Property:Parsed text
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"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
Fraser, Vonard
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Motor Land
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1922
Pages
16
Additional information
-
Through the forest aisles to the silver sea,
To the crest of the sun-kissed hills,
As the motor sings on the Open Road
And the heart of all nature thrills.
forest ocean topography music sound personification road scenery
There’s a subtle lure in the summer air,
Wherever the road may lead,
And a power that throbs with the pulsing gears—
What a joy in the Age of Speed!
car part power speed pleasure road personification haptic summer
There’s a pleasure here that our fathers knew
At the pull of the dappled greys,
Or the Roman lord with his Arab steed
As he basked in the public gaze.
animal
From the snow-clad peaks of the Siskiyous
To the warmth of the southern sun,
Over roads that wind through the marts of trade,
Does the traffic of pleasure run.
snow sunshine driving mountain scenery traffic pleasure
And we laugh at Time as the tardy Hours
In their gallop from Day’s red dawn
Are outdistanced far in the swift-sped race
By this product of brain and brawn.
animal metaphor technology car speed
lt’s the key to health and a newer life,
Where the treasures of Nature lie,
As the seasons pass from the Spring’s sweet breath
To the chill of the Winter's sigh.
health spring winter
And the dream of man is a broader dream
With the span of his life’s increase,
And the throbbing pulse of the motor car
Bears him nearer the haunts of Peace.
health agency haptic car
And the country calls to the city-bred,
"Come away from the fields of strife,
For a breath of air from the snow-clad peaks
In the traffic of Joy is Life.”
rural urban traffic
C
Bibliographic Information
Author
Sandburg, Carl
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Chicago Poems
Publisher
Henry Holt and Company
Year of Publication
1916
Pages
12
Additional information
-
Dust of the feet
And dust of the wheels,
Wagons and people going,
All day feet and wheels.
dust car part pedestrianism traffic urban
Now. . .
. . Only stars and mist
A lonely policeman,
Two cabaret dancers,
Stars and mist again,
No more feet or wheels,
No more dust and wagons.
car part dust
Voices of dollars
And drops of blood
. . . . .
Voices of broken hearts,
. . Voices singing, singing,
. . Silver voices, singing,
Softer than the stars,
Softer than the mist. +
A
Bibliographic Information
Author
Shanks, Charles B.
Genre
Non-Fiction
Journal or Book
Scientific American
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1901
Pages
81-90
Additional information
-
infrastructure road condition risk driving skill
Covering the North American continent from the Pacific coast to the Atlantic Ocean in an automobile has been attempted by Alexander Winton, president of The Winton Motor Carriage Company, of Cleveland. That the expedition failed is no fault of the machine Mr. Winton used, nor was it due to absence of grit or determination on the part of the operator. Neither was the failure due to roads. The utter absence of roads was the direct and only cause.
car ocean driver road infrastructure
Having been with Mr. Winton on this trip, I saw and experienced things the like of which automobile drivers in every civilized portion of the North American continent know not of, nor can an active imagination be brought to picture the terrible abuse the machine had to take, or the hardships its riders endured in forcing and fighting the way from San Francisco to that point in Nevada where the project was abandoned—where Mr. Winton had forced upon him the positive conviction that to put an automobile across the sand hills of the Nevada desert was an utter impossibility under existing conditions.
car infrastructure risk road condition
Rock roads and deep snow in the high Sierras were encountered and mastered, streams were forded and washouts passed, adobe mud into which the machine sank deep and became tightly imbedded failed to change the plucky operator's mind about crowding the motor eastward toward the hoped-for goal. It was the soft, shifting, bottomless, rolling sand—not so bad to look upon from car windows, but terrible when actually encountered— that caused the abandonment of the enterprise and resulted in the announcement by wire to eastern newspaper connections that the trip was "off."
adobe car car part driving mud road road condition
To those who are interested in knowing what was met and mastered during the days we were out from San Francisco; to those who wish to learn some facts about automobiling in a section of this country where all kinds of climate and every condition of road may be encountered in a single day, the experiences of the short trip will satisfy.
road condition
Our expedition left the government building in San Francisco and started across the bay for Oakland at 7:15 A.M., Monday, May 20. Left ferry foot of Broadway and got on road at 8 A.M. Turned off Broadway at San Pablo Avenue heading for Port Costa, distance thirty-two miles, hoping to reach there in time to catch the Sacramento River ferry to cross with Southern Pacific Express No. 4, which left Oakland at 8:01 with schedule to reach Port Costa at 9:15 A.M.
driving river West
Instead of running the thirty-two miles, we clipped off forty-four between Oakland and Port Costa as a consequence of mistaking the road to San Pablo and going around by way of Martinez. Reached Port Costa too late for the No. 4 trip and had to wait until 11:17 A.M., when the transcontinental express (The Overland Limited) was ferried over.
river train West
All morning the sky, which during the three weeks preceding had been clear and bright, was heavy with clouds. Before the opposite bank of the Sacramento was touched, the clouds opened. And what an opening it was. Adobe roads when dry and hard hold out opportunities for good going, but when the sponge-like soil is soaked with moisture, when your wheels cut in, spin around, slip and slide from the course and suddenly your machine is off the road and into the swamp ditch—buried to the axles in the soft "doby"—then the fun begins.
