Well Hugh, I for one don't drive. But then you and I have opposite problems: every month I get a bus pass, put about £20 on my card for the tube, and take a few cabs. I love sitting up on the top deck of the bus, and have written many poems up there (of varying quality, I have to say).
You on the other hand are in a situation where you have to ask people for lifts, or possibly even stay home. My uncle, a painter in the Catskills, has to stay at home whenever my aunt is out; she's the wheels. Sometimes he gets stuck for days on end in the house, 3 miles from the nearest shop, and he's like 65 now, so it's no joke. (My other uncle, also a painter in the Catskills, who had only one hand, used to say he didn't drive "because I'm a Surrealist: I see things that aren't there." But my other aunt did used to ferry him and the kids around constantly.)
I've known poets who drove; I've known poets who were friends with Jo Shapcott & even liked driving. I know good poets with good cars, even, though there is a slight tendency towards little rattly things. I suppose it depends if they have partners with decent jobs. (Wallace Stevens aside, in most families I know where there's a poet AND money, the money doesn't come FROM the POET. James Merrill doesn't count.) And what about car radios? Come ON - there's the good side!
I think in Les Murray's case the driving takes on a role of celebration of the common man. Anne Sexton has a poem about driving home from having an abortion, I think. I can really picture Sylvia Plath behind the wheel, with a little headscarf and a back seat full of little kids. And Paul Muldoon - toss-up - he could love driving around Boston, or he could equally get his wife to take him places. Dunno. I think Wallace Stevens used to take the train, come to think of it (there's a story about him taking the train to Philadelphia on business and arriving at the other office with a bag full of doughnuts); & of course he walked to work, but he lived in town.
Hugh, no one is more car-phobic than me, I mean and not in a home. I HATE the things. But I think Duncan's example is potentially an inspiring one, & I think you could consider driving, because if I can hold coffee, apply mascara and read a book while going over speed bumps and changing the volume on my walkman, up there on the top deck, I guess you can drive and write notes for a poem. Especially in Misty Valley. It must be so pretty.
KEB
PS - However, you don't have to show this to your wife!
[This message has been edited by Katy Evans-Bush (edited October 03, 2005).]
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