Property:Parsed text
From Off the Road Database
"Parsed text" is a predefined property of type Text. This property is pre-deployed (also known as special property) and comes with additional administrative privileges but can be used just like any other user-defined property.
T
Bibliographic Information
Author
Auden, Wystan Hugh
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
W. H. Auden
Publisher
Faber and Faber
Year of Publication
1927
Pages
3
Additional information
-
Who stands, the crux left of the watershed,
On the wet road between the chafing grass
Below him sees dismantled washing-floors,
Snatches of tramline running to the wood,
An industry already comatose,
Yet sparsely living. A ramshackle engine
At Cashwell raises water; for ten years
It lay in flooded workings until this,
Its latter office, grudgingly performed.
And further here and there, though many dead
Lie under the poor soil, some acts are chosen
Taken from recent winters; two there were
Cleaned out a damaged shaft by hand, clutching
The winch the gale would tear them from; one died
During a storm, the fells impassable,
Not at his village, but in wooden shape
Through long abandoned levels nosed his way
And in his final valley went to ground.
road forest road condition engine personification risk safety death winter storm
Go home, now, stranger, proud of your young stock,
Stranger, turn back again, frustrate and vexed:
This land, cut off, will not communicate,
Be no accessory content to one
Aimless for faces rather there than here.
Beams from your car may cross a bedroom wall,
They wake no sleeper; you may hear the wind
Arriving driven from the ignorant sea
To hurt itself on pane, on bark of elm
Where sap unbaffled rises, being Spring;
But seldom this. Near you, taller than grass,
Ears poise before decision, scenting danger.
affect risk car metaphor wind ocean tree spring sound safety +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Williams, William Carlos
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1916
Pages
-
Additional information
-
At ten A.M. the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband's house.
I pass solitary in my car.
car driver
Then again she comes to the curb
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands
shy, uncorseted, tucking in
stray ends of hair, and I compare her
to a fallen leaf.
road roadside
The noiseless wheels of my car
rush with a crackling sound over
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.
car car part driver sound speed plant +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Sandburg, Carl
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Chicago Poems
Publisher
Henry Holt and Company
Year of Publication
1916
Pages
52
Additional information
-
Riding against the east,
A veering, steady shadow
Purrs the motor-call
Of the man-bird
Ready with the death-laughter
In his throat
And in his heart always
The love of the big blue beyond.
driving personification zoomorphism sound
Only a man,
A far fleck of shadow on the east
Sitting at ease
With his hands on a wheel
And around him the large gray wings.
Hold him, great soft wings,
Keep and deal kindly, O wings,
With the cool, calm shadow at the wheel.
car part driver +
Gender
Female
Ethnicity/Race
-
Nationality
American
Life span
-
Texts from Trinkle, Florence M.
Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout +
U
Gender
-
Ethnicity/Race
-
Nationality
-
Life span
-
Texts from Unknown
The Spirit of Transportation +
Gender
Male
Ethnicity/Race
Caucasian
Nationality
American
Life span
1885-1977
Texts from Untermeyer, Louis
Portrait of a Machine +
W
Bibliographic Information
Author
Sandburg, Carl
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Chicago Poems
Publisher
Henry Holt and Company
Year of Publication
1916
Pages
96
Additional information
-
In the old wars drum of hoofs and the beat of shod feet.
In the new wars hum of motors and the tread of rubber tires.
In the wars to come silent wheels and whirr of rods not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
car car part engine risk sound technology
In the old wars clutches of short swords and jabs into faces with spears.
In the new wars long range guns and smashed walls, guns running a spit of metal and men falling in tens and twenties.
In the wars to come new silent deaths, new silent hurlers not yet dreamed out in the heads of men.
In the old wars kings quarreling and thousands of men following.
In the new wars kings quarreling and millions of men following.
In the wars to come kings kicked under the dust and millions of men following great causes not yet dreamed out in the heads of men. +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Oppenheim, James
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Songs for the New Age
Publisher
The Century Co.
Year of Publication
1914
Pages
115-116
Additional information
-
Starless and still...
Who stopped this heart?
Who bound this city in a trance?
With open eyes the sleeping houses stare at the Park:
And among nude boughs the slumbering hanging moons are gazing:
And somnambulant drops of melting snow glide from the roofs and patter on the pave...
I in a dream draw the echoes of my footfall silvery sharp...
Sleep-walking city!
Who are the wide-eyed prowlers in the night?