adobe weather car part driving risk river road road condition
Pull out block and tackle, wade around in the mud, get soaked to the skin and chilled from the effects of the deluge, make fastenings to the fence or telephone post and pull. Pull hard, dig your heels into the mud, and exert every effort at command. The machine moves, your feet slip and down in the mud you go full length. Repeat the dose and continue the operation until the machine is free from the ditch and again upon the road.
mud road driving slowness
Tie ropes around the tires to prevent slipping. It may help some, but the measure is not entirely effective, for down in the bog you find yourself soon again and once more the block and tackle are brought into play. Slow work—not discouraging in the least, but a bit disagreeable, considering that it is the first day out and you are anxious to make a clever initial run.
car part risk affect
After twelve hours' severe experience and the rain still pouring down, halt is made abreast of a lane leading to a ranchman's home. This ranchman is A. W. Butler. He came down to the road and replying to interrogations tells you that to Rio Vista, nine miles ahead, the road is particularly bad because of plowing and grading. Arrangements are made for our staying all night with him. The machine is run in his barn, we eat supper with intense relish, go to bed and get up early to find more rain, but a breaking up of the clouds with prospect of sunshine later.
road road condition night road surface
Got upon the road 7:40 A.M. Reached Rio Vista and two miles further on to "Old River" at 8:40. Go east on the levee road, which is of adobe formation with steep descending banks on both sides. On the left side is the river; the opposite bank runs down to a thicket, beyond which are orchards. Slide off the treacherous road on either side and nothing short of a derrick and wrecking crew could serve to a practical and satisfactory end.
adobe risk river road road side road surface rural scenery
A few miles from the ferry, a tree had fallen across the road. Mr. Winton used the ax to splendid advantage and, after some delay, the road was clear, and we were going ahead once more. Reached Sacramento at 1:15 P.m., but delayed in California's capital city just long enough to take on five gallons of gasoline. One we went toward the Sierras, passing through Roseville, Rocklin, Loomis, Penry, New Castle, Auburn, Colfax, Cape Horn Mills, and when darkness was fast approaching halt was made in the little gold mining town of Gold Run.
accident driving gasoline risk road tree West
From Auburn the climb commenced, and when Colfax was reached and passed, Mr. Winton was busy with his skillful knowledge in crowding the machine up steep mountain grades, along dangerous shelf roads from which one might look deep into canons and listen to the distant roaring of rushing waters below.
driving mountain risk driving skill road condition
Ordinarily there would be great danger in speed under such conditions—and there may have been risk to life and limb at the time, but I knew Mr. Winton, I knew him for his skill and that there was no call for nervousness with him at the wheel, so I sat back and enjoyed the scenery.
driver driving skill speed passenger risk scenery
Reached Gold Run at 7:40 P.M., just in time to escape darkness and avoid going into camp on the mountain side. On such roads, or, rather, surrounded as we were by canons, operation in the dark could not be regarded as safe. Our run that day was 123 miles.
risk road mountain road condition
Next morning, May 22, at 6:45 o'clock, the ascent was recommenced. Up and up we went, winding around and turning in many directions--but always up. From Gold Run we passed along through Dutch Flat, Towle, Blue Canon, Emigrant Gap, Cisco, and on to Cascade. Roads became particularly rugged after leaving Gold Run, and when we reached Emigrant Gap the few inhabitants who make that their home told us fully what rock roads and snow deposits would have to be encountered between their station and across the summit down to Donner Lake.
driving mountain snow road condition
It was the universal opinion that if the machine could stand the punishment sure to be inflicted between the Gap and Donner Lake, it would not be troubled at any point east of the Sierras, between Truckee, Cal., and New York City. Leaving Emigrant Gap, the game commenced in earnest. Unbridged streams were encountered and the machine took to the water like a duck in high spirits. Splash she would go in, and drenched she would come out. The water would many times come up as high as the motor and up would go our feet to prevent them getting wet.
driving infrastructure river personification car part road condition
When the New Hampshire Rocks were met, trouble seemed to be ahead. I asked Mr. Winton if he would put the machine to what appeared to me the supreme and awful test. "Of course I will," was the short and meaning answer, and on went the machine. One big bump and I shot into the air like a rocket. I was not thrown from the machine, however, and thereafter busied myself hanging on with hands and bracing with feet. At every turn and twist in the road, the rocks grew larger, and I wondered if anything mechanical could stand the terrible punishment.
passenger car part road condition
The motor never flinched, its power never lagged, it pulled us through those rocks and up the stiff grades. Emigrants westward bound in the early days would never trust horses or mules to convey their wagons safely to the bottom of one particularly stiff and rugged grade which Mr. Winton caused the motor to ascend. Those early day pathfinders would tie a rope to the rear axle of the wagon, take a turn around a tree and lower it gently.
car car part engine driving personification tree
We at last got through the New Hampshire Rocks and began calculating what would be our fate in the snow immediately to be encountered. The Cascade Creek, swollen by the melting mountain snows to river proportions, caused a halt about one-half mile west from the commencement of what was expected to be bothersome snow.
