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From Off the Road Database

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Delany, Philip +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race - Nationality - Life span - Texts from Delany, Philip Frontiering in an Automobile  +
Driving Up the Sacramento +
Bibliographic Information Author Birney, Earle Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Collected Poems of Earle Birney Publisher McClelland Steward Year of Publication 1928 Pages 38-39 Additional information - & you as remote now as that range radiating heat not holding it the buttes rainstormed but instant dryers i remember you like opera ive a hitchhiker but he wont talk i keep radioing words to you but what to say you’d really like? o luvalee the peach & almond petals? sure but it’s too late in the spring now dear tease ive left ploughed earth & the green ricefields behind revved thru towns with dusty palms yes damn you im up thru spidery almonds no more wine & oranges into hot canyons between bare yellow breasts of hill             something vulgar about the landscape as well as me or is it just this jalopy’s had it? my conrods clank the rad’s jerked off again will i ever make vancouver? hitchiker sound affect car part metaphor Northwest passenger scenery season spring plant agriculture desert topography my hitch decided no got out at the last crossroad & just passed waving from a new studebaker at me leaning against this robbers-roost garage with time to telepath you something while they screw in a new pump i dont need hitchhiker car model garage infrastructure car part maintenance passenger well what’s to say?             the view looks edible peppered with black oaks white barns for salt             a saffron sunset “there you go being physical again” i can hear you             well why not? this goddamn sky’s one big red cherry now & the sacramento’s a hairy crack between the white thighs of the liveoaks & by geez if there aint a rock-prick a-purplin up in all this stagey Eden northwest taste tree sky river religion plant scenery but you’re not on my wavelength & now the crate’s cooled we'll sign off             head on north you said you hoped to see more of me in the fall but will we ever fall together?               that would be really operatic. metaphor technology  
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Finis +
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  +
Florida Road Workers +
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!  +
Foaf:knows +
foaf:knows ( foaf | Friend Of A Friend ) A person known by this person (indicating some level of reciprocated interaction between the parties). (en)  +
Foaf:name +
foaf:name ( foaf | Friend Of A Friend ) A name for some thing or agent. (en)  +
For the Marriage of Faustus and Helen +
Bibliographic Information Author Crane, Hart Genre Poetry Journal or Book The Faber Book of Modern Verse Publisher Faber and Faber Year of Publication 1923 Pages 211-213 Additional information - 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 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.  
Fraser, Vonard +
Gender - Ethnicity/Race - Nationality - Life span - Texts from Fraser, Vonard Spring in California  +
Free Air +
Bibliographic Information Author Lewis, Sinclair Genre Fiction Journal or Book Free Air Publisher - Year of Publication 1919 Pages 3-10 Additional information Currently, this page contains only the first chapter. Chapter I [ edit ] driving risk road condition driving skill MISS BOLTWOOD OF BROOKLYN IS LOST IN THE MUD When the windshield was closed it became so filmed with rain that Claire fancied she was piloting a drowned car in dim spaces under the sea. When it was open, drops jabbed into her eyes and chilled her cheeks. She was excited and thoroughly miserable. She realized that these Minnesota country roads had no respect for her polite experience on Long Island parkways. She felt like a woman, not like a driver. car car metaphor affect car part driving driving skill road driver But the Gomez-Dep roadster had seventy horsepower, and sang songs. Since she had left Minneapolis nothing had passed her. Back yonder a truck had tried to crowd her, and she had dropped into a ditch, climbed a bank, returned to the road, and after that the truck was not. Now she was regarding a view more splendid than mountains above a garden by the sea--a stretch of good road. To her passenger, her father, Claire chanted: car engine road road condition sound mountain "Heavenly! There's some gravel. We can make time. We'll hustle on to the next town and get dry." gravel road condition "Yes. But don't mind me. You're doing very well," her father sighed. Instantly, the dismay of it rushing at her, she saw the end of the patch of gravel. The road ahead was a wet black smear, criss-crossed with ruts. The car shot into a morass of prairie gumbo--which is mud mixed with tar, fly-paper, fish glue, and well-chewed, chocolate-covered caramels. When cattle get into gumbo, the farmers send for the stump-dynamite and try blasting. gravel car mud road car animal It was her first