Carl Sandburg Poetry

CHICAGO (my favorite)

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

One of my favorites too.

Just gotta mention that I had an opportunity to visit Carl Sandburgs home in Hendersonville, NC, when my nephew got married many years ago.

How 'd you like it?

My favorite snippet of poetry ever:

poetry is an
echo, asking a shadow to
dance.

~carl sandberg

I have that quote painted on my wall at home!

Lorna

I love it!

poetry is my graffiti, or something like that, lol

Lorna, That should be, "graffiti is my poetry."

That too

Following...

Short but pointed:

LOSSES

I Have love
And a child,
A banjo
And shadows.
(Losses of God,
All will go
And one day
We will hold
Only the shadows.)

MILL-DOORS

You never come back.
I say good-by when I see you going in the doors,
The hopeless open doors that call and wait
And take you then for--how many cents a day?
How many cents for the sleepy eyes and fingers?

I say good-by because I know they tap your wrists,
In the dark, in the silence, day by day,
And all the blood of you drop by drop,
And you are old before you are young.
You never come back.

I just found this thread. Thanks for starting it New haven!

This is my favorite sandburg poem:


'Limited'

I AM riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air
go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men
and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall
pass to ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he
answers: "Omaha."

Great thread! Here is one that resonates today:



And They Obey


SMASH down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.

Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labor:
You are workmen and citizens all: We
command you.

Having just returned from holiday in Chicago, my interest in Sandburg's work is renewed.

I read "Man with the Broken Fingers" a number of times in interscholastic competition in high school.

Just spent several minutes Googling for a transcript, yet cannot locate.

If anyone knows or has it, please post.

I found an old recording of it (read by Sandburg) but the quality was so poor that I couldn't understand all of it. Maybe since you know it already you can understand the recording better:

http://rosa.nb.no/cgi-bin/nava_soek.sh?tegnsett=ISO_8859_1&soek=rnis+og+drama+i+genre

There is an intro by a woman and then a really horrific story told by a man about being tortured by the gestapo before Sandburg reads the poem, but it starts at about 6.55 on real audio.

Thanks so much, Lib.

Carl Sandburg

Grass

PILE the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. 5
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass. 10
Let me work.