The water in the stream was clear and sparkling, the current swift, and the bottom filled with huge sharp rocks. Mr. Winton pulled in the lever, the machine forged ahead. Splash and bump, bump and splash. Front wheels struck something big and hard, they went up in the air and when coming down, almost at the east bank, the right front wheel with a wet tire struck a wet slanting rock. The wheel was hard put, something must give way—and it did. The front axle on the right side sustained an injury, and after a lurch ahead the machine came to a sudden standstill.
accident car part driving personification river
Mr. Winton sent me to hunt a telegraph station. Walked east for about a mile until I could look up the mountain side and see the railroad snow sheds with some sort of a station in an opening. I climbed up through the snow, over fallen trees, broke passage through tangled bushes, and finally came upon a surprised operator, who asked what the trouble was. It was a little telegraph station for railroad service only, but the dispatcher took my messages and repeated them to the Gap, from which point they were sent, one to the Winton factory at Cleveland, asking for duplicate of part damaged, and another to L. S. Keeley, of Emigrant Gap, to come for us and our effects and take us back to the Gap, where we would wait for the repair parts. The machine was left alone in the mountain wilderness.
car car part maintenance risk road side
Arrived at the Gap and Mr. Winton soon developed uneasiness because of the enforced delay in the trip. Next morning he announced his intention of making a temporary repair and working ahead slowly through the snow.
maintenance snow road condition
On the following morning (May 24) at 7 o'clock, the repair had been completed. When darkness enveloped us that evening, the machine had covered seventeen miles. And such a day of battle. When it was over, we had reached and passed the summit of the high Sierras, the machine was hard and fast in a snow bank at the bottom of "Tunnel No. 6 hill," a treacherous descent, along which there was great peril every moment.
driving mountain risk
We walked back to Summit Station and stayed at the hotel that night. Next morning, aided by some kindly disposed railroad men who could handle shovels most effectively, the machine was dislodged.
equipment
Since the day in the snow banks, I have called it to Mr. Winton's mind. He says that the frightful experiences of that day, the abuse and hardship to which the machine was subjected, stay in his mind like the remembrance of an ugly nightmare. During the entire day, working up there among the clouds, we were cold and drenched. When it did not rain, it snowed or hailed.
On the 25th, after getting free from the snow bank and passing through a number of small deposits, we got to Truckee, where we took on fuel and went on to Hobart Mills, a delightful lumber town, where Mr. Winton decided we would stay during the following day, Sunday, and dry our clothes. Reached Hobart Mills in a terrific downpour.
gasoline city
The officials of the Sierra Nevada Wood and Lumber Company (the "company" owns the town and all there is in it) were particularly generous in bestowing upon us many courtesies and making the time we spent with them in Hobart Mills that of delightful remembrance.
Monday, May 27, started 6 A.M. from Hobart Mills, and that afternoon, toward evening, reached Wadsworth, Nev., the western gate to one of the worst patches of desert sand in that section. That day was another of rain. The early morning hours were bright, but when Reno, Nev., was left behind the skies changed from blue to white, then to a dark color and the clouds that had so quickly formed opened and spilled their contents about and upon us.
desert rain road condition
Reached Wadsworth splashed and covered with mud, wet through and hungry. Spent night at Wadsworth. Residents warned Mr. Winton about sand, more especially the sand hill just east of the town. Next morning we took on stock of rations and drinking water. That "sand hill," or rather the remembrance of it and the balance of our trip to Desert Station that day, are like the remembrance of another beastly nightmare.
desert mud road condition
All during the afternoon, it rained and the wind blew a gale, but the temperature was high and we did not mind. Had it not been for the rain and its cooling effect there on the sand and sage brush desert, I doubt whether we could have stood it.
desert wind temperature
The storm that day caused us to speculate largely as to whether some of the many bolts of lightning hitting close around us would not strike the machine, demolish it completely, and incidentally put the operator and passenger out of business.
driver lightning passenger car risk personification
But a kind providence was with us during the storm, and the lightning kept off. Getting up the Wadsworth sand hill, we cut sage brush and kept piling it up in front of all four wheels to give them something to hold to and prevent slipping and burrowing in the soft sand until the machine was buried to the axles and it became necessary to use block, tackle, and shovels to pull up to the surface. Got to the top at last, but found no improvement in sand conditions. It was the hardest kind of work to make the slightest progress, but at 5:45 in the evening halted at Desert Station, a place inhabited by D. H. Gates, section boss, his wife, Train Dispatcher Howard (his office, cook house, etc., were all combined in a box car which had been set out on a short siding), and a dozen Japanese section hands.
storm car part desert equipment road condition
Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day.