What nightmare-ridden cars move through their own far thunder?
What living death of the wind rises, crackling the drowsy twigs?
urban car personification sound
In the enchantment of the ebb of life,
In the miracle of millions stretched in their rooms unconscious and breathing,
In the sleep of the broadcast people,
In the multitude of dreams rising from the houses,
I pause, frozen in a spell.
We sleep in the eternal arms of night:
We give ourselves, in the heart of peril,
To sheer unconsciousness:
Silently sliding through space, the huge globe turns.
I cannot go:
I dream that behind a window one wakes, a woman:
She is thinking of me. +
Gender
Female
Ethnicity/Race
-
Nationality
-
Life span
-
Texts from Weeks, Carrie Foote
The ABC of the Automobile +
Bibliographic Information
Author
McKay, Claude
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Spring in New Hampshire and Other Poems
Publisher
London Grant Richards Ltd
Year of Publication
1920
Pages
36-37
Additional information
-
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
Out of the tenements, cold as stone,
Dark figures start for work;
I watch them sadly shuffle on,
‘Tis dawn, dawn in New York.
car anthropomorphism personification sound sky urban
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh there! on the island of the sea
There I would be at dawn.
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The crazy, lazy cars,
And the same milk-carts go rumbling by
Under the dying stars.
A lonely newsboy hurries by,
Humming a recent ditty;
Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,
The dawn comes to the city.
personification sound car urban sky
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the cocks are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh there! on the island of the sea
There I would be at dawn.
Bibliographic Information
Author
Reynolds, Elsbery Washington
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
AutoLine o'Type
Publisher
The Book Supply Company
Year of Publication
1924
Pages
181-182
Additional information
-
Married life is a funny thing,
We take the fling with a wedding ring.
With some its one continuous fight,
They kick and scratch and sometimes bite.
God made all things to live by pair,
The beasts of field and birds of air
He made to make no bad mistakes,
But man he left to make some breaks.
The creatures dumb of all the earth,
By Nature’s laws are giving birth.
But laws of God for good of man,
By men are broken out of ban.
When man does choose his mate for life,
He would avoid so much of strife,
If he would use his common sense,
And not so often be so dense.
For men who fail to keep in sight,
The laws of God for doing right,
The laws of man are also made,
With price to pay if you evade.
But married life will have its flaws,
Till states alike have divorce laws.
They’ve got to come to save the home,
Or things will be just like Old Rome.
Words so sweet and words of leaven,
Are those of Mother, Home and Heaven.
When these we learn and get them clear,
No more divorce we then will fear.
To man his married life’s a boon,
If it is sweet and right in tune.
But fights and scraps and family jars,
Are worse than some old motor cars.
car metaphor
When trouble brews twixt man and wife,
As troubles do in married life,
Take our advice and seek a breaker,
The best for you is a Studebaker.
— The Car with Character.
car model safety +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Reynolds, Elsbery Washington
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
AutoLine o'Type
Publisher
The Book Supply Company
Year of Publication
1924
Pages
24
Additional information
-
Somebody said it can't be done,
Salaries to all and commissions none.
We smiled till tears were in our eyes,
For can't is a word we do despise.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
Somebody scoffed it can't be done,
Seven per cent to every last one.
No compound rate or broker's fee,
Will send you sure into bankruptcy.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
Somebody sneered it can't be done,
Carry your paper for each mother's son.
You can't collect, your loss run high,
Let broker and banker cut the pie.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
Somebody croaked it can't be done,
Service by night without the sun.
Expenses great will bring you ruin,
We heard them not with all their wooin'.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
Somebody mocked it can't be done,
Back with you name the cars that 'ave run.
Your profits will in them surely go,
The public be d—d so take them low.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
car
Somebody gibed it can't be done,
This thing and that and the other one.
So we took off our coat and defied the whole ring,
And we started to sing as we tackled the thing.
We have done the thing that couldn't be done.
Some people live neath clouds of dread
And never see a single star.
Happier, they would be, if dead
And riding in a Studebaker Car.
car model
—The Car with Character. +
Gender
Male
Ethnicity/Race
Caucasian
Nationality
American
Life span
1883-1963
Texts from Williams, William Carlos
The Young Housewife +
Gender
Female
Ethnicity/Race
Caucasian
Nationality
American
Life span
1878-1960
Texts from Wilson Baker, Karle
The Small Town Celebrates +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Josephson, Matthew
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
Merz Verlag
Year of Publication
1923
Pages
62
Additional information
The poem was simultaneously published in a German and an American journal.
