


bicycle lifts me quietly
wheelwoman speeds
lightly
no bird ceases song
when my bicycle
wheels along
no flower lost scent
where my bicycle
went
past bright weeds, no air
fouls when bicycle
is there
spokes spin over metal
momentum spurred
by pedal
elegant machine
so clean nobody knows
you’ve been


----

And from a word/spelling idea inspired by Gregory Dowling:


Toad of Towed Haul
(apologies to Kenneth Grahame)


The celebrated Mr Toad
cried “poop poop poop”, his engine chaud,
and Rolls careering, he bestrode
the road, no thought of all he owed.
His money had been neatly sewed
inside the lining of his coat.
With careless hands the varmint smote
the klaxon horn. He never thought
of roadside pubs. No pint or quart
could thwart his plans. Should he be caught
he’d scoff and cunningly resort
to some disguise. His web-foot trail
would lead where some might draw a veil.
A washerwoman, not a male
would leave the exit of the gaol.
Our toad was manic, self esteem
had swelled into a bloated dream
of grandeur. His enforced regime
in Badger’s care made him blaspheme.
So Ratty, Mole and Badger swore
it was not their old friend they saw.
They seized the miscreant with a roar,
and shut him up and locked the door.

[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited October 04, 2005).]

The Triolet of the Open Road

It seems we've been here once before, my dear;
the road somehow became a triolet,
and all the bumps and grumps shall reappear,
it seems. We've been here once before, my dear;
the repetends, the roundabouts we steer
about whenever we two lose the way:
it seems we've been here once before, my dear.
This road somehow became a triolet.


Road Killxx(Revision)

It seems we've been here once before, my dear;
the road somehow became a triolet,
and repetends and echoes all we hear,
it seems. We've been here once before, my dear;
and gone around these roundabouts we steer
about whenever we two lose the way:
it seems that we've been here before, my dear.
It's time to end this fucking triolet.




[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited October 05, 2005).]