We found the roads somewhat improved and on and on we went through that vast country of magnificent distances. We were in the country where rattlesnakes were thickest, near Pyramid Rock, of which one writer says: "This rock pyramid is alleged to be the home of rattlesnakes so numerous as to defy extermination."
road road condition
When out of the machine and walking around bunches of sage brush care was exercised in keeping out of striking range of these venomous reptiles. Mr. Winton has some tail end rattles as trophies, but I was not so anxious to get close enough to kill the snakes and cut off their tails.
parking road side animal
That day we plunged through four unbridged streams, and in one place where a bad washout had occurred, it became necessary for us to build a bridge before the machine would “take the ditch.” We lugged railroad ties—many ties from a pile close to the railroad tracks some distance away. And they were heavier than five-pound boxes of chocolate, but we finally got enough and bumped the machine through and on its way.
river infrastructure
Mill City was reached shortly before 5 o'clock. The Southern Pacific agent there said we could never get to Winnemucca (thirty miles to the east) that night because of the sand hills; the quicksand would bury us, he said. Another man who came up discussed the sand proposition with Mr. Winton and told him that there would be only one way in which "that there thing" could get through this thirty miles' stretch of quicksand. "How?" asked Mr. Winton. "Load her on a flat car and be pulled to Winnemucca."
"Not on your life," retorted the plucky automobilist; into the carriage I jumped, he pulled the lever and off we went. The course led up a hill, but there was enough bottom to the sand to give the wheels a purchase and from the hill summit we forged down into the valley where the country was comparatively level. Nothing in sight but sage brush and sand, sand and sage brush.
car part driving desert driver passenger plant
Two miles of it were covered. Progress was slow, the sand became deeper and deeper as we progressed. At last the carriage stopped, the driving wheels sped on and cut deep into the bottomless sand. We used block and tackle, got the machine from its hole, and tried again. Same result. Tied more ropes around wheels with the hope that the corrugation would give them sufficient purchase in the sand. Result: wheels cut deeper in less time than before.
car part equipment road condition slowness
It was a condition never encountered by an automobilist in the history of the industry. We were in soft, shifting quicksand where power counted as nothing. We were face to face with a condition the like of which cannot be imagined—one must be in it, fight with it, be conquered by it, before a full and complete realization of what it actually is will dawn upon the mind.
risk road condition
Mr. Winton said to me: "Do you know what we are up against here? I told the Plain Dealer I would put this enterprise through If it were possible. Right here we are met by the impossible. Under present conditions no automobile can go through this quicksand." I suggested loading the machine and sending it by freight to Winnemucca. "No, sir," he flashed back emphatically. "If we can't do it on our own power this expedition ends right here, and I go back with a knowledge of conditions and an experience such as no automobilist in this or any other country has gained."
road condition car
When, after serious deliberation, he decided to abandon the trip he said: "If I attempt this game again, I will construct a machine on peculiar lines. No man who expects to operate in the civilized portions of this continent would take the machine for his individual service about cities and throughout ordinary country, but I tell you it will go through sand—and this quicksand at that."
There is nothing more to tell. We left Mill City that night and rode into Winnemucca on a freight train. The machine, aided by its own power, had been hauled from its bed by horses and returned to Mill City, where arrangements were made to load it for Cleveland. We left Winnemucca May 30, at 2:40 P.M. on a Southern Pacific passenger train, and arrived in Cleveland June 2, at 7:35 P.M.
train
O
Bibliographic Information
Author
Shackelford, Otis M.
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Seeking the Best
Publisher
Franklin Hudson Publishing
Year of Publication
1909
Pages
98
Additional information
-
They would steal old master's horses,
Fat and sleek and full of spirit;
Steal them while that he was sleeping,
Soundly sleeping in his mansion;
From the stable would they steal them,
Ride them upward through the valley
To the place of fun and frolic,
Till they reached the very doorway
Of the place of fun and frolic.
There a score or more of Negroes
Would assemble in the night-time,
Would assemble for their pleasure,
After toiling hard the day long,
After toiling hard the week long.
Thus they whiled away their sorrow,
Thus they made their burdens lighter,
Thus they had their recreation,
Through a life that was a struggle.
road race animal +
B
Bibliographic Information
Author
Auden, Wystan Hugh
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1928
Pages
40-41
Additional information
-
Between attention and attention
The first and last decision
Is mortal distraction
Of earth and air,
Further and nearer,
The vague wants
Of days and nights,
And personal error;
And the fatigued face.
Taking the strain
Of the horizontal force
And the vertical thrust,
Makes random answer
To the crucial test;
The uncertain flesh
Scraping back chair
For the wrong train,
Falling in slush,
Before a friend’s friends
Or shaking hands
With a snub-nosed winner.
traffic train metaphor
The opening window, closing door,
Open, close, but not
To finish or restore;
These wishes get
No further than
The edges of the town,
And leaning asking from the car
Cannot tell us where we are;
While the divided face
Has no grace,
No discretion,
No occupation
But registering
Acreage, mileage,
The easy knowledge
Of the virtuous thing.
town car car part driver metaphor metaphysics personification +
M
Bibliographic Information
Author
Reynolds, Elsbery Washington
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
AutoLine o'Type
Publisher
The Book Supply Company
Year of Publication
1924
Pages
150
Additional information
-
He went to war and gained renown,
In every fight he stood his ground,
Bullets passed him thick and fast,
Not a scratch from first to last.
