Autograss

[Hawkman]

Dust cloud,
choking, gritty,
lines the lungs;
the bitter taste of earth,
tainted with the fume of burning oil
on the tongue.

Soil scoured by churning wheels;
the roar of engines,
punctured by percussive contact
as the tin shells clash,
their thunderous passage
fading in the wake of

Dust cloud,
choking, gritty,
lines the lungs;
the bitter taste of earth,
tainted with the fume of burning oil
on the tongue.

[blank|verse]

Hey, it's just like deja vu all over again...! (Or just poetic laziness?! :smilewinkgrin:)

The punning title (there's a UK car repair company called 'Autoglass') nods the wink to the reader that is to do with cars of some description... and the second stanza makes it clear the narrator is watching a stock car race. Great use of alliteration and sibilance in the second stanza that evokes the crush and crash of metal on metal. The stripped-back syntax throughout is also well achieved.

And the return of the first stanza isn't laziness at all, of course, but nicely mimics the passage of the stock cars circling the course.

The only small suggestion I'd make is to revisit 'the roar of engines' which is a cliche in an otherwise well-written poem.

Good stuff - for me, one of your more enjoyable poems.

[dafydd manton]

Oh those happy days in Berlin, racing stock cars!!! It brought it all back.

[Hawkman]

B/V Thanks for your reading and comments. One thing though, Autograss isn't actually stock car racing. It's supposed to be non contact (but isn't) If you google Autograss you'll see the difference. Stock car or banger racing is more akin to what the colonial cousins call the demolition derby, were the object is just to survive until the end, last car running wins. Autograss is more racing orientated. But don't let me come over as some kind of dirt track geek, I've only ever attended these things when paid to do so!

Hi Dafydd. Did you really drive stock cars, or were you running the blockade at checkpoint charlie? :D

Live long and prosper - H

[dafydd manton]

No, I really did. My number was 124 , my car was Ground Equipment Yellow with a winged bullet in the bonnet, and the name Sally B on front and back. It had my signature painted on the doors, and was so posey it makes you sick. I was reasonably successful, too, but the main thing is that it was fun.

[hillwalker]

Great poem Hawk - one can taste and smell and hear the entire event.
As b|v stated the alliteration is masterful.

And dafydd - were you Dick Dastardly then in a previous life?

[PrinceMyshkin]

As vivid and self-contained as one of the crashes it describes.

[Hawkman]

No, I really did. My number was 124 , my car was Ground Equipment Yellow with a winged bullet in the bonnet, and the name Sally B on front and back. It had my signature painted on the doors, and was so posey it makes you sick. I was reasonably successful, too, but the main thing is that it was fun.

Well Dafydd, you never cease to amaze :D I picture a mini pickup but what were you actually driving?


Great poem Hawk - one can taste and smell and hear the entire event.
As b|v stated the alliteration is masterful.

And dafydd - were you Dick Dastardly then in a previous life?

Thanks hill, happy it works for you :) I suspect that there's no "previous" about it. Dick is alive and well - and Welsh :D



As vivid and self-contained as one of the crashes it describes.

Thanks Prince.

Thanks again to you all for reading and commenting.

Live long and prosper - H

[lallison]

Personally, I pictured a Jakarta traffic jam fuming in it's daily grind. brought to mind one of my favorite traffic poems:

HIGHWAY: MICHIGAN
Here from the field's edge we survey
The progress of the jaded. Mile
on mile of traffic from the town
Rides by, for at the end of the day
The time of workers is their own.

They jockey for position on
The strip reserved for passing only.
The drivers from production lines
Hold to advantage dearly won.
They toy with death and traffic fines.

Acceleration is their need:
A mania keeps them on the move
Until the toughest nerves are frayed.
They are prisoners of speed
Who flee in what their hands have made.

The pavement smokes when two cars meet,
and steel rips through conflicting steel.
We shiver at the siren's blast.
One driver, pinned beneath the seat,
Escapes the machine at last.

by Theodore Rothke (sorry, couldn't post a direct link, but found this one way down a list of other poems.

Anyhow, Autograss is great. I enjoyed reading Blank's interpretation. He seems to have hit on the finer points of the piece. Nicely written H.

[dafydd manton]

Thanks for the thought, Hawk. The car was a Toyota Celiac 1600 2GT. The form of racing was more akin to what we call rally-cross, but all on the rough. Most of the other drivers were American or German, and they got a bit shirty if you hit them TOO hard, even though they called it Stock Car racing. Unfortunately, my training ground had been places like Coventry, Belle Vue, Brafield and a few others, so I was a bit rough. Tsk Tsk - naughty me!

[Hawkman]

Hi lall, If Jakarta's roads are remeniscent of an autograss track I will only venture onto them in a tank, should I ever get to visit :D

Thanks for posting the excellent Rothke poem too. I Hadn't come accross this one before and I'm always happy to have my horizons broadened.

Glad you enjoyed the poem and thanks again for telling me so. :)

Dafydd,

I thought a Celiac was somebody with food allergies... Are you saying there is a dastardly conspiracy by the Japanese auto industry to afflict us all with food allergies?

No wonder everyone took exception to your proximity! :D Well, I have to film at Stanlake this weekend so i should get another crop of crashes on tape...

Cheers guys,

H

[dafydd manton]

Ah, yes, classic typo. The Toyota Celica, allergic to racing near wheat, but is OK with barley. Runs on natural effluent!! Thanks for that. As far as I know Nippon Motors aren't planning anything nefarious, except a new van run on the by-products of curry and prunes. It's called the Far To Go.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Ah, yes, classic typo. The Toyota Celica, allergic to racing near wheat, but is OK with barley. Runs on natural effluent!! Thanks for that. As far as I know Nippon Motors aren't planning anything nefarious, except a new van run on the by-products of curry and prunes. It's called the Far To Go.

With apologies to Hawkman for an irrelevance to his thread, Dafydd's post prompted me to insert this:

An American businessman in Japan was bothered by an unusual problem. Whenever he farted, it came out sounding like: “Honda! Honda!”

After consulting with various doctors he was referred to what was supposedly the leading proctologist in Tokyo.

The doctor, who was Japanese, gave the man a thorough examination, then told him he had found the source of the problem:

“You have open sore in anal area,” said the doctor. “Abscess makes the fart go Honda!”

[dafydd manton]

I love that! Apologies to Hawk for further reducing his excellent work to passing wind. No contacenation intended.

[Hawkman]

Thank you both for brightening my day :D