Has a century of far superior Neo-Luddite and Amish Poetry taught us nothing? The following oldie no doubt "Does Not Belong In The Deep End," but I am hoping for "Does Not Belong in General Chat" - and besides, Cantor's triolet reminded me of it.
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You've Been There

You've been there
You've seen the mileposts blur by too fast,
felt the pounding pistons urge you on,
opened up the fuel-air mix, felt the rhythm
of a thousand timed and tiny explosions
roar you forward

You've been there, where you need the speed -
need every MPH and RPM -
You've been down that oil-black road
where you can't see at night,
but still drive or are driven
foolishly faster

And you've woken in the morning,
filling in the crude-black patch
with a concrete rainbow stain

You've been there;
It won't do to ask

"Are we there yet?"
Anymore

Michael,
that triolet (the revision!) is growing on me...
Actually, it's damn good (despite the unorthodox rhyme scheme).

Jon H.

Jon -

Thanks - but, as far as I know the rhyme scheme is glatt triolet, since the French and I both pronounce "triolet" to rhyme with "weigh". (David Anthony has a neat poem - a triolet, not surprisingly - on that.)

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

This thread has taught me something important: I am a walker. I am not a runner, or a biker, or a driver; I am certainly not a bus-rider or a trolley patron or a subterranean shuttler; & least of all am I a taker of trains. I have of course engaged in my time in all these forms of locomotion. But I am a walker. A confirmed pedestrian. & that is as it should be. I am grateful for this thread. (Although if it were at all socially or economically or mechanically feasible, I would be a stroller passenger. Alas.)

Chris

A triolay! Thanks, Michael! Swell! Today
I'll write a damp and opulent sonnet!

Yes -? ;)

Jon H.

Hooray! I can now feel better about being such a wimp about driving...took a few lessons in my college days in England. Driving instructor was a chap in business on his own. "Sorry, Christine, I can't let you take the test in my car...you see, my car is my livelihood!!!"
Then I lived in small city in Italy for five years, could walk everywhere, no need to drive. Moved with husband and child to Glendale, a suburb of New York, kid's school in walking distance, buses and subways around--no need to drive.
Then we moved here to Stroudsburg, a small town in the Poconos, bought a house in residential area a few blocks from Main Street, can walk to school/church/shops, still no need to drive. I thought. But, alas, soon the oldest child was wanting to play YMCA soccer, go to other kids' houses etc, and it became obvious that in this land of the automobile, with very poor bus and taxi service, I really ought to learn to drive...so in my thirties, I did. On an automatic transmission, of course. Even passed the test, perhaps because in those days it involved only driving very slowly round a special Test parking lot, never exceeding 25 mph or encountering another moving vehicle.
Actually I'm not a bad driver as long as everything is going to plan. But have lost my nerve somewhat since a couple of years ago I was driving on highway w/kids and husband in car and an idiot pulled out right in front of me and I didn't manage to avoid him completely (I maintain that's BECAUSE my husband was in car and makes me nervous!) and clipped his fender and we went into a spin and are very lucky all was ok...so now I hate highways even more than I did before, and especially I hate merging onto highways, or passing the on-ramps when others are trying to merge...which means I rarely do highway driving and use back roads or get husband or (for West Chester conference) even 20-yr old son to drive me! This feels extremely wimpish and restricted...and makes me really afraid about what to do if we (as I hope/dream) move back to my native England where they all drive (sorry, Hugh, not to frighten you, maybe it's different in Scotland) SO SO FAST--but it is all WORTH IT if it means I am therefore a better poet!!!

I can't even ride a bike......so must be really superlative poet, yes???!!!!

Christine

I suppose I'm well on my way, since I rarely drive. I have a chauffer. *grins* I'm nervous when driving anyway, and since suffering a few bouts of vertigo I've become even more wary.

Julie

I grew up in suburban California. Driving is second nature.

While I suppose that makes me an Evil Poet, I prefer the term "Wicked." Much more flair to it.

I was going to start a thread like this on one of these boards eventually, and I actually got the idea when I was reading a Martin Amis novel in which he said something along the lines of "true poets don't drive", or maybe it was "poets who drive are suspect." Something like that.

I lived in upstate NY until I was twenty-four. Every one of my friends got their driver's license as soon as they were of age. Like Kevin said, in that area it was just second nature. I started to go through the motions several times, got a learner's permit about six times and let them expire without ever taking the test. I don't know what the problem was, probably just fear of failure.

I didn't actually get my license until I was thirty-two, nine years ago. Here in Lake Havasu, AZ, the road test was absurdly easy. My parking was terrible, and quite a few times during the test I was going too fast and was told to slow down. The inspector drilled me as to why I had waited so long to get a license, and didn't seem to believe my excuses, which was good for her because they were all lies.

Anyway, I passed. I learned how to drive well while actually driving, which is what everyone said would happen. In nine years I haven't had a mark on my license, and my insurance company loves me.

What goes on under the hood is still mostly a mystery to me, but I've learned a bit. I think this allergy to driving among poets might simply come from the fact that a car is basically a big machine. As Woody Allen used to say, machines hate me. I always assumed they hated me because they could tell I liked poetry. For some reason the internal combustion engine seems to like poets even less than, say, a blender or a microwave oven does.

My hero for a while was Frank Zappa, who (I believe) lived in LA or thereabouts and never drove. His excuse was that he just didn't want to wait on line at the DMV.

I like driving, but I could give it up easily if it were practical. To put it bluntly, most of the people out on the road either don't know how to drive or they don't give a damn, probably both in a lot of cases. It's no wonder there are so many accidents. It's baffling and bewildering how much sheer stupidity and carelessness I see every single day out on the road.

Tailgating, in particular, is epidemic, and since this is not something that can be done accidentally I feel completely justified in calling tailgaters idiots. I have no problem with people making honest mistakes or occasional blunders on the road. We all do it. But tailgaters are idiots. Tailgaters on cellphones are worse than idiots.

Hugh, I'd say just go ahead and take the plunge. I remember thinking that if you were a poet it was okay to be a drunk. It was normal, it came with the territory. I remember thinking the same thing about being a non-driver. It was a silly way to think in both cases.

"I think this allergy to driving among poets might simply come from the fact that a car is basically a big machine" - or that poets like staring out of windows and drifting away. Or that they take an off-centre detail and let their imagination run riot - the black mark on the road ahead is a tyre-bursting spike; behind each parking car is a child about to cross the road. It's a trait that also leads to hypochrondria.