We now relate this sorry fact,
He’s been a month upon his back,
On both his cheeks he’ll have a scar,
He stepped in front of a motor car.
car risk +
W
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 +
R
Bibliographic Information
Author
Aldington, Richard
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1928
Pages
52
Additional information
-
Vagabonds of beauty,
Wistful, exquisite waifs
From a lost, and a forgotten, and a lovely land,
We cannot comfort you
Though our souls yearn for you.
car metaphor affect
You are delicate strangers
In a gloomy town,
Stared at and hated—
Gold crocus blossoms in a drab lane.
city affect road metaphor
We cannot comfort you;
Your life is anguish;
All we can do—
Mutely bring pungent herbs and branches of oak
And resinous scented pine wreaths
To hide the crown of thorny pain
Crushing your white frail foreheads.
road road condition car metaphor affect plant +
Bibliographic Information
Author
Reynolds, Elsbery Washington
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
AutoLine o'Type
Publisher
The Book Supply Company
Year of Publication
1924
Pages
196
Additional information
-
There came to us a vision of life’s perpetual dream,
We made our decision to follow up the gleam.
We could build a fortune big and doubly sure,
Raising market rabbits if the breed was pure.
We bought up all the lumber in Curran’s lumber yard,
Built a thousand hutches, for cost had no regard.
Faithfully with many tools we labored every day,
Fully settled in our mind we’d make the rabbits pay.
We were told by rabbit men, buy only blooded stock,
Every breeder of a kind would all the others knock.
To get the weight it seemed to us the safe and easy way,
Only raise the blooded stock of purest Belgian gray.
So we bought at fancy price a hundred for a start,
We’d show the rabbit men that we were very smart.
We saw them grow and multiply, built castles in the air,
Figured what we’d also buy from raising Belgian hare.
A fleet of latest motor cars, the best ones ever built,
Masterpieces, too, of art in frames of finest gilt.
Profits from our rabbits would buy us many things,
Wipe away the loss our orchard always brings.
car sublime
But rabbits often figure out in real the other way,
We weren’t slow in finding out, buying Hinman hay.
For every dollar rabbits brought two was spent for grain,
We sold a million, more or less, but not a cent of gain.
Had we the balance of our life raised only Belgian hare,
In years a few, at best, our cupboard would be bare.
A bankrupt we would turn to be and die a debtor slave,
Rabbits beat the world to eat a man into his grave.
Man is dreaming when he says, money he has made,
Raising Belgian rabbits as his only line of trade.
We had our fun, quit the game, for a better profit-maker,
The rest of life we’ll be content in selling Studebaker.
car model safety
Bibliographic Information
Author
Aldington, Richard
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1928
Pages
152
Additional information
-
Deadness of English winter, dreariness,
cold sky over provincial towns, mist.
Melancholy of undulating trams
solitary jangling through muddy streets,
narrowness, imperfection, dullness,
black extinguisher over English towns;
mediocre women in dull clothes—
their nudity a disaster—
heavy cunning men (guts and passbooks),
relics of gentry, workmen on bicycles,
puffy small whores, baby carriages,
shops, newspapers, bets, cinemas, allotments . . .
traffic mud road condition fog winter bicycle pedestrian road side town
These are your blood; their begetters
made in the same bed as yours
(horror of copulation),
colossal promiscuity of flesh through centuries
(seed and cemeteries).
Sculptor! show Mars
bloody in gas-lit abattoirs,
Apollo organist of Saint Mary's,
Venus of High Street, Athena,
worshipped at National schools.
Painter! there are beets in allotments,
embankments, coal-yards, villas, grease,
interpret the music, orchestra,
trams, trains, cars, hobnails, factories—
O poet! chant them to the pianola,
to the metronome in faultless verse . . .
car sound town train other mobilities road urban +
A
Bibliographic Information
Author
Braithwaite, William S.
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
-
Publisher
-
Year of Publication
1908
Pages
30
Additional information
-
A white road between sea and land,
Night and silence on either hand––
Pointing to some unknown gate
A white forefinger of fate.
road ocean night sound metaphor
I follow, I follow––I'll wend
My way on this road to the end;
Silence may keep to the sea,
On land no light shines free.
road metaphor navigation
Bend low, impenetrable sky––
Through your shades my road runs high:
It needs no stars to guide––
No measuring sea-tide.
navigation sky road metaphor
I breathe the imperishable breath,
I trespass the bounds of death––
For my heart knows all the way
To the eternal day.
death sublime +
F
Bibliographic Information
Author
Parker, Dorothy
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Enough Rope
Publisher
Horace Liveright
Year of Publication
1926
Pages
82
Additional information
-
Now it’s over, and now it’s done;
Why does everything look the same?
Just as bright, the unheeding sun,—
Can’t it see that the parting came?
People hurry and work and swear,
Laugh and grumble and die and wed,
Ponder what they will eat and wear,—
Don’t they know that our love is dead?
Just as busy, the crowded street;
Cars and wagons go rolling on,
Children chuckle, and lovers meet,—
Don’t they know that our love is gone?
