[jasonhuff]

i have been a big fan of carl sandburg's for some time now, and i keep waiting for his revival. but until it happens, i'd like to hear what others think about him and his poetry.

(i've tried a few times to work the indentions, but i can't seem to do it. if anyone else cares to, you can fix it. )

Chicago

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 can 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.


god i love this poem, has to be on the list of my all-time favorites.

[nyctom]

Hi Jason:

I used to compete in Public Speaking events in high school. I took second in the State Championship to someone reading a Carl Sandburg poem you would probably like, called "The Man with the Broken Fingers" (I was presenting TS Eliot's "The Hollow Men" and Dylan Thomas' "And Death Shall Have No Dominion"). The Sandburg poem is about what the Nazi's do to a member of the Underground Resistance they capture in, if I remember correctly, Norway. Could be Finland. It is quite a good poem for public reading, very powerful, and I remember liking it a good deal.

I know that Sandburg has fallen into critical disfavor. And there is some merit to that evaluation. He can read like Whitman Lite. But I must admit I love "Chicago"--it does have a great Biblical cadence to it, as in the best of Whitman. And "Fog" is quite effective too. But Sandburg is not someone I have ever gone out of my way to read. What should I read that I haven't?

[jasonhuff]

yeah, it is easy to see why sandburg isn't the critical favorite. he gets a bit prosey at times. i don't know what it is about him that i like so much. i expect i'll be a fan of whitman when i get to reading him, since he was such an influence on sandburg. really, if you've read chicago and fog, you've read the best of his work. there are some others i like a lot. it's late tonight, but i'll post some of the other poems that i'm fond of.

jason

[jasonhuff]

ok. here are some of the sandburg poems that i like a lot. not to the same level as "Chicago" or "Fog" but ones i enjoy. they may not be the best of work, but they are my favorites.

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.
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.
Let me work.

i think this is one of his better pieces

Kin

Brother, I am fire
Surging under the ocean floor.
I shall never meet you, brother–
Not for years, anyhow;
Maybe thousands of years, brother.
Then I will warm you,
Hold you close, wrap you in circles,
Use you and change you–
Maybe thousands of years, brother.


Anna Imroth

Cross the hands over the breast here–so.
Straighten the legs a little more–so.
And call for the wagon to come and take her home.
Her mother will cry some and so will her sisters and brothers.
But all of the others got down and they are safe and this is the only one of the factory girls who wasn’t lucky in making the jump when the fire broke.
It is the hand of God and the lack of fire escapes.

(But all....fire broke. is one line, but i have trouble with indenting here)


A Fence

Now the stone house on the lake front is finished and the workmen are beginning the fence.
The palings are made of iron bars with steel points that can stab the life out of any man who falls on them.
As a fence, it is a masterpiece, and will shut off the rabble and all vagabonds and hungry men and all wandering children looking for a place to play.
Passing through the bars and over the steel points will go nothing except Death and the Rain and To-morrow.

(a four line poem: "Now the stone house", "The palings", "As a fence", "Passing through")

Fight

Red drips from my chin where I have been eating.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.

Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.

I was a killer.
Yes, I am a killer.

I come from killing.
I go to more.
I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices of my inside bones:
The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.

(the indentions are all over the place, maybe i should work on learning how to indent here)


There's also "Billy Sunday" which is a longer poem and not that great, but i like it. "The Eastland" which is also longer, but better than billy sunday, still not the greatest one though.

i've got more that i'll post later if you want.

jason