Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

361. Flux 1/3/2003
362. Fog Portrait 4/2/2010
363. Halsted Street Car 1/3/2003
364. The Great Hunt 1/3/2003
365. The Right To Grief 1/13/2003
366. Kin 1/3/2003
367. Personality 1/13/2003
368. Broadway 1/3/2003
369. White Shoulders 1/3/2003
370. Haunts 1/3/2003
371. Bas-Relief 1/3/2003
372. Bricklayer Love 1/13/2003
373. Under A Telephone Pole 1/3/2003
374. Neighbors 1/3/2003
375. The Harbor 1/3/2003
376. Accomplished Facts 4/2/2010
377. Fire Pages 1/3/2003
378. Dust 1/3/2003
379. Crucible 1/3/2003
380. And This Will Be All.... 4/2/2010
381. Follies 1/3/2003
382. Prairie Waters By Night 1/3/2003
383. Killers 1/3/2003
384. Soup 1/3/2003
385. I Sang 1/3/2003
386. A Million Young Work Men 4/2/2010
387. Lost 1/3/2003
388. Bones 1/3/2003
389. They Will Say 1/3/2003
390. Child Of The Romans 1/3/2003
391. Stars, Songs, Faces 1/3/2003
392. Last Answers 1/3/2003
393. Limited 1/3/2003
394. Wars 1/13/2003
395. Cripple 1/3/2003
396. The Junk Man 1/3/2003
397. Horses And Men In Rain 1/3/2003
398. Choose 1/3/2003
399. Graceland 1/3/2003
400. I Am The People, The Mob 1/3/2003

Comments about Carl Sandburg

  • Malkisedik Yahya (9/6/2008 12:01:00 PM)

    i love sandburg's works, especially that use the wor 'moon'..wish me luck b'coz i wanna write my undergraduate thesis about the meaning of sandburg's works that use the word 'moon'...

    177 person liked.
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  • Rosa Jamali (6/1/2008 2:39:00 PM)

    I think postmodern poetry owes Sandburg, as he was the first to describe machinery life, he expanded the range of words in poetry & he tried to add some new concepts, we have to reread Sandburg to go forward...

  • A. Michael Sears (2/13/2006 8:19:00 PM)

    What can I say? Carl Sandburg is truly a master. His ability to celebrate the beauty and greatness in all things common, is unmatched. And since the publication of 'Chicago Poems' in 1916, the voice of modern poetry has never been the same.

Best Poem of Carl Sandburg

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Read the full of Fog

Silver Nails

A man was crucified. He came to the city a stranger,
was accused, and nailed to a cross. He lingered hanging.
Laughed at the crowd. "The nails are iron," he
said, "You are cheap. In my country when we crucify
we use silver nails. . ." So he went jeering. They
did not understand him at first. Later they talked about
him in changed voices in the saloons, bowling alleys, and
churches. It came over them every man is crucified
only once in his life and the law of humanity dictates

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