No one pauses to pay a tear;
None walks slow, for the love that’s through,—
I might mention, my recent dear,
I’ve reverted to normal, too.
car street urban traffic +
O
Bibliographic Information
Author
Frost, Robert
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
New Hampshire. A Poem with Notes and Grace Notes
Publisher
Henry Holt
Year of Publication
1923
Pages
109
Additional information
-
tree road metaphor
(To hear us talk)
The tree the tempest with a crash of wood
Throws down in front of us is not to bar
Our passage to our journey's end for good,
But just to ask us who we think we are
tree navigation personification
Insisting always on our own way so.
She likes to halt us in our runner tracks,
And make us get down in a foot of snow
Debating what to do without an axe.
road condition risk tree personification equipment
And yet she knows obstruction is in vain:
We will not be put off the final goal
We have it hidden in us to attain,
Not though we have to seize earth by the pole
And, tired of aimless circling in one place,
Steer straight off after something into space.
agency driving safety +
C
Bibliographic Information
Author
Oppenheim, James
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Songs for the New Age
Publisher
The Century Co.
Year of Publication
1914
Pages
9-10
Additional information
-
Civilization!
Everybody kind and gentle, and men giving up
their seats in the car for the women...
What an ideal!
How bracing!
car car part
Is this what we want?
Have so many generations lived and died for this?
There have been Crusades, persecutions, wars, and majestic arts,
There have been murders and passions and horrors since man was in the jungle...
What was this blood-toll for?
Just so that everybody could have a full belly and be well-mannered?
But let us not fool ourselves:
This civilization is mostly varnish very thinly laid on...
Take any newspaper any morning: scan through it...
Rape, murder, villany, and picking and stealing:
The mob that tore a negro to pieces, the men that ravished a young girl:
The safe-blowing gang and the fat cowardly promoter who stole people’s savings...
Just scan it through: this news of civilization...
Away then, with soft ideals:
Brace yourself with bitterness:
A drink of that biting liquor, the Truth...
Let us not be afraid of ourselves, but face ourselves and confess what we are:
Let us go backward a while that we may go forward:
This is an excellent age for insurrection, revolt, and the reddest of revolutions... +
F
Bibliographic Information
Author
Crane, Hart
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
White Buildings
Publisher
Boni & Liveright
Year of Publication
1926
Pages
37-44
Additional information
-
“And so we may arrive by Talmud skill
And profane Greek to raise the building up
Of Helen’s house against the Ismaelite,
King of Thogarma, and his habergeons
Brimstony, blue and fiery; and the force
Of King Abaddon, and the beast of Cuttim ;
Which Rabb David Kimchi, Onkelos,
And Aben Ezra do interpret Rome.”
—THE ALCHEMIST
I
The mind has shown itself at times
Too much the baked and labeled dough
Divided by accepted multitudes.
Across the stacked partitions of the day—
Across the memoranda, baseball scores,
The stenographic smiles and stock quotations
Smutty wings flash out equivocations.
The mind is brushed by sparrow wings;
Numbers, rebuffed by asphalt, crowd
The margins of the day, accent the curbs,
Convoying divers dawns on every corner
To druggist, barber and tobacconist,
Until the graduate opacities of evening
Take them away as suddenly to somewhere
Virginal perhaps, less fragmentary, cool.
road urban
There is the world dimensional for
those untwisted by the love of things
irreconcilable . . .
And yet, suppose some evening I forgot
The fare and transfer, yet got by that way
Without recall,— lost yet poised in traffic.
Then I might find your eyes across an aisle,
Still flickering with those prefigurations—
Prodigal, yet uncontested now,
Half-riant before the jerky window frame.
road traffic affect nostalgia
There is some way, I think, to touch
Those hands of yours that count the nights
Stippled with pink and green advertisements.
And now, before its arteries turn dark,
I would have you meet this bartered blood.
Imminent in his dream, none better knows
The white wafer cheek of love, or offers words
Lightly as moonlight on the eaves meets snow.
Reflective conversion of all things
At your deep blush, when ecstasies thread
The limbs and belly, when rainbows spread
Impinging on the throat and sides . . .
Inevitable, the body of the world
Weeps in inventive dust for the hiatus
That winks above it, bluet in your breasts.
The earth may glide diaphanous to death;
But if I lift my arms it is to bend
To you who turned away once, Helen, knowing
The press of troubled hands, too alternate
With steel and soil to hold you endlessly.
I meet you, therefore, in that eventual flame
You found in final chains, no captive then—
Beyond their million brittle, bloodshot eyes;
White, through white cities passed on to assume
That world which comes to each of us alone.
Accept a lone eye riveted to your plane,
Bent axle of devotion along companion ways
That beat, continuous, to hourless days—
One inconspicuous, glowing orb of praise.
II
Brazen hypnotics glitter here;
Glee shifts from foot to foot,
Magnetic to their tremolo.
This crashing opera bouffe,
Blest excursion! this ricochet
From roof to roof—
Know, Olympians, we are breathless
While nigger cupids scour the stars!
A thousand light shrugs balance us
Through snarling hails of melody.
White shadows slip across the floor
Splayed like cards from a loose hand;
Rhythmic ellipses lead into canters
Until somewhere a rooster banters.
Greet naïvely—yet intrepidly
New soothings, new amazements
That cornets introduce at every turn—
And you may fall downstairs with me
With perfect grace and equanimity.
