[David Anthony]

I think it's OK for poets to drive so long as they do it badly.
I often scribble notes for poems when driving, which ensures I drive badly, especially when using a mobile phone and eating a sandwich at the same time.

[wendy v]

David, if you're not also applying mascara, you've got nothing to brag about.

[Terese Coe]

What fun! I never tried applying mascara while driving. It must be awesome.

Considering the price of gas (petrol, you know?), perhaps a more germane question is whether good poets ride horses. And then there's dressage. I do think I could apply mascara on Golfball, but not on Shakti. Shakti doesn't know how to slow down enough to walk, and Golfball doesn't know how to run. Shakti likes to jump, and that's where I have sometimes had to get off (at her physiological behest, if you know what I mean. I guess I'm lucky she never broke any of my bones).

[Claudia Gary]

I spent almost all day driving last Friday, and wrote no poetry at all that day. So it must be true, Hugh.

[Duncan Gillies MacLaurin]

I only started driving 3 years ago, just before reaching 40. I was ambivalent about it and still am, but I must say that I have acquired a new sense of both freedom and responsibility. I have taken a new direction in my poetry since that time. I have immersed myself in the haiku spirit and taken a sharp knife to the cliché, padding, sentimentality and uninteresting subjectivity which previously riddled much of my poetry. And I would say with some confidence that I have become a better poet than I was before I started driving. Having the car also means I can reach the natural world more easily than before. I've now acquired a Peugeot 206 CC, which has a roof you can pack into the boot at a push of a button. It's a joy to drive. I cycle to work still in the summer months, but I drive to work in the winter months. And I no longer suffer from the bugs and viruses which cycling to work exacerbated. I'd been scrounging lifts with a good ecological conscience for 20 years, so now the shoe's on the other foot (as they say in Danish).

Your disinclination to start driving is a sure sign that you are a good poet, Hugh. Now, start driving.

Duncan

[wendy v]

Terese, applying mascara while driving is only awesome if there's a man in the car freaking out over it. This lends the activity a certain depth of meaning which is best described as perverse pleasure.

Since riding horses and bicycles is what I do most naturally and most frequently, I should like to mention that I can do these things not just while juggling a water bottle, bowling ball, and bullhorn, but while chewing gum. I am certain that taking advantage of all modes of transportation makes me a better poet. It should be said that it's a good idea for folks include such facts in all their cover letters and bios.

Always happy to pass on these helpful writerly tips.

[Mark Granier]

Well, this is pleasant enough, airing a few observations and laconic asides. But you were just kidding Hugh, right?


[This message has been edited by Mark Granier (edited October 03, 2005).]

[Duncan Gillies MacLaurin]

Why should Hugh just be kidding, Mark? Sure he presented it light-heartedly, but I can only assume that there is a serious consideration behind his question.

Oh, and Hugh, I forgot the most important thing of all. After acquiring a car I then saw my increased mobility as a basis for having a dog. The first I've ever had. And I'm so happy about having a dog. The atmosphere around my home has improved no end.

Start driving.

Duncan

[Katy Evans-Bush]

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).]

[Gregory Dowling]

Another solution: come and live in Venice.
Gregory