really bad stretch of road. She was frightened. Then she was too appallingly busy to be frightened, or to be Miss Claire Boltwood, or to comfort her uneasy father. She had to drive. Her frail graceful arms put into it a vicious vigor that was genius. driver road affect safety driving skill road condition When the wheels struck the slime, they slid, they wallowed. The car skidded. It was terrifyingly out of control. It began majestically to turn toward the ditch. She fought the steering wheel as though she were shadow-boxing, but the car kept contemptuously staggering till it was sideways, straight across the road. Somehow, it was back again, eating into a rut, going ahead. She didn't know how she had done it, but she had got it back. She longed to take time to retrace her own cleverness in steering. She didn't. She kept going. car part driving driving skill personification risk The car backfired, slowed. She yanked the gear from third into first. She sped up. The motor ran like a terrified pounding heart, while the car crept on by inches through filthy mud that stretched ahead of her without relief. car car part speed engine mud road surface driving She was battling to hold the car in the principal rut. She snatched the windshield open, and concentrated on that left rut. She felt that she was keeping the wheel from climbing those high sides of the rut, those six-inch walls of mud, sparkling with tiny grits. Her mind snarled at her arms, "Let the ruts do the steering. You're just fighting against them." It worked. Once she let the wheels alone they comfortably followed the furrows, and for three seconds she had that delightful belief of every motorist after every mishap, "Now that this particular disagreeableness is over, I'll never, never have any trouble again!" car car metaphor car part road condition affect But suppose the engine overheated, ran out of water? Anxiety twanged at her nerves. And the deep distinctive ruts were changing to a complex pattern, like the rails in a city switchyard. She picked out the track of the one motor car that had been through here recently. It was marked with the swastika tread of the rear tires. That track was her friend; she knew and loved the driver of a car she had never seen in her life. affect driver engine car part road driver She was very tired. She wondered if she might not stop for a moment. Then she came to an upslope. The car faltered; felt indecisive beneath her. She jabbed down the accelerator. Her hands pushed at the steering wheel as though she were pushing the car. The engine picked up, sulkily kept going. To the eye, there was merely a rise in the rolling ground, but to her anxiety it was a mountain up which she--not the engine, but herself--pulled this bulky mass, till she had reached the top, and was safe again--for a second. Still there was no visible end of the mud. driving car car part engine road surface mud mountain In alarm she thought, "How long does it last? I can't keep this up. I--Oh!" The guiding tread of the previous car was suddenly lost in a mass of heaving, bubble-scattered mud, like a batter of black dough. She fairly picked up the car, and flung it into that welter, through it, and back into the reappearing swastika-marked trail. car driving mud road condition Her father spoke: "You're biting your lips. They'll bleed, if you don't look out. Better stop and rest. "Can't! No bottom to this mud. Once stop and lose momentum--stuck for keeps!" driving mud She had ten more minutes of it before she reached a combination of bridge and culvert, with a plank platform above a big tile drain. With this solid plank bottom, she could stop. Silence came roaring down as she turned the switch. The bubbling water in the radiator steamed about the cap. Claire was conscious of tautness of the cords of her neck in front; of a pain at the base of her brain. Her father glanced at her curiously. "I must be a wreck. I'm sure my hair is frightful," she thought, but forgot it as she looked at him. His face was unusually pale. In the tumult of activity he had been betrayed into letting the old despondent look blur his eyes and sag his mouth. "Must get on," she determined. car part infrastructure metaphor Claire was dainty of habit. She detested untwisted hair, ripped gloves, muddy shoes. Hesitant as a cat by a puddle, she stepped down on the bridge. Even on these planks, the mud was three inches thick. It squidged about her low, spatted shoes. "Eeh!" she squeaked. infrastructure mud She tiptoed to the tool-box and took out a folding canvas bucket. She edged down to the trickling stream below. She was miserably conscious of a pastoral scene all gone to mildew--cows beneath willows by the creek, milkweeds dripping, dried mullein weed stalks no longer dry. The bank of the stream was so slippery that she shot down two feet, and nearly went sprawling. Her knee did touch the bank, and the skirt of her gray sports-suit showed a smear of yellow earth. equipment river rural scenery In less than two miles the racing motor had used up so much water that she had to make four trips to the creek before she had filled the radiator. When