Or, plaintively scud past shores
Where, by strange harmonic laws
All relatives, serene and cool,
Sit rocked in patent armchairs.
O, I have known metallic paradises
Where cuckoos clucked to finches
Above the deft catastrophes of drums.
While titters hailed the groans of death
Beneath gyrating awnings I have seen
The incunabula of the divine grotesque.
This music has a reassuring way.
The siren of the springs of guilty song—
Let us take her on the incandescent wax
Striated with nuances, nervosities
That we are heir to: she is still so young,
We cannot frown upon her as she smiles,
Dipping here in this cultivated storm
Among slim skaters of the gardened skies.
III
Capped arbiter of beauty in this street
That narrows darkly into motor dawn,—
You, here beside me, delicate ambassador
Of intricate slain numbers that arise
In whispers, naked of steel;
religious gunman!
Who faithfully, yourself, will fall too soon,
And in other ways than as the wind settles
On the sixteen thrifty bridges of the city:
Let us unbind our throats of fear and pity.
We even,
Who drove speediest destruction
In corymbulous formations of mechanics,—
Who hurried the hill breezes, spouting malice
Plangent over meadows, and looked down
On rifts of torn and empty houses
Like old women with teeth unjubilant
That waited faintly, briefly and in vain:
metaphor dawn car night urban infrastructure driving speed mechanic weapon street engine sound bridge
We know, eternal gunman, our flesh remembers
The tensile boughs, the nimble blue plateaus,
The mounted, yielding cities of the air!
That saddled sky that shook down vertical
Repeated play of fire—no hypogeum
Of wave or rock was good against one hour.
We did not ask for that, but have survived,
And will persist to speak again before
All stubble streets that have not curved
To memory, or known the ominous lifted arm
That lowers down the arc of Helen’s brow
To saturate with blessing and dismay.
weapon haptic city road metaphor intertext
A goose, tobacco and cologne—
Three winged and gold-shod prophecies of
heaven,
The lavish heart shall always have to leaven
And spread with bells and voices, and atone
The abating shadows of our conscript dust.
Anchises’ navel, dripping of the sea,—
The hands Erasmus dipped in gleaming tides,
Gathered the voltage of blown blood and vine;
Delve upward for the new and scattered wine,
O brother-thief of time, that we recall.
Laugh out the meagre penance of their days
Who dare not share with us the breath released,
The substance drilled and spent beyond repair
For golden, or the shadow of gold hair.
Distinctly praise the years, whose volatile
Blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the
height
The imagination spans beyond despair,
Outpacing bargain, vocable and prayer.
T
Bibliographic Information
Author
Wilson Baker, Karle
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Modern Verse: British and American
Publisher
Henry Holt and Company
Year of Publication
1921
Pages
111-113
Additional information
Wilson Baker's poem was likely published before 1921.
car personification sound
We tumbled out into the starry dark
Under the cold stars; still the sirens shrieked,
As we reached the square, two rockets hissed
And flowered: they were the only two in town.
Down streamed the people, blowing frosty breath
Under the lamps—the mayor and the marshal,
The fire department, members of the band,
Buttoning their clothes with one hand, while the other
Clutched a cold clarionet or piccolo
That shivered for its first ecstatic squeal.
We had no cannon—we made anvils serve.
Just as our fathers did when Sumter fell;
And all a little town could do, to show
That twenty haughty cities heaped together
Could not be half so proud and glad as we,
We did. Soon a procession formed itself—
Prosperous and poor, young, old, and staid and gay,
Every glad soul who'd had the hardihood
To jump from a warm bed at four o'clock
Into the starry blackness. Round the square—
A most unmilitary sight—it pranced,
Straggled and shouted, while the street-lamps blinked
In sleepy wonder.
At the very end
Where the procession dwindled to a tail,
Shuffled Old Boozer. From a snorting car
But just arrived, a leading citizen
Sprang to the pavement.
“Hallelujah, Boss!
“We's whop de Kaiser!”
“Well, you old black fraud,”
(The judge's smile was hiding in his beard)
“What's he to you?”
Old Boozer bobbed and blinked
Under the lamps; another moment, he
Had scrambled to the base about the post,
And through the nearer crowd the shout went round,
“Listen—Old Boozer's going to preach!”
He raised
His trancéd eyes. A moment's pause.
“O Lawd,
You heah dis gemman ax me dat jes' now,
'What's he to Boozer'? Doan he know, O Lawd,
Dat Kaiser's boot-heel jes' been tinglin' up
To stomp on Boozer? Doan he know de po',
De feeble, an' de littlesome toddlin' chile
Dat scream to Hebben when he tromp 'em down,
Hab drug dat Bad Man right down off his throne
To ebberlastin' torment? Glory, Lawd!
We done pass through de Red Sea! Glory, Lawd!
De Lawd done drug de mighty from his seat!
He done exalted dem ob low degree!
He sabe de spark from dem dat stomp it out!
He sabe de seed from dem dat tromp it down!
He sabe de lebben strugglin' in de lump!
