Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

441. Summer Stars 1/3/2003
442. Honky Tonk In Cleveland, Ohio 1/3/2003
443. Aprons Of Silence 1/3/2003
444. A Fence 1/3/2003
445. From The Shore 1/3/2003
446. Young Sea 1/3/2003
447. A Sphinx 1/3/2003
448. A Coin 1/3/2003
449. All Day Long 1/3/2003
450. Grass 1/3/2003
451. A Father To His Son 4/2/2010
452. Among The Red Guns 1/3/2003
453. At A Window 1/3/2003
454. Autumn Movement 1/4/2003
455. Chicago 1/3/2003
456. Arithmetic 1/3/2003
457. Fog 1/3/2003

Comments about Carl Sandburg

  • 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...

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  • 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


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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