she had climbed back on the running-board she glared down at spats and shoes turned into gray lumps. She was not tearful. She was angry. car part engine affect "Idiot! Ought to have put on my rubbers. Well--too late now," she observed, as she started the engine. engine She again followed the swastika tread. To avoid a hole in the road ahead, the unknown driver had swung over to the side of the road, and taken to the intensely black earth of the edge of an unfenced cornfield. Flashing at Claire came the sight of a deep, water-filled hole, scattered straw and brush, débris of a battlefield, which made her gaspingly realize that her swastikaed leader had been stuck and-- road condition agriculture driving road rural And instantly her own car was stuck. car She had had to put the car at that hole. It dropped, far down, and it stayed down. The engine stalled. She started it, but the back wheels spun merrily round and round, without traction. She did not make one inch. When she again killed the blatting motor, she let it stay dead. She peered at her father. accident car engine metaphor personification He was not a father, just now, but a passenger trying not to irritate the driver. He smiled in a waxy way, and said, "Hard luck! Well, you did the best you could. The other hole, there in the road, would have been just as bad. You're a fine driver, dolly." driver passenger road condition driving skill Her smile was warm and real. "No. I'm a fool. You told me to put on chains. I didn't. I deserve it." equipment "Well, anyway, most men would be cussing. You acquire merit by not beating me. I believe that's done, in moments like this. If you'd like, I'll get out and crawl around in the mud, and play turtle for you." "No. I'm quite all right. I did feel frightfully strong-minded as long as there was any use of it. It kept me going. But now I might just as well be cheerful, because we're stuck, and we're probably going to stay stuck for the rest of this care-free summer day." equipment The weariness of the long strain caught her, all at once. She slipped forward, sat huddled, her knees crossed under the edge of the steering wheel, her hands falling beside her, one of them making a faint brushing sound as it slid down the upholstery. Her eyes closed; as her head drooped farther, she fancied she could hear the vertebrae click in her tense neck. car part sound Her father was silent, a misty figure in a lap-robe. The rain streaked the mica lights in the side-curtains. A distant train whistled desolately across the sodden fields. The inside of the car smelled musty. The quiet was like a blanket over the ears. Claire was in a hazy drowse. She felt that she could never drive again. car smell affect drive train  
From an Automobile +
Bibliographic Information Author MacKaye, Percy Genre Poetry Journal or Book Scribner’s Magazine Publisher - Year of Publication 1910 Pages 114 Additional information - Fluid the world flowed under us: the hills, Billow on billow of umbrageous green, Heaved us, aghast, to fresh horizons, seen One rapturous instant, blind with dash of rills And silver rising storms and dewy stills Of dripping boulders, then the dim ravine Drowned us again in leafage, whose serene Coverts grew loud with our tumultuous wills. pleasure topography sound metaphor Then all of nature’s old amazement Sudden to ask us: "Is this also Man? This plunging, volant land-amphibian— What Plato mused and Paracelsus dreamed? Reply!" And piercing us with ancient scan, The shrill primeval hawk gazed and screamed. intertext sound animal  +
Frontiering in an Automobile +
Bibliographic Information Author Delany, Philip Genre Non-Fiction Journal or Book Outing Publisher - Year of Publication 1903 Pages 131-136 Additional information - pioneer Romance is fast being crowded out of the life of the pioneer; once he depended upon his own sturdy legs, or those of his broncho or burronow he may, if he like, ride in an automobile, the latest pathfinder of the plains. The machine has its thrilling side, too. affect car pleasure technology pioneer To climb mountain passes with a thirty-per-cent grade, to coast down rocky roads with only a few feet from wheels to the edge of an abyss of picturesque wonders, to swing along southern paths made famous by the Indians and pony express riders of only a few years ago, and along which a motor-car had never before been seen, this is an automobile trip that has exploring and sight seeing, and excitement enough to suit the most adventurous spirit. Such a journey I took this spring with Mr. W. W. Price, who has, with an automobile, re-discovered many a Western cañon, pass and desert. car road condition car part desert mountain Native American passenger scenery topography It took us two hours to run from Colorado Springs—our starting point—to Pueblo, past Pike's Peak and Cheyenne Mountain, most of the way over hot alkali plains, furrowed deep by cloud-burst and spring freshets. From Pueblo, taking supplies for the machine, we struck south across country. We were soon out of the world, drifting across a roadless land made more weird by the light which the moon