He sabe de—“
Cheering, laughing, moving on,
With cries of “Go it, Boozer!” the crowd swirled
About his perch; but, as I passed, I saw
A red-haired boy, who stood, and did not move,
But gazed and gazed, as if the old man's words
Raised visions. In his shivering arms he held
A struggling puppy; once I heard him say,
“Down, Woodrow!” but he scarcely seemed to know
He spoke. The stars paled slowly overhead;
The din increased; the crowd surged; but the boy
Stood rapt. As I turned back once more, I saw
Full morning on his face. And at the end
Of our one down-town street, the laughing sun
Came shouting up, belated, but most glad.
car sound anthropomorphism night
F
Bibliographic Information
Author
Hughes, Langston
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Langston Hughes: Poems
Publisher
Alfred A. Knopf Inc.
Year of Publication
1927
Pages
84
Additional information
-
infrastructure class
Hey, Buddy!
Look at me!
I'm makin' a road
For the cars to fly by on,
Makin' a road
Through the palmetto thicket
For light and civilization
To travel on.
construction road speed metaphor
I'm makin' a road
For the rich to sweep over
In their big cars
And leave me standin' here.
construction car road
Sure,
A road helps everybody.
Rich folks ride —
And I get to see 'em ride.
I ain't never seen nobody
Ride so fine before.
driving road
Hey, Buddy, look!
I'm makin' a road! +
T
Bibliographic Information
Author
Aldington, Richard
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
Some Imagist Poets: An Anthology
Publisher
Houghton Mifflin Company
Year of Publication
1915
Pages
10-11
Additional information
-
tree
Why do you always stand there shivering
Between the white stream and the road?
river roadside temperature
The people pass through the dust
On bicycles, in carts, in motor-cars;
The waggoners go by at dawn;
The lovers walk on the grass path at night.
dust bicycle car road scenery
Stir from your roots, walk, poplar!
You are more beautiful than they are.
I know that the white wind loves you,
Is always kissing you and turning up
The white lining of your green petticoat.
The sky darts through you like blue rain,
And the grey rain drips on your flanks
And loves you.
And I have seen the moon
Slip his silver penny into your pocket
As you straightened your hair;
And the white mist curling and hesitating
Like a bashful lover about your knees.
tree
I know you, poplar;
I have watched you since I was ten.
But if you had a little real love,
A little strength,
You would leave your nonchalant idle lovers
And go walking down the white road
Behind the waggoners.
tree anthropomorphism road pedestrian
There are beautiful beeches down beyond the hill.
Will you always stand there shivering? +
L
Bibliographic Information
Author
Carman, Bliss
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics
Publisher
Snall , Maynard and Company
Year of Publication
1920
Pages
29-30
Additional information
The poem was originally published in 1914.
road
For the birthday of James Whitcomb Riley, October 7, 1914.
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Just one block long;
But the days go there with a magical air,
The whole year long.
The sun in his journey across the sky
Slows his car as he passes by;
The sighing wind and the grieving rain
Change their tune and cease to complain;
And the birds have a wonderful call that seems
Like a street-cry out of the land of dreams;
For there the real and the make-believe meet.
Time does not hurry in Lockerbie Street.
street magic sun car road sky wind rain weather animal affect pleasure slowness driver
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Only one block long;
But the moonlight there is strange and fair
All the year long,
As ever it was in old romance,
When fairies would sing and fauns would dance,
Proving this earth is subject still
To a blithesome wonder-working Will,
Spreading beauty over the land,
That every beholder may understand
How glory shines round the Mercy-seat.
That is the gospel of Lockerbie Street.
street night moonlight magic metaphor sublime
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Only one block long,
A little apart, yet near the heart
Of the city's throng.
If you are a stranger looking to find
Respite and cheer for soul and mind,
And have lost your way, and would inquire
For a street that will lead to Heart's Desire,—
To a place where the spirit is never old,
And gladness and love are worth more than gold, —
Ask the first boy or girl you meet!
Everyone knows where is Lockerbie Street.
street affect metaphor town pedestrian
Lockerbie Street is a little street,
Only one block long;
But never a street in all the world,
In story or song,
Is better beloved by old and young;
For there a poet has lived and sung,
Wise as an angel, glad as a bird,
Fearless and fond in every word,
Many a year. And if you would know
The secret of joy and the cure of woe,—
How to be gentle and brave and sweet,—
Ask your way to Lockerbie Street.
street affect pleasure metaphor road navigation
S
Bibliographic Information
Author
Cummings, Edward Estline
Genre
Poetry
Journal or Book
E.E. Cummings: Complete Poems 1904-1962
Publisher
Liveright
Year of Publication
1926
Pages
246
Additional information
-
technology pleasure gender personification
she being Brand
personification gender
-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having
thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.
car part haptic gender maintenance oil
K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her
driving car car part metaphor sound
up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and
driving driver driving skill car part gender haptic agency personification
again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my
slowness driving
lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity
car part driving engine oil gender metaphor haptic driving pleasure sublime
avenue i touched the accelerator and give
driving road speed
her the juice,good
gasoline
(it
was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on
driving gender haptic affect pleasure urban
the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and
car part personification driving engine speed death
brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.
stand-
;Still)
slowness stop parking
