August 9, 2009

We'll drive non-stop till dawn

To get to Provincetown, you have to drive the length of Cape Cod -- or fly, or arrive by boat. If you drive, your last stretch is Route 6. I associate this road and the whole town with Stanley Kunitz. Among other things, he tended a garden here for many years. In fact, there's a wonderful book that includes interviews with Kunitz, his poems, and images of his garden.

Every time I arrive in Provincetown, I think about a poem of his that shares the name of the highway you take to get here: "Route Six." I picture Kunitz in a Manhattan apartment talking to his wife. "The city squats on my back," he tells her, and then follows with something like an exhausted apology:

I am heart-sore, stiff-necked,
exasperated. That's why
I slammed the door,
that's why I tell you now
in every house of marriage
there is room for an interpreter.

This feels like such an honest enactment of those days when I get stuck in the dailiness of work, the responsibilities of parenting, the challenge of just getting it all right. That's when all of my escapist tendencies rear their heads. In those moments, I want to do what Kunitz does next when he tells his wife:

Let's jump in the car, honey,
and head straight for the Cape,
where the cock on our housetop crows
that the weather's fair
and my garden waits
for me to coax it into bloom.

Without even getting into his later mention of their "transcentdental cat," I'll just say that reading this poem is a kind of wish-fulfillment for me on the days when I'd like to pack what matters most -- my wife and kids -- into the car and just drive until the end of the road brings us to something that feels more in keeping with the fabric of how things should be. It's exhilarating to read this one.

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