threw over it. We were trying to locate the main highway to Walsenburg. For a time we crawled along where lines showed teams had once gone, until we came to a Mexican ranch of adobe houses; but the three big headlights on the machine discovered no one and we crept slowly away from the corral, the machine thudding sullenly under us. Then suddenly we blundered into the roadway and away we went at a rate of thirty miles an hour, transfixing with wonder a few Mexicans who were camping near by. adobe car part driving mountain engine highway infrastructure metaphor Midwest night passenger road side rural slowness sound Spring South from Walsenburg, the next day we swung past the Spanish Peaks, snow-white above the evergreens. Mountains were everywhere. They leaned in to- ward us threateningly through the clear air from all sides. Then down through Trinidad, toward Raton, New Mexico, the way wound around foothills, black with outcroppings of coal. From Raton we left the railroad lines, which had paralleled us, and pushed across the level plains, where cattle turned and ran in herds at the sight of a motor on the old Mexican land grant and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. After a night in an old adobe house in Cimarron we went down through the cañon, its rocky walls echoing in hollow calls the throbbing of the machine. As we hurried along, a fuzzy-coated burro walked out placidly before the car and nonchalantly jogged along, and the machine slowed down, necessarily, and followed the burro pace-maker. And so we were led into Elizabethtown, whose placer diggings were the scene of a wild scramble in '68. adobe air affect animal car driving risk engine scenery Southwest Having come in to Elizabethtown through a hole we went out over a cloud. There are no other ways. The mountains surround it. The Indians call this pass “arrow stick in pole," it is so steep. Once at the summit, twisting and bending like a floundering whale, the car coasted down to the irrigated plain of Taos, where Indians, resting on their hoes, eyed us silently, and Mexicans saluted gracefully. Three miles beyond we swooped suddenly down upon the settlement of five-story, terraced houses of the Red Willow Indians. In their gaudy blankets they swarmed to the earthen housetops and watched us silently. But when, after much coaxing, we crowded the car with redskins and sent it dashing up and down at breakneck speed there were such war-whoops as city dwellers never hear. car road condition driving risk infrastructure mountain Native American These Indians believe that the Great Spirit has guided them to this promised land. They wandered here from the north, and we listened, standing with bare heads in an underground council chamber, to the recital in Spanish of the story of their faith. They are a fine example of the early American aristocracy at its best. They have some lessons for modern American society. In Taos, too, lived and lies Kit Carson, the hunter and trapper, scout and soldier. From Taos we pushed through sand for many miles. The only living thing we saw was a gray coyote. But the desert is clean and sunny, which is something. At last we reached harder soil and green things growing. Indians greeted us on the way, and finally we came to the cliff dwellings of Pajorito Park, one of the many ruins of the great centuries-ago cities of the Southwest. One of the localities showed that 250,000 people lived there in houses, some of them five stories, or about seventy-five feet high. Irrigation, agriculture, industries and arts were all parts of their daily life. desert driving road surface animal scenery Native American Southwest agriculture Running in to Santa Fé we passed wagons crowded with Indians, gorgeous in color, from bullet-headed papoose to squaw and buck. They all watched us stolidly, while the bronchos reeled and jumped with fright until we were out of sight. Then the bronchos probably received some attention. affect driving Native American Southwest Santa Fé is rich with history, and the road on to Las Vegas is rich with color and beautiful landscape. The wild green on every side is cut with clean white streams full of trout for the angler. The little Mexican adobe village of San José, which has scarcely changed in a century, nestles in the heart of this country. adobe driving road road side scenery rural Southwest When we went through San José I began to understand over again and in a new way Mark Twain's "Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee." The whole of King Arthur's court on bicycles could not have started the stir we created in that single automobile. We went through the place like the wind, the machine snorting, whistle tooting, while the poor inhabitants huddled into frightened groups out of reach. We were a kind of first thunderstorm to them. affect car intertext car metaphor personification We had a plunge in the Las Vegas Hot Springs and started north again along the old Santa Fé trail, meeting few people and seeing little that was new. One begrizzled old man, at an isolated shack, watched us so wistfully as he brought us some water that we half