Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

441. Under The Harvest Moon 1/3/2003
442. Happiness 1/3/2003
443. Dreams In The Dusk 1/3/2003
444. A Fence 1/3/2003
445. Aprons Of Silence 1/3/2003
446. And They Obey 1/3/2003
447. All Day Long 1/3/2003
448. A Sphinx 1/3/2003
449. Among The Red Guns 1/3/2003
450. A Father To His Son 4/2/2010
451. A Coin 1/3/2003
452. Autumn Movement 1/4/2003
453. Grass 1/3/2003
454. Chicago 1/3/2003
455. At A Window 1/3/2003
456. Arithmetic 1/3/2003
457. Fog 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

Noon Hour

She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,

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