With the brain at the wheel
The eye on the road
And the hand to the left
Pleasant be your progress
Explorer producer stoic after your fashion
Change
Change to
To what speed to what underwear
Here is a town here a mill
Nothing surprizes you old horseface
Guzzle guzzle goes the siren
And the world will learn to admire and applaud your concern
with the parts your firmness with employees and your justice to your friends.
Your pride will not be overridden
Your faith will go unmortified.
car part vision haptic sound metaphor driving +
Gender
Female
Ethnicity/Race
-
Nationality
American
Life span
1873-1958
Texts from Wyatt, Edith
On the Great Plateau +
X
Bibliographic Information
Author
Williams, William Carlos
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Spring and All
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1923
Pages
-
Additional information
-
In passing with my mind
on nothing in the world
but the right of way
I enjoyed on the road by
road law
virtue of the law –
I saw
law
an elderly man who
smiled and looked away
to the north past a house –
a woman in blue
who was laughing and
leaning forward to look up
into the man’s half
averted face
and a boy of eight who was
looking at the middle of
the man’s belly
at a watchchain –
The supreme importance
of this nameless spectacle
sped me by them
without a word –
speed
Why bother where I went?
for I went spinning on the
driving
four wheels of my car
along the wet road until
car car part road road condition
I saw a girl with one leg
over the rail of a balcony +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Auden, Wystan Hugh
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
W. H. Auden Poems
Publisher
Faber and Faber
Year of Publication
1930
Pages
65-68
Additional information
-
Get there if you can and see the land you once were proud to own
Though the roads have almost vanished and the expresses never run:
nostalgia road
Smokeless chimneys, damaged bridges, rotting wharves and choked canals,
Tramlines buckled, smashed trucks lying on their side across the rails;
infrastructure bridge truck
Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires;
Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires;
infrastructure
Head-gears gaunt on grass-grown pit-banks, seams abandoned years ago;
Drop a stone and listen for its splash in flooded dark below.
Squeeze into the works through broken windows or through damp-sprung doors;
See the rotted shafting, see holes gaping in the upper floors;
Where the Sunday lads come talking motor bicycle and girl,
Smoking cigarettes in chains until their heads are in a whirl.
motorcycle
Far from there we spent the money, thinking we could well afford,
While they quietly undersold us with their cheaper trade abroad;
At the theatre, playing tennis, driving motor cars we had,
In our continental villas, mixing cocktails for a cad.
driving
These were boon companions who devised the legends for our tombs,
These who have betrayed us nicely while we took them to our rooms.
Newman, Ciddy, Plato, Fronny, Pascal, Bowdler, Baudelaire,
Doctor Frommer, Mrs Allom, Freud, the Baron, and Flaubert.
Lured with their compelling logic, charmed with beauty of their verse,
With their loaded sideboards whispered ‘Better join us, life is worse.’
Taught us at the annual camps arranged by the big business men
‘Sunbathe, pretty till you’re twenty. You shall be our servants then.’
Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares —
Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs.
Yours you say were parents to avoid, avoid then if you please
Do the reverse on all occasion till you catch the same disease.
When we asked the way to Heaven, these directed us ahead
To the padded room, the clinic and the hangman’s little shed.
Intimate as war-time prisoners in an isolation camp,
Living month by month together, nervy, famished, lousy, damp.
On the sopping esplanade or from our dingy lodgings we
Stare out dully at the rain which falls for miles into the sea.
Lawrence, Blake and Homer Lane, once healers in our English land;
These are dead as iron for ever; these can never hold our hand.
Lawrence was brought down by smut-hounds, Blake went dotty as he sang,
Homer Lane was killed in action by the Twickenham Baptist gang.
Have things gone too far already? Are we done for? Must we wait
Hearing doom’s approaching footsteps regular down miles of straight;
Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath,
Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death;
Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash
Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash;
Engine-drivers with their oil-cans, factory girls in overalls
Blowing sky-high monster stores, destroying intellectuals?
resources oil engine driver sky pollution metaphor
Hope and fear are neck and neck: which is it near the course’s end
Crashes, having lost his nerve; is overtaken on the bend?
crash
Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town,
Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down.
Drop those priggish ways for ever, stop behaving like a stone:
Throw the bath-chairs right away, and learn to leave ourselves alone.
If we really want to live, we’d better start at once to try;
If we don’t, it doesn’t matter, but we’d better start to die.