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Poems On / About CAR  5/25/2016 11:54:00 AM
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Act 2 Scene 4

Act 2 (Wearing all your sadness as a fashion)
Scene 4 (driving by starlight)

(the LOVER is in the CAR sitting at a scenic overlook. the LOVER is writing in a notebook reading aloud.)

the LOVER: On a night like tonight my memory's begging for silence and a long dark drive. Down back roads for miles and miles, keeping the radio quiet. Driving with no headlights.

(the GHOST enters the CAR and starts laughing. the LOVER is started and continues writing)

the LOVER: The passenger sear is laughing at me, still holding the shape of your memory. Why don't the stars collide? It seems to me the sky is over crowded and my wishes can't decide which white faded point of light holds answes. In this night my thoughts are clouded but my eyes still shine so bright.

(the LOVER turns to a clear page)

the LOVER: On a night like tonght, I can't help but feel I'm the reason for ny price I'll pay.

the GHOST: The cost of lies is rising tonight.

the LOVER: But I guess it's about time for the coming and going of seasons.

the GHOST: Nothing gold can stay.

the LOVER: This time I'll drive for miles and I'll forget.

(the GHOST starts laughing again)

the LOVER: If i could I'd turn the car around, but the raod's to narrow and I'm to proud.

(the LOVER puts away the notebook and starts the CAR. the GHOST fades and the LOVER starts driving home)
brianna arnott

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Edsel Poet

Ford Motor Company asked Marianne Moore
to think up names for their brand new cars.
Agreeing to be automobile whore,
she couldn’t give them branded jaguars,
already taken, but Ford Fabergé,
Astranaut, Utopian Turtletop,
were names that she proposed to them, but they
declined as names for which no one would shop.
Of course the names reminding us of bed sell
best, and she, it seems, was too straitlaced:
the name they chose instead of hers’ was Edsel.
A poet’s mind’s a dreadful thing to waste!

Danny Heitman, a columnist for The Baton Rouge Advocate and the author of “A Summer of Birds: John James Audubon at Oakley House, ” writes about Marianne Moore’s attempt to help the Ford Motor Company sell cars by finding names for them (“Poetry in Motion, ” NYT, August 16,2009) :
IT seems that we’ve done just about everything to get the American auto industry out of the doldrums. We’ve forced bankruptcies. We’ve exchanged cash for clunkers. But have we tried poetry? The question is brought to mind by the story of Marianne Moore, the famous American writer, who served for a brief season as the Ford Motor Company’s unofficial poet laureate. Moore, who died in 1972, was at the height of her literary powers in the autumn of 1955, when a letter arrived in her Brooklyn mailbox.A Ford executive wrote that the company was launching “a rather important new series of cars, ” but his team was stumped to think of a name for the latest product line. Could Moore, an icon of American letters, help them out?
Moore embraced the assignment with relish, not surprising for a poet who enjoyed — and whose writing was frequently inspired by — popular culture, whether it be baseball, boxing or bric-a-brac. The correspondence became a cultural fixture of its own after it was published in The New Yorker two years later. Throughout the fall and winter of 1955, Moore’s steady stream of suggestions arrived at Ford: “the Ford Silver Sword, ” “Intelligent Bullet, ” “the Ford Fabergé, ” “Mongoose Civique, ” “Anticipator, ” “Pastelogram, ” “Astranaut” and, the highest flight of fancy, “Utopian Turtletop.”
Moore apparently had no qualms about enlisting her muse in the service of the automotive industry. She was also willing to embrace the risks of the marketplace, agreeing to be paid only if she came up with a winning name. As Moore’s biographer Charles Molesworth points out, she “had always enjoyed the language of advertisement, delighting in its inventiveness and ebullience, and even relating it to the poetics of praise.”
These days, poetry and commerce are rarely on such good speaking terms. Poetry doesn’t sell well, and poets almost never attain the celebrity that touched Moore, Robert Frost and Carl Sandburg half a century ago. If some Detroit executive got the bright idea to consult a poet for marketing advice today, one rather doubts he’d know whom to call.It’s nice to think that the two groups — poets and carmakers — might find new relevance through collaboration, but history is not encouraging. After much thought, Ford Motors politely rejected all of Moore’s lyrical suggestions for its new car line. Instead, the company’s executives opted for a choice generated internally: the Edsel.

gershon hepner

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Today's Teenage Youth

Gutsy with a bit of motsy tongue tarts lipped.
Today's teenage youth,
Will say and choose the most outlandish,
For their 'accepted' activities.

I need the keys for your car.'

*You wrecked your mother's car,
Just last week.*

'That had nothing to do with you.
I never drank beer or smoked weed in your car.
And besides,
I passed the police roadside test.
And you didn't say a word about being proud of me.
Uncle Louie was the only one! '

Borrow your Uncle Louie's car.*

'And put gas in it too?
No way! '
Lawrence S. Pertillar

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The Rain Of Love

The wind blows to and fro,
A sparrow sings from a nearby tree,
A radio plays a local gospel tune.
Responding to a car horn,
The gate man rushes to open the gate.
The sparrow still persists with its natural tune,
The radio presenter interrupts the music,
The car swims in and screeches to a halt.
The wind stills, the sparrow stops singing, the radio snaps off.
And all is quiet, just quiet.
A thick black cloud spreads itself across the sky,
Darkening the scene, chilling the air.
A warm still tender-like smile splashes from the car,
Seems to increase the temperature,
Countering the chilling effect of the cloud.
Clad, clad, clad, the steps grew louder and louder and louder
Dap dap dap, the drops fell, thick drops felling
The steps stop, the car door opens, clutch hand in hand the two mutter into the mansion
But at least the drops fell on them
The drops intensify into a gush
A continuous gush takes over….
Obed Akuma

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Poems On / About CAR