wanted to take him into the car and drive him into civilization, but he is probably happier as he is. From Raton it is back, over the same way we came, to Colorado Springs and home. driving rural Midwest Southwest And so the machine is conquering the old frontier, carrying the thudding of modern mechanics into the land of romance. There are many pleasures in such a journey; you bring a new thing to an old people and they re-teach you old things that should never be forgotten. You see, perhaps, the wildest and most natural places on the continent; and there's a touch of adventure, for such a trip cannot be taken without some danger. We crowded what used to take months to do in nine days-nine hundred miles up mountain and down valley. The trails of Kit Carson and Boone and Crockett, and the rest of the early frontiersmen, stretch out before the adventurous automobilist. And when he is tired of the old, there are new paths to be made. He has no beaten track to follow, no schedule to meet, no other train to consider; but he can go with the speed of an express straight into the heart of an unknown land. And he isn't in much greater danger than the man who pilots his machine between the trucks and carriages of a crowded city street. It is only the beginning of automobile exploring and frontiering in the old West. car metaphor pioneer pleasure scenery sublime technology urban  
Frost, Robert +
Gender Male Ethnicity/Race Caucasian Nationality American Life span 1874 - 1963 Texts from Frost, Robert On a Tree Fallen Across The Road  +
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General Disclaimer +
Die Universität Konstanz ist eine Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts. Sie wird vertreten durch die Rektorin Prof. Dr. Katharina Holzinger. Externe Links Die Universität Konstanz ist als Inhaltsanbieter für die eigenen Inhalte, die sie zur Nutzung bereit hält, nach den allgemeinen Gesetzen verantwortlich. Von diesen eigenen Inhalten sind Querverweise (externe Links) auf die von anderen Anbietern bereit gehaltenen Inhalte zu unterscheiden. Diese fremden Inhalte stammen nicht von der Universität Konstanz und spiegeln auch nicht die Meinung der Universität Konstanz wider, sondern dienen lediglich der Information. Die Universität Konstanz macht sich diese Inhalte nicht zu eigen. Sollten Inhalte von Web-Seiten der Universität Konstanz oder von verlinkten Seiten gegen geltende Rechtsvorschriften verstoßen, dann bitten wir um umgehende Benachrichtigung. Wir werden den Inhalt dann schnellstmöglich prüfen und geeignete Maßnahmen einleiten. Urheberrechtshinweis Die auf dieser Website veröffentlichten Inhalte (Texte, Bilder, Grafiken, Layout usw.) unterliegen in der Regel dem Schutz des Urheberrechts und dürfen damit beispielsweise weder kopiert, verändert noch auf anderen Webseiten verwendet werden. Jede vom Urheberrechtsgesetz nicht zugelassene Verwertung bedarf der vorherigen ausdrücklichen Zustimmung der Stabsstelle Kommunikation und Marketing. Anfragen richten Sie bitte an die Leiterin der Stabsstelle Kommunikation und Marketing, Helena Dietz .  +
General disclaimer +
Die Universität Konstanz ist eine Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts. Sie wird vertreten durch die Rektorin Prof. Dr. Katharina Holzinger. Externe Links Die Universität Konstanz ist als Inhaltsanbieter für die eigenen Inhalte, die sie zur Nutzung bereit hält, nach den allgemeinen Gesetzen verantwortlich. Von diesen eigenen Inhalten sind Querverweise (externe Links) auf die von anderen Anbietern bereit gehaltenen Inhalte zu unterscheiden. Diese fremden Inhalte stammen nicht von der Universität Konstanz und spiegeln auch nicht die Meinung der Universität Konstanz wider, sondern dienen lediglich der Information. Die Universität Konstanz macht sich diese Inhalte nicht zu eigen. Sollten Inhalte von Web-Seiten der Universität Konstanz oder von verlinkten Seiten gegen geltende Rechtsvorschriften verstoßen, dann bitten wir um umgehende Benachrichtigung. Wir werden den Inhalt dann schnellstmöglich prüfen und geeignete Maßnahmen einleiten. Urheberrechtshinweis Die auf dieser Website veröffentlichten Inhalte (Texte, Bilder, Grafiken, Layout usw.) unterliegen in der Regel dem Schutz des Urheberrechts und dürfen damit beispielsweise weder kopiert, verändert noch auf anderen Webseiten verwendet werden. Jede vom Urheberrechtsgesetz nicht zugelassene Verwertung bedarf der vorherigen ausdrücklichen Zustimmung der Stabsstelle Kommunikation und Marketing. Anfragen richten Sie bitte an die Leiterin der Stabsstelle Kommunikation und Marketing, Helena Dietz .  +
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Has additional information +
This is a property of type Text .  +
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This is a property of type Page .  +
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This is a property of type Keyword .  +
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This is a property of type Keyword .  +
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This is a property of type Text .  +
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