Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

401. Wars 1/13/2003
402. Graves 1/3/2003
403. Death Snips Proud Men 1/1/2004
404. Dusty Doors 1/3/2003
405. Horses And Men In Rain 1/3/2003
406. Working Girls 1/13/2003
407. Window 1/13/2003
408. Bricklayer Love 1/13/2003
409. Accomplished Facts 4/2/2010
410. Languages 1/3/2003
411. Anna Imroth 1/3/2003
412. Limited 1/3/2003
413. A.E.F. 1/3/2003
414. Evening Waterfall 1/3/2003
415. Blacklisted 1/3/2003
416. Government 1/3/2003
417. I Am The People, The Mob 1/3/2003
418. An Electric Sign Goes Dark 4/2/2010
419. Joy 1/3/2003
420. Bath 1/3/2003
421. Theme In Yellow 1/3/2003
422. Iron 1/3/2003
423. Cool Tombs 1/3/2003
424. Waiting 1/13/2003
425. Good Night 1/3/2003
426. Child Moon 1/3/2003
427. Aztec Mask 1/3/2003
428. Aztec 1/3/2003
429. Chicago Poet 1/3/2003
430. Hope Is A Tattered Flag 1/3/2003
431. Who Am I? 1/3/2003
432. Back Yard 1/3/2003
433. Under The Harvest Moon 1/3/2003
434. Dreams In The Dusk 1/3/2003
435. Gone 1/3/2003
436. Honky Tonk In Cleveland, Ohio 1/3/2003
437. Happiness 1/3/2003
438. Aprons Of Silence 1/3/2003
439. And They Obey 1/3/2003
440. Dream